the broken stripper

the dim lights couldn’t conceal
the fact the next stripper
mounting the buffet-sized stage
wore bicycle shorts
rather than a g-string
and a torso-obscuring blouse
instead of pasties

she possessed the
anatomical features of a watermelon
with spat seed eyes
and a smile like
a chewed green rind

she wobbled on the stage
occasionally
brushing against the pole
the duration of the song
swaying without rhythm
without removing any clothing
ignoring the eviscerating laughter

“hey manager!” my buddy hollered
“come quick!
our stripper’s broken!”

her dark glistening eyes
registered zero awareness
her flaccid expression
scarcely changed
when I approached the stage
on a wave of
escalating laughter

I handed her two dollars
and turned away
getting halfway back to
the howling red Os of
my friends’ guffawing faces
the stripper yelled
for my attention

thinking she’d decided
to give me a peek
at her busted titties
beneath her
puritanical blouse
I rushed back to the stage
where the non-stripping stripper
handed back a dollar
whispering

“you accidentally gave me two dollars”

Fetish

She wants to kill god when she cums.
Broken bottles on her breasts,
Fucking Guevara in her dreams.

She’d open her own crotch for the atom bomb.
Give me the statistics of the latest massacre
So I can cut myself to it.

I read to her excerpts of the morgue report
Regarding the deaths of Goebbels’ children
So she can fantasise about their laments whilst orgasm.

Pictures of holocaust stapled to her vulva,
Bile stained, bible pages in the toilet –
The derogatory is obtained.

Personally I’d like to fuck Eve and make her purge
An apology for the fall of man but congratulate her too,
For the ruins of god’s insipid plan.

She Opened Up My Stitches

As I fell backwards
down the stairs,
fourteen of the fucking things.
I looked at her
upside down
and said
“I love you!”
She threw the empty vodka bottle
down upon me,
I’d have rathered it was the full one
but it wasn’t.

Terrifying Girls Highschool

I like glam-emo music from Vancouver
and bizarre horror from the island Japan
about sexy girls who hang from ledges
and stab each other quick over and over
ruining their bloody school girl uniforms
and dissonant reverb ripping guitar riffs
the stereo is on and the film is live
in the living room of my dark twisted dreams
and the cute little blonde twink in my arms
asks why I like such harsh terrifying wonders
I kiss him, roll him over, pull down his pants
“I’ll show you the pleasure of being stabbed, hon.”

Three Rs

Among beers and conversation with an old friend
We spoke of our hometown
Everyone is getting divorced
All the divorcees
Getting with other divorcees
Keeping it a tight group
Bodily fluids still run deep
Twenty years later
The one that got away is on your line again

In a whole world of new genitals
There’s a place in California
Where the beat-up ones are still better
One’s junk has been pleasure for us all
Fur burgers and meat sticks are recycled
Like bottles and old car parts
And comfortably familiar is preferred

GMC Safari

It was our second date, and after having some drinks
I dropped her back off at her parent’s house,
where she was living at the time.

‘I wish you could come inside and fuck me, I really want to fuck you’
she said in between us kissing.

‘yeah, I guess your father wouldn’t like that’ I replied with my cock throbbing in my jeans,
resigned to the fact that I would probably have to rub one out alone later.

‘wait, I have an idea, you want to fuck in the van?’ she asked excitedly.

earlier that night she told me how she used to fuck her high school boyfriend
in the back of her dads work van,
as he would always leave the keys out on a hook in the foyer.

“is there room back there?’ I asked, momentarily forgetting she’d done this before.

yeah, we’ll make it work, wait here.”

when she came back, she unlocked the sliding door
on the passenger side, and we got in, and we made it work.

it smelled like dirty carpet and paint thinner in there
but that didn’t distract me from the task at hand,
and she told me I could finish inside of her, which I did.

a few months later her dad offered me a painting job,
and occasionally asked me to drive the van, and every time I did
I thought of that night; the first time I used it to paint his daughter’s interiors.

I used to go to church, but…

(Ask) Jesus to come into your Heart
(And) He’ll send you the Holy Spirit to
(Receive) you in your shameful state
(And) when times get desperate just
(Smile) because He’ll whisper in your ear
(And) tell you exactly what to say
(Then) when the authorities
(Publicly) question you about the commotion, just
(Kill) them with kindness
(Because) you can be certain that
(You) are carrying out Gods will and
(Are) defeating the Devil in his plan to burn
(The) world, for in everything he does, he attempts
(Destroying) all that is good, all that is
(God)

Kittens and Cupcakes

I am the forgotten man –
left out in the blistering sun
to reach a state of overexposure
as the metal death apocalypse
rains down in solar ray saturation.

I am the nothing/nowhere –
dragged by the hair
to the edge of a grave
and skinned to the bone
to feed the maggots below.

I am the last remorse from a bloodstained heart –
kissed by an angel of terrible vengeance
upon my scabbed, blistered lips
to usher in the chaos storm
the harbingers have been heralding for eons.

I am the night sky full of shadows –
lost in the vast reflection
of a tired moon
that wants its pound of flesh delivered
before pulling the tide of blood to shore.

I am the cancer worming its way back home –
dripping with cum and sweat
between torn, soaked sheets
where lovers once slept in peace
before the disease of denial completely set in.

I am not the first, but will be the last.
I am not Hallelujah salvation.
I am the final note in the song of annihilation.

Perhaps

but it’s those Saturday afternoons,
I voluntarily surrender myself to the
sanctuary of psychedelic cohesion
with a roof shielding over the
non compos mentis in my mind
from the impressionable.

hidden, out of sight, out of mind,
tucked away, forgotten about
all the bills are paid
the phone never rings
the door never gets knocked upon
nothing but the sounds of the
furnace humming
with no one to talk to
no one to play with
except maybe the poem
the instruments of tranquility
and the dust mites in the mattress
while the animals are resting
in the sun patch of lucidity
the scales being tipped between
loneliness and solitude
knowing nothing, learning nothing
seeing nothing, being nothing
easily persuaded with happiness
in the great meditation of dolt but…

perhaps I step out of my comfort zone
perhaps I schedule a luncheon with an old friend
perhaps I raise a bit of hell at a local bar
perhaps I relive my glory days of terror
perhaps I let the music set me free
perhaps I’ll take my chances on the cold streets
perhaps I’ll be disappointed with the outcome
perhaps I’ve been robbed of my beautiful depression
perhaps it’s definitely one worth fighting for

perhaps the outside world is the
cheesiest b-rate horror film ever made,
full of sneering eyes and taunting voices
but it’s just too cruel to manage.

and wait’ll see what happens
when I stick my ass in the air
for the hideous creatures
of the world to come ravish it,
wait’ll see what happens
when I rub the belly of a bumblebee
and get stung on the tongue of remembrance
wait’ll see what happens
when they try to extinguish the flames
of my inner avidity

even the tiniest of embers could come
back and set the whole world on fire.

perhaps

The Fuck-Up Again

‘I offered myself, you know,
or a blow job and he told me
that it wouldn’t cover the
interest on my debt, and I
blew him anyways to
sweeten him up because I
didn’t have any cash and
he gave me a bag to keep
me straight and I owe him
even more now:
I don’t feel good about
this, but what else what I
can do?
I’m fucked,
I need help’ she said:
and that was true but I was
on the bum for some wine
and some codeine and
I didn’t give care about
her fuck-up
and I walked away, trying
to ignore her voice,
calling out after me like
a desperate beggar,
a stranger,
much like I was.