It’s really fucking hot

Outside and not between us.
Imagine if I was drunk right now?
Alone with the vast awareness of self.

My true one.
Nice to see you.
Kind of.
Not really.

This is exactly why I drank.
I’m all I have.
In the end,
no one will entertain me.
I’m the beast I’ve been hunting from day one.
Got ya.

The jig is up.
The spotlights on.

There’s no sounds left but the fan,
oscillating awkwardly around the room.

My true self. Did I mean to get here?
Was I always destined to get what I deserved?
Me. Nothing else.

An eternity of silence.
Quiet moments in which I disappear and show up,
over and over again until the light goes out.

Was there ever a purpose?
For any of us?

It’s the funniest joke I’ve ever heard.
The one I’m telling.
Right.
Now.

I put ice cubes around the cat to cool her down.
Feed her a mountain of biscuits because I can’t feed myself.

I’ve been suspended in time for a long time.
Haven’t I?

I’m home safe but don’t tell anyone.
My heart is a stupid, useless toy.

I’m sick of playing so I delete my memories
to chase an honesty this world is yet to know.

Can you hear me?
My mind is full of other people’s thoughts.

We are all terrifying and angry and broken.
Chomping at the bit to get a bit of love.

Never have I ever felt so ordinary
nor did I notice the state of our affairs.

If you look outside you’ll see a world on fire.
If you look inside you’ll get the same effect.

The whole thing is a mirror. An accident.
Flawed from the beginning. Flawed until the end.

I tell myself I’ll make a difference
because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t bother.
The whole show is something I could miss.

God is a structure designed to spare us this feeling.
The dangerous knowing. None of this is real.
None of us are anything or everything.

Don’t say I told you so.

When I wake up, they’ll be nothing left but ash.
An eternal branding, a flag stuck just to say that we were here.

Left to my own devices I’m divisive.
I tunnel underground for preservation and smile at you blankly.
Say the right words to mimic a response.

“It’s really fucking hot.”

So what?

New Orleans Pride

it was a long Labor Day weekend
although weekends never feel long
I took a few days off in
preparation for said weekend
that Wednesday I hurt my knee bad
so I hobbled with every step
fucking great, I thought
I’m going to have to do
a lot of walking this weekend
Thursday
I took the dog to the vet
I watched as my dog took shots
like a champion
a cute blonde with a lip piercing
and tight scrubs hugged my dog tight
and let him lick her in the mouth
as the doctor shot him up with drugs
and inserted a long cylindrical tube
into his anus for a fecal test
this lucky bastard, I thought
tests were negative
the dog healthy
I emptied my wallet and
we went on our way
Friday
the wife and I left for Ocean Springs
ate great barbecue
drank good bourbon and soaked
in a large tub by the bed
the next day we went to an
art walk where I purchased
an original piece from a hipster
I won’t hold that against him
because his work is amazing
we then headed for Biloxi
we gambled a little
ate a lot
and saw the comedian
we were there to see
I had strong drinks from the bar
and weak drinks at the slots
I ran into a coworker who was
feeding machines with hundred after hundred
“push it” he told me
“maybe you’re lucky”
I wasn’t
I never am
Sunday
we drove to New Orleans
as we were getting off on our exit
I turned to my wife and said
“I just remembered, it’s pride weekend”
we made our way toward the hotel bar
rumors have it that Bukowski stayed
there when he was in his twenties
we found a spot on the street to park
less than a block away
we entered the bar and ordered drinks
as we drank we watched
girls and guys walk by with wings attached
dressed in wigs, dresses or much less
I ordered another round and
we decided to take a walk
I fired up a cigar as we walked
I knew what they were probably thinking
me sucking on a long brown stick
many males and females in thongs
and jockstraps
chest harnesses abound
no problems among thousands of people
everyone was so festive and joyous
dancing, laughing, and singing
it’s then I realized how they
probably got their title
I was proud of New Orleans once again

She Is Beautiful

My face just a few inches
from her pussy, her legs
spread wide,
she is beautiful.
and I watch as she
masturbates and
climaxes:
daylight is shutting
down as her
murmurs of pleasure
vastness and people
will begin to make ready
for the evening:
she softly quietens
and lays still as I
move and wrap my
arms around her as
my neighbours close
their curtains and
lock their doors,
shutting out the
world:
she is beautiful,
the street-lighting
sprinkles into being
and small garden
birds are now silent
as she brings me
between the moment
of life and death.

Snake Charmer

You play your flute
maybe strum a guitar
I rise out of the basket
enchanted by the sound
or maybe just hungry

I slither across the white tiled floor
my skin taut and flexing
I hiss at your friends
—the ones you shove me back
into the basket for

You only want me around
when you are lonely
when you make your
sweet musical sounds
and persuade me to coil
around your hips wrap myself
around your penis

Today I want a rat to eat
I shed my skin and now
I’m scaled a high shine
the light makes me iridescent
I’m slick black and deadly
I wait in my basket for you
to come in with your flute
and coax me out

But you leave me alone
I’m still hungry
What will you do
when I outgrow this little hut
make a boot or two out of me?

Your Title To Decide

as this whiskey coats my throat
swells and scars my liver
as the cigar smoke expands
cooks my mouth and hardens my heart
I’m reminded of all the dissatisfied
that came before me
never did what they wanted
refused happiness for whatever reason
all in the guise of tradition or fear
afraid to say the wrong thing
scared to take that drink
or do that drug
petrified to fuck
or fuck who they want
trying not to let a deity down
not disappoint a loved one
make a good impression on a stranger
live a long life
or all of the above
at the same time
you have only one life to live
and it is up to you
how you live that life
some feel living a life of fear
and cautiousness is rewarding
but others crave the unknown
live for the different states
feel free when actions and
speech are not hindered
a tightrope of sorts
existence balanced
still
some fly
yet
some fall

4 a.m. Precious Moments

My boyfriend said in his sleep,
‘I want to read a romance novel
before I die…’
then he farted loudly,
woke up
and hugged me.
I don’t care what the news says,
life is pretty good.

The Gold-Mine

‘Her pussy is a gold-mine,
her fingertips are velvet
flowers’ what is that
bullshit!’ she said ‘What
the fuck does that mean?
gold-mine pussy?
velvet fingertips?
she said after reading a
poem that I had
dedicated to her, I
didn’t know what to
say and then she
started laughing, I
looked on feeling
dumb and foolish,
after a few moments
she moved in closer,
‘Thank you’ she said
and then ‘That’s nice,
the gold-mine is all
yours’ she said,
her velvet fingertips
clutching between
her legs.

Brain Drain

“It was like being in hell -the stage version.”
Marianne Faithful

She wants to whistle
the mad chords of
‘All Along the Watchtower’
but the tune sticks
to the gummed edges
of her cracked teeth
broken by the fist
of a male nurse
who caught her sneaking
a stash of blow onto
the closed ward of
an enforced, involuntary
detox, “Getting clean is
easy,” she says, ‘All you
need is ten blankets and
a rubber room to freak in,
the first seven days
of the shakes.” Staying
clean is the hard work,
especially with no known
reason not to live the life
of a Honky Tonk Angel
hooked on the smoke,
the pills and juice that
gives your singing voice
all that character none
of the others have.

Every Roach Washes Ashore

hell bent
aching tooth
of the city.
every roach
washes ashore.
summer sleeps
like a fly
on its belly.

a whore
is bottomless
and picking
at her vagina.
a store keeper
cocks his shotgun.
pigeons scatter
atop project buildings.
the old lady
is swinging
her tits again.

the world
is numb,
once more,
as some kid
pulls into
his grave.

The Night One

He dreams of her beauty,
she dreams of her sacred duty.

He dreams of love,
she dreams of blood.
He dreams of loving her,
she dreams of eating her
fill of him.

He dreams of romance and knowing,
of nudity and showing,
what he can do for her, to her, with her,
and inside her.
Of impregnating . . . her,
of his child growing inside of her,
as she pouts with pleasure
and,
smiles at his apologies for making
her fat for a while.

She dreams of ripping her claws through his belly,
of pulping his guts into jelly.
Of laying her eggs inside him,
while he begs her to kill him
before they hatch and kill him anyway.
The taste of his bloody flesh on her tongue,
while her feathery blue wings beat
and her lips form a song,
a melody to Death and destruction.

He dreams of happiness,
but she dreams of sadness,
madness,
deadness,
darkness . . . of the void beyond all things,
where the Forgotten Ones dream.

He dreams of kissing
her,
Of loving and missing
her.
She dreams of pissing
her
poison into his veins,
of driving him insane,
with the pain of his impossible desire,
for the unholy and the profane.