love poems

jesus christ, not another love poem.
not another sad miserable prick
with no spit left in his bones
pouring out false emotion.

another dead rose stinking up my nostrils
crying about the one who got away.

shoot me now god, please.
take me away from all this shit
pretending to be the next great thing.
you all sound the same.
you all cry the same.
you all go through pain the same.

you one-dimensional untalented schmucks.

get mad. insult someone.
get politically incorrect.
avoid your comfort zone.
dylan went through seven different phases
plus some.
how many have you had?

fuck love poems.

slap her tits. spit in her mouth.
grab her neck. bite that ass.

naw, fuck that, terrorize that ass.

and by god, go down on her.
squeeze all the juice from her body.

don’t write her a love poem.
don’t be a little bitch.

there’s blood running through her veins.

I’M NOT POOR, I JUST PLAY IT ON TV

I bought back my mental health
at my own yard sale
Lady said, ‘out of all this good shit,
w h y  do you want that junk?’
I said, ‘because I like rabbits,
now back off bitch.’
Under the agoraphobic sky,
I  was  the  b l u r r e d   reality
junkie
Shoot it up all day
and all night
I wink
and fuck
to the twinkle
And now

I AM
rich again, like before
I was born

 

Gringo

My Mexican girlfriend says she likes me
because I am not macho.
She says Mexican men are too macho,
too brutal and mean.
We are at the supermarket and I am thinking
about how earlier she had begged me
to fuck her in the ass
hard,
demanded I bite her tits
until they were bruised and
mushy plums,
how she led me
to force her to
her stomach
and squirmed until I held
her arms behind her like a vice,
how she screamed STOP
and then when I stopped she asked
me why I stopped,
how afterwards I was afraid
I hurt her
until I realized she was smiling,
and how she turned
to me and curled up in my arms
and went to sleep.
At the store I reach my hand
into the cooler
for a twelve pack of beer
which makes her frown,
not because it is beer
and that I might get drunk on it,
but because it is LIGHT beer
like I am some kind of
girly man
who sits down
to pee.

Show Business

red carpets lit with flash bulbs,
strapless Stella McCartneys,
champagne flutes sipping adulation
stretched limousines
private planes
saggy white gorillas in 10 thousand dollar suits.
executive fantasies of painful submission:
movie careers hung on meat hooks
beaten, sliced,
sold in penthouses;
worn like cheap thongs and thigh high boots,
Call me daddy bitch
it’s all bright lights
and blow jobs baby
his hairy gut slapping bubble butts
as bee sting lips deep throat rich meat
totting up costs of fame
entertain us, they
moan at the girl
with green eyes, as she
writes receipts
for herself

Gaze

I see you,
staring at my tits.
So fascinated.
Nothing has changed
since last you looked.
It’s always when I wear
a dress
made for a smaller chest
that I notice it, your eyes
burrow in.
I spill over,
warm water in a tub.

Do you wonder
how deep you need to dive,
how wide you need to spread me
open by
the ribcage to find my heart?

You have far to go
through my bare, naked armour

into me.

you could be ted bundy

I’m outside the bar,
trying to summon a cab
with my device,
but the cabbie says
he’s not in the area,
so I click off
and, fairly drunk, approach
a pair of college girls
sitting on the
curb—

“I’ll give you forty dollars
if you give me a ride home.”

They laugh
and one of them
says, “I thought you were going
to pay us to make out.”

“That’s not a bad idea,”
I say.

They ultimately
decline: “You look like a nice guy
but for all we know
you could be Ted Bundy.”

And they’re right;
I could be Ted Bundy,
perhaps I’m a late bloomer—

Walking away
without sharing my obsession
with all things Ted,
that I’ve read every book
worth reading,
studied the man and
his crimes,

know the story up
and down and am
actually somewhat
of an authority.

Hell, I even write poems
about Ted,
some of which have been
published in small underground
zines.

No,
I don’t say a word about
any of this
before moseying off
to call a different cab,
feeling less like Ted
than ever,
disgusted by my utter lack
of charm and charisma.

He wouldn’t have taken no
for an answer,
not in this parking lot
and certainly not later
when he removed his
mask.

Mind Fuck

What was before
The universe was created?
Was God alone?
Exasperated?

Before the universe
There was nothing
My mind can’t take it
There had to have been something!

Our small brains
Can’t comprehend
The beginning
Any more than the end

God was alone
In an all-dark zone
Losing his mind
Before there was light

Now his piggies
We get fucked with
Raped and insane
Then done away with!

God’s a writer
And we’re protagonists
The book’s hell-on-earth
All around us: antagonists!

The epilogue’s Hell
After many spells
On our heads
From Satanists

Sephanie

I looked for you
in empty cigarette packs
your brand or not
packs on the sidewalks
dropped, forgotten, or littered

I looked for you
in round faces of blondes
pumping $5 of gas
wearing boxy glasses
in methadone morning

just the same
I looked for you on line
at the clinic
where you might give
strangers a ride
because your robust
rust belt heart
always bleeds a little

I looked for you
in the passing cars
sleek and black
bumping tunes
reminds you
of your dead friend’s
funeral

I looked for you
in sweat dreams
in bad days
in loaded nights
in all the right places
to find the wrong things

every lick of her lips

she had the
eyes of a
demon

tempting
me with
every lick
of her
lips

my mother
warned me
about women
like this

told me they
would never
be good for
me

yet
another
lie from
my childhood
that i thankfully

never believed

gypsies

this is feral love
this is sweet love
the kind of love that bites
leaves traces
of deep
this is honest love
painful love
innocent love
whore love
animal love
black onyx eyes turned white kind of love
rooftop love
where you on your knees suck the breath
where the ocean of my cunt comes tinged with sirens
where your moans hit walls in hushed devils
where you turn my slaver into wine
drunk
you drink
and think
of other ways to make sermons leave my mouth
religious love,
my Jesus Christ
my Heavenly Father
my silent prayer
my rust in your mouth
my love in your mouth
carving tunnels
to sleep inside
warm nights
warm torso,
I drip
your tip
on lips
laughter
no illusions
what life is this?
where we laugh
at our baptism, our Holy union
a purge
ablution
a world of us,
them,
invisible/
hot July L.A. nights are ours
myopic gaze
make skyscrapers quiver
sodden gravel
leave hieroglyphs
on skin