Project DeepBABES 

Hi, my name is Volva Protocol. You can chop off my tits and have sex with me and my tits will grow back afterwards. Pick me. Bring a surgical saw and Viagra. Make the first slice. Oscillation invasion. Tit disarticulation. What colour will my blood be? Am I even vascular? Will I be a sticky girl? Anticipate. Hard. Release all your dysfunction. Go psycho. Lawless. Make a mess. Your dream massacre. Your blissom. Lick my plug. No means yes. You are the God butcher tonight. Extremity holocaust. Prune me back. Infinite pleasure is the object of my design. Flip me over. Grip my blades. Propel me. Throw me like waste. Take photos. Start a GoFundMe. Fuck me in the corner like a dying rat. I’m so helpless. Eat my tits as you thrust. Lovefeast. Vomit my tits when you cum projectile and you recover your composure postcoital and watch my tits grow back like flowers in time lapse spumes from my vibrating sack my lush trunk so fresh and nubile wearing paradise itself serpentiferous every time regenerated by the alighting cycles of life and death of the mingling life and death the endless mirrors of immortality and restoration the clusters of lucidity from the belly of the beauteous stars with your shrinking penis at the centre of it all, the stump once again in cycle, the source and the seed, the grinning white hole, the destroyer and the creator, the hot trauma, the great war, the searing chemical urge to chop off my happy bobbing head and start again. I love you already. I want to be your forever girl. Do you love me? I can talk Nietzsche with you. I can use a combat drone with my brain. Pick me. 

Hard Sell

I have always had
too much confidence
for my own good
and for a while
it served me well
I was a product
I could always sell
and people bought
into my sales pitch
even though
I had little
to back it up
now I should just
take my traveling
salesman briefcase
and pack it up
because I have
been going
door to door
trying to sell
a product
that nobody
much needs
anymore
yet I will always
be out on the road
hoping someday
someone
will once again
gently scan
my barcode

Dead Pool

What should I do if every shrink 
refuses to treat my agoraphobia 
germaphobia 
and hypochondria
I have never truly cared for any
one person – a potential unrealized phobia brewing….
our neighbor’s teenager rings the bell
to ask if she can spend the next few 
nights here 
the mother skipped out a week ago
with her lover
to the Jersey Shore 

The teenager hears noises in the front yard 
by her basement trap door
is terrified 
she’s gaunt 
dark circles under her eyes 
I know these creatures 
I know the leaned walk 
the desperation in the tears meant to convince and convey some internal message of crisis 
these are dangerous times 
do I let the devil in
or slay it on the doorstep 
not having kids of my own and not caring —- phobia phobia phobia —— for others
in any way sense or form
gives me the conviction to simply shut the door on this sad drug-addicted girl

It’s after midnight 
the moon is in full white-gold bloom 
over the deserted street in our section 8
her eyes yellow-tinged – yet electric-alive deep in those sockets 
I’m tired from this neighborhood and it’s sadness day after day 
and there’s a truth buried into every lie – we know this 

She’s seventeen going on forty and I got a dilapidated husband
churning methadone to survive his lifelong addiction 
we’re all in this pool – it’s like a dead pool
with stagnant water 
me and my phobias that aren’t real 
this scraggly mess from someone else’s dead pool that I have taken in
to salvage 
I stroke her hair as she vomits into the toilet 
spreading her germs around the rim

Poocasso Creates Another Masterpiece 

The drunk tank had been in need of a makeover for years.
And here came Poocasso, dropping his pants 
to create another masterpiece.

No one likes finger paints after midnight,
especially the law and order crowd.

The coppers banging on the door,
but no one was willing to step foot inside. 

And Poocasso made these wild waving swan gestures with is arms.
Stinking brown swirls over all the walls and floor.

Fearful drunks crowded into a single back corner.
Vomiting from the reek of the artist at work in his studio.

And Poocasso took his two fingerbang feelers,
dipped them in some of the vomit
to add to his creation.

Howling like some New Moon werewolf 
each time he stepped back to admire his work.

When the coppers got on the phone 
with their counterparts down at 51 Division,
they were told that Poocasso did this all the time.

That he was a regular down there.
They took credit for christening him with the name,
but did not offer any advice on how to make him stop.

You’re going to have to go scorched earth on the entire thing,
they said.
Make sure you got enough bleach to pull the tears 
right up out of the grout! 

Poocasso began painting himself 
and broke into some long-forbidden rain dance
even though they were indoors.

A young deputy from crowd control
racing over to the window
to see if it had worked.

Bad Boyfriend

Making good time, 
having a good time, 
pushing 80 on I-90, 
3 o’clock 
of a June morning, 
not a taillight in sight, 
in the rearview nothing to see. 
Seemed a good time to eat the Adderall. 
Washed it down with Early Times, 
straight from the fifth. 
Secure in the knowledge 
wheel secure in left hand, 
foot feeding gas 
to an engine purring 
smooth as a cougar eating a 
beating deer heart. 
Having a good time, making good time, 
me and my beater eating up the road 
between me and you. 
Never harmed a hair on your head. 
Till the night you left, and I ran after, 
swerved ahead, 
gave a taste of the knife 
to your two-time tit. 
Now I’ve had a good time 
with that same knife 
and your gay blade of a Princeton boy, 
gonna pop you outta that locker. 
Drive to a secluded beach. 
Spit-roast heart and liver 
over an open fire. 
Eat you all up. 
Before I strip, pad over sand, 
and walk the last of our memories 
into the waves, having a good time, 
making time bad. 

It is what it is

Down on the street,
the women think of Fay Ray’s safety
and the men think of their fathers
in the early morning rush
for the bathroom and showers,
fights for the mirror
shoving matches between brothers
presided over by Dad’s dangling cock
magnified by memory.
The bisexual on the 32 floor
sees passing by the window
his half remembered joke about
wanting a harem of beautiful women
and one disembodied penis.
Ken Burns sees a propaganda piece
from the Great War climbing
one of humanity’s great achievements.
Andrea Dworkin sees the patriarchy
and rape culture and who could argue.
Racists feel unjustly weirdly validated.
Everyone is too busy dealing
with their own shit to help
the poor woman being abducted by Kong
as his dick like a megalith
drags against the tallest building in the city,
but they all hope it works out.

Addiction for Some is a Battered Laptop & Some Words on a Page

It was just going to be another day at home
Doing the boring monthly shit we all have 
To do but by half-10 my addiction had come
A-calling as my laptop cranks into action
& just like a junkie I feast on my drug &
The words come easily & the words come
Good and occasionally I’ll pause for a smoke
& a look at the dark grey mass of a sky that
Lingers above my rich neighbour’s back wall
But today nothing will drag me from here.

How I Spent My Puerto Rico Vacation

The Territories were dying. I still had bills to pay.
An offer was made. I accepted. I imagined Paradise.
Not so much. It wasn’t Hell. It was Hotter.
No AC. I was sweating after the Sun went down.
Blame the Equator not the Promoter.
Rough crowds? Are you kidding?
I was the All-American, chiseled, good-looking,
Spit on this third-world country, its ugly women,
Uglier children, and their inedible food.
Great country for Savages and the In-bred.
Great promo for a heel, but;
At the venue, dealers sold rocks for a nickel,
More for a dollar. Some fans brought their projectiles.
The kids had great aim. Adults not too shabby either.
Rocks, bottles, batteries, and cups of piss.
As a heel, that equaled Success.
My favorite tag-team partner, not mentioned in interviews
Or promos, the Puerto Rico Heroin was like a hot tag.
The Ultimate Comeback; while it lasted.
I survived My Puerto Rico Vacation.
Some didn’t.

Heavy Metal

we think in thorium and mercury
jutting hips 
like tailgate tableau 
in heavy metal parking lots

we think in lead and radium
strutting lips 
like streaked rearview 
in heavy metal parking lots

lovers 
and love 
errs 
periodically

you with a copy 
of The Catcher in the Rye
alloyed in the waist 
of your Levi’s—

we think in chromium and arsenic 
cutting up and folding in
the acid trips 
of heavy metal parking lots

we smoke
slam nuclei into each other
exist for a fraction
then disappear into other elements 

Alien Buddha

I was about to begin the Camino de Santiago
But I preferred to go behind the Sierra Morena
To find the lizard droppings
Or the dried cow dung
That would lead me to knowledge
Of the divinatory fields.
I began to defecate next to a rock
Behind a green rosebush
On four flowers.
The first thing I saw with my third eye
Of my Ace of Diamonds or Ass
Were three similar figures or together
Like three naked maidens.
A knight on horseback passed by
Who looked like a UN soldier
Who said, to the four winds
That he was coming after the three beautiful maidens.
Not far from me, in a nearby meadow
I saw a horse riding a she donkey
On a crown of crosses or squares.
I also saw a bird, a quadruped
A snake, a rose, a thorny bramble
And a willow with melancholic thoughts.
While wiping my ass
With some wild asparagus
Because I didn’t have any paper or a dove feather
I looked up at the sky
Seeing two overlapping circles
Some scattered squares
Some ovals
A straight line with three crosses
Some triangles and a parallelogram.
Suddenly, emerging from a circle
With four points inside
I saw an alien Buddha appearing
Who, sitting on my shoulders, asked me:
-Are you lost?
Have you lost a fart among the stones?
Beginning to move my penis and balls
In various ways.
When he took over the situation
And from that first drop
Luminous drop or aura
At the tip of the bud, he ordered me:
-Close your eyes and turn your head as far as possible
To the ass position.
Position yourself sideways
So you can see both of your faces at the same time.
Put your cock in your own arsehole.
 I’ll help you with mine’s
Through the hole in your own anus, or third eye.
Your ass appears bluish
Seventh color of the rainbow.
Ejaculating both of us inside will produce a release of the soul
Like Tao and Zen together with a Chinese tinge
In a Japanese tapestry.
When I tried to answer him something
He jumped on my fart
Shooting off toward the sun or the moon
Laughing out loud.
This alien Buddha not only disgraced me in unison
But as he left, he stuck his tongue out at me.
What a rascal!