Parlour Thoughts

She bends over to reveal her pussy:
pink, fleshy, almost luxuriant.
She says ‘You like?’
but I’m indifferent.
I look at it and wonder
what it means.
To a man this is the world opened up,
like a flower, hot and mad,
but my mind’s still on
a poem I have
not yet written.
Yes, what if I were to fuck her
with a poem?
What if I were to stick
a big hard poem up there?
Would she prefer a poem
to a cock?
Would it change her?

I stand mesmerised
by her thing,
smiling, having
my delicious thoughts,
and she stands up
and says:
‘You’re a poet aren’t ya?’
I nod.
‘I knew it. You were
thinking about
sticking a poem up there
weren’t ya?’
I nod.
‘Shit, you fucking lot
are all the same!’

Daddy’s Little Girl

Leila was my blonde bombshell
tight, tan & horny all the time
she would wrap her legs around my waist
& tell me how she wanted to fuck her father
as I pinned her against the wall
& slammed it home
it was so wrong, but when I was
balls deep it sounded so right
she called me daddy, I called her my baby girl
I took pictures of her riding my dick
choking on it, wearing my cum
Leila posted them on a website
I read her the comments while she
rubbed her pussy with my rod
“dam gurl ur hot”
“I have some serious dick envy”
“u wanna try chocolat, slut”
“more pics please”
etc.
sometimes dreams do come true
her father passed out drunk
on the kitchen floor one night
Leila undid his pants & stroked his rager
he woke up, didn’t stop her

last I heard they moved to Arkansas

Awkward/Preteen Lust at a Trailer Park Near Nazarath, PA

Lying together
on a haystack in the sun ––
when she slid her tongue
into my mouth,
I immediately started
feeling like a lost needle.
I had never made out
with someone before.
I tried writing my name
with my tongue. I tried
making triangles,
diamonds,
awkward circles.
Behind her
neighbor’s trailer,
wide-eyed and kissing,
I watched a skinny crow
land on a nearby barn.
I heard wind chimes.
I heard cornstalks caressing
each other
in the end-of-summer wind.
I couldn’t sense any romance.
She started giving
my partial boner
an over-the-pants rub, and I
thought her redneck dad
was going to run outside
and murder me with a pitchfork.
When my parents pulled up
to get me, she brushed
the hay from the sleeves
of my hoodie and whispered,
“I’m going to give you
a blowjob next time.”
I got in the car and never came back.

Help This Boy

Help this boy
He has just the one good arm
The other arm is an evil arm
Made out of rats and bats and weasels and sin
And AIDS and car crashes and wasps and broccoli
And burnt waffles and tar and hate and bad fathers
And sand spurs and dog whistles and little pieces of
Popcorn kernels that get stuck in your teeth
Help this boy
for this boy is you
Help this girl
She has just the one evil arm
The other arm is made of wintermint and pumpkin spice
And kosher hotdogs and baby aspirin and the smell of rain
Her dress is made out of hope and praying
And Applewood-smoked bacon
And her hair—well, her hair is
apricot orgasms mixed with a lazer beam background
and a great dance beat
Dance with this girl until she cries.

The Drunk Poet And The Nun

This Time

I used to have a recurring dream
about you
every night
and it was always the same –
we were back together
and happy
and every morning
I would wake up
alone
and my heart would break all over again
but every night
I would convince myself
that this time
this time
this time
it was real
One time my best friend
was there too
and he told me
not to worry
because this time
this time
this time
it wasn’t a dream and
I got him to pinch me
to make sure
Finally!
This time
this time
this time
I was awake
and it was real
But of course it wasn’t
and I woke up
alone
and crying
and now years have passed
and the dreams have stopped
but I have resented my best friend
a little bit
for lying
ever since

scrub

celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain
got his start
as a lowly dishwasher

the job, he claims, taught him
every important life lesson

I concur—

toiling day after day
in this dish pit at 46
has been a superlative education

I’ve learned
some really vital stuff

including
but not limited to

I’m fucked

Diary Entry of a Webcam Girl

Panties draped over my lamp, my bed and laptop.
My clients favor my red corset.
If you have a valid credit card, you can see me in ways
only the bathroom mirror does early in the morning.
They like it when I keep my window open, so many
of them have voyeuristic fantasies.
Sometimes, my neighbors pass by while I work, but
they haven’t even taken a peek.
(At least I hope they haven’t)
I have one neighbor though, who smiles at me when
I leave my apartment. He sweeps his porch even if
it’s clean. I wonder if he’s seen my show?
I know other college girls who work at strip clubs and
must face their client’s erections and hear their cat calls.
I read on a screen what they’re afraid to say to
women in person. They ask me to choke myself,
stick a cellphone into my vagina and tell me
I remind them of their daughter.