how can you be such a monster?

he spent four weeks
away from his family
in a rented apartment
somewhere on
the outskirts
of town

he told them that
he needed this
he was a writer
needed to focus on his work
conducting his research
undistracted

his little girl would call
from time to time
asking daddy to hold his
phone against his forehead
while she made a kissing sound
on the other line

very wholesome
except he lied about
holding the phone
against his forehead

“How can you be
such a monster?”
asked the naked prostitute
sitting on the edge of his bed

“Shut up,” he said
tossed his phone on the desk
and unbuckled

The Beauty & Obsession

It was the promise of fondling
a big pair of breasts that led me
to get arrested:
my father laughed his ass off
when I explained that she’d
given me an obviously
forged prescription to
present at the chemist
and that when I came
back with the goods, I’d
have ten minutes of
handling, sucking and
licking and caressing
and loving her lovely breasts:
he nodded, grinned and
then he said:
‘I would have done the
same’
we lifted our drinks:
‘To the beauty and the
obsession men
have with women’s
breasts’ he said:
we drank deep as his
wife looked on through
codeine smudged eyes,
shaking her head and
playfully cupping her
breasts as if
protecting them
like babies.

The Princess Builds a Castle

The tarot reader says
“You need to be the princess”

I build a castle.

The hot dog man says
“Do not fall in love today.”

I build a moat.

You tell me
“You are stunning.”

I put barb wire around the tower
to see how far you climb.

When you reach me
I throw out my thighs
to distract you from all
the pain.

I pray against your hips
to ask me to slow down.

As you sleep,
I crawl out of bed to
ask the corner store clerk
“How to love again?”

He stares at me blankly
and hands me my cigarettes.

When you and I smoke them
I can’t brake my tongue
long enough for you
to catch your breath
to ask about my castle.

You left exhausted.
I’ve been exhausted.

more than enough to explain

there was nothing
to explain here

the man’s wife told them
everything they
needed to know

Her husband wrote poetry

Yes, that would be enough
to explain why
he cut off his penis
and tried to use it
as a pen
before collapsing
on the desk,
blood pooling
at his feet below

Being a poet was
more than enough
explanation for
what he did

She didn’t need
to tell the paramedics
that her husband
had been looking
for inspiration

“He’s a poet,”
was more than
enough

They understood

The Best Cock Sucker in Town

Lisa was not the best cock sucker in town.
I believe that honor went to Sue,
Sweet Sue the flamboyant gay boy.
I, myself, can not attest to that fact
As I have never availed myself of Sue’s
Haughty artsy claim to fame,
Although several country boys have,
But in public will fervently deny same.
Chico, real name George, Lisa’s brother,
Say’s there’s no contest to the matter.
He’s tried them both and Sue can’t
Tongue his candle the way Lisa can.
Yes sir, Chico swears his sister Lisa
Is, by far, the best cock sucker in town.
So, that said, my initial statement
Is now in doubt and in dispute.
But then, Chico could be biased.

The Sweet Life

Twenty-four seven slow motion
strip tease soirees and the neon
palaces they take place in.
Brooks Brothers bandits with ring
finger tan lines, nose candy nostrils,
late model Beamers in valet parking
lots staffed by parking lot hot jocks,
one conviction shy of a life without
hope of parole. On the take flat feet,
lap dancers with social diseases,
extended families to feed.
Broke down bouncers one steroid
shot from brittle bone mass reduction,
small ball syndrome. Been-there-done-
that-fuck-the t-shirts waitresses and
the bartenders that serve them.
Jukebox junkies, spinning platters
for brains, collapsed veins and blood
blisters the road map for the immediate
past, the near future, up against a hasn’t-
been-cleaned-in-years bathroom wall.
The happy-days-are-here-again, all major
credit cards accepted, hookers and their
maxed out johns one orgasm away from
a not-so-happy overdose death. The bad
debt bail skip collectors and their heavily
armed, concealed weapon permitted
henchmen. The lower depths beneath
the main rooms no one admits exist though
everyone knows, would go there if they
could. The tits-up-in-hell staff that works
there and the music that they play, always
one dirge short of a requiem mass.
Here, where home is, where they hang
the hats, the privileged few, the ones who
come, and the ones who can never go.

Wretch Wants Her Candy

For fucks sake
give me my last hoorah

when my grandmother was dying
her skin shifted to a full shade of urine yellow
she drooled pleading – no – begging
for one last sup
you know……..that thirst
it killed her
we denied her
why?
I cannot remember
I was eleven and thought
she just wanted soda
everything so simple back then
she would have turned full demon
for that drink
if she wasn’t already exhausted
from dying

Wretch, now an adult
wants her candy – her only sustenance

deny me and I will kill you
but it’s killing me
as it killed grandma
she bellowed for it
we should have caved
and smuggled Thunderbird
in a flask
for her…….for me
grandma was dying anyhow
what better way
to phase out
brimming from
the final mother quench

Trying Their Best

The girl on stage is cute:
Nice hair and tits
tats on each shoulder—
not close enough to see.

This will get old, quick.

This one’s killing me.
Older, playful.

Look at the clientele, I ask
what I’m doing here. I’m better.
I’m better. I’m better.

It’s all shit. We’re all dogs.
It’s all the same.

Good songs.
I’d fuck her ‘til I couldn’t go on
It wouldn’t be nice
She wouldn’t like it that way

I like her choice of persona.

The Concerns

‘You only seem happy or content
when you’re stoned or drunk
or both, all your waking hours
are consumed by this and of
course, sex’ she said sharply:
‘That may be’ I said:
‘But I’m a poet’
‘So that gives you a free
licence to be an alcoholic
drug taking bum whose
only concern is with his
own little seedy world’
‘I haven’t signed a
contract’ I answered:
‘Don’t call me, I mean
it this time, don’t call
me again’
the door opened and
slammed shut, the sun
had spent herself and I
opened a bottle of wine.

Smoldering and Drained

as I smoke the cigar
my life dwindles and
burns toward the end
correspondingly
as I drain the whiskey glass
my time on earth swirls
and disappears in like manner
I ask for nothing more
than a distinctive feeling
I apologize unto all existence
if that is entirely too much
you promise everything
but give nothing
to me that is something

bank roll my existence
forego the inevitable
have sex with my mind
masturbate with intention
colder than an igloo
claustrophobic as such
indescribable sensations
masquerading as emotions
desensitized and mesmerized
hypnotized by the facade
painted faces and bloody cunts
long live the weekend
the towel is on the bed

an indecent desire
beckons my sensibilities
dragging my mindset to the
depths of earth’s core
hypnotized by the innate
led astray from moral concept
only to delve deep
within cranial blackness
dwelling on negativity
no escape foreseeable
tedium lingers
darkness spreads
and the song plays on