Zeros hit my cock
ring and I bulge
feel all faint too
sweaty my heart skips
Pixelated tips and piss
ran dry on Wall
Street burning for hits
I’m rope tied up
Someone echoes dark light
licks lips flips switch
moaning into no thing
locks key endless repeat
Mechanical buzzing
whirring ding light up
going in out gasp
bank big no asphyxia
In Torregalindo, Burgos
With a half-ruined castle
There lived an honest family
With two daughters
Both young and of marriageable age
Who looked after the chickens
The pigs and the rabbits
As was necessary.
They sold the animals
Not long after they were born
To the people of the village and other places
Cheaper than in the shops.
One day, a friend of my brother-in-law
Who was courting the youngest daughter
Encouraged me to go visit them
Because he wanted to buy a rabbit
Since her mother was asking for one
As a whim being newly pregnant.
We went to their beautiful village house
We greeted her parents and daughters
And the youngest took us to the rabbit hutch
And just as we were about to pick up the most prized rabbit
She bent down and showed us her privates
For she wasn’t wearing panties.
My friend, since she was his girlfriend
didn’t even flinch
Didn’t say a word.
But I was stunned
Because I’d never seen such a thing.
Since the few times I’d had sex
I did it in the dark, not knowing if it was white or black
Or what the creature looked like.
But the worst part was—what cruelty!
When the young woman grabbed the rabbit by the neck
So it couldn’t breathe or scream
Not before hanging it by its hind legs
On a crossbar in the hutch.
And, alive as it was
With a kitchen knife she gouged out its eyes
Because she says that way the rabbit bleeds better
And stays more tender for cookig.
-Take this rabbit, the tenderest one in the hutch
the girlfriend told him.
You’ll pay me when I come to your house
To say hello to my future mother-in-law.
And when they go to sleep
I’ll make you a delicious dinner with mine’s.
When we left the village
He very happy, and me very hurt
Because of the death his girlfriend had inflicted on the rabbit
As we walked towards the next village
Moradillo de Roa, five kilometers away
I kept telling him:
-Be careful, friend, when you have sex with her
Because when you’re in the sweetest part of orgasm
Begging for her sweetest kisses
She’ll gouge your eyes out
While you’re biting her lips, shouting:
-I don’t want a rabbit for the wedding anymore!
for Hugh Blanton
The North Beach poets sit at the bar
and drink at all hours
in their funny hats and coats,
as if there were nothing else in the world
that ever needed doing.
The Anarchist girl sits alone at a table
drinking dark beer and reading a book
about the rise of techno fascism.
And me, I’m forever on the run
from death and her henchmen,
with a glass of wine at my favorite
table in the back corner of the balcony.
I tear my little poems from the jagged
teeth of the dark the best I can,
as the pretty girls in Kerouac Alley
sit at little round tables smoking
cigarettes and drinking beer.
I gaze down upon them
and pretend I am in Paris.
I’ve never been to Paris
and It’s looking like I might
not ever make it,
even though I’d like to.
Some people do things like go to Paris
and others muddle through life
one moment to the next
and I figure that’s just the way
it is and there’s no sense in getting
upset.
There’s still some poetry to be mined here
despite what the years have taken.
I lean back and bask in the feel of it,
thinking of all those suckers in Paris
who will never get the chance.
Transients in the yellow pickup
barrel down the rickety road along the bay
hoot like desperate cowboys
the bay is a desolate cemetery at sundown
she enjoys their hollers and whistles
as she walks over the dead thing
that could have been a seagull
but is mangled now beyond recognition
she shares a familiar sentiment
with the dead thing and its ravaged feathers
forming a trail to nowhere
that she follows obediently
at dusk
while those boys hoot away
her shorts
clipped enough to bare
her ass cheeks
as she strolls along the devils run
at dusk
for no real reason
if just to hear them call her name
It’s four o’clock in Quebec
Which means nothing in
Any place in Oklahoma.
I’ve been to Oklahoma.
Never been to Quebec.
Oklahoma is said to be
Full of steers and queers.
I thought that was Texas.
Quebec ain’t got no steers.
Or was that Montreal?
Hell, I don’t know. I never
Go lookin’ for either one.
Steers or queers, that is.
Yeah, that don’t mean shit.
Just like this freaky poem.
Yup, it might be four o’clock
In Quebec. What do I know.
blind black jackie,
christmas diamond, christmas star
I’m drinking and sloshing molasses moonshine,
and there is no time left here
to go to hell or dream of me
both are the same, both remain quiet
for musings of my love
In the voids, in the people you discard.
but if you were like me,
maybe you could be more free,
as is divinity.
divinity is my pleasure,
divinity is my place of greed.
Am I divine? Or do my eyes deceive me?
Poisonously poised and awake to shine
with pretty fragile hearts
gashing in the idle heavens.
taking all of my lovers but seven.
all that you gave to me,
now withering away in an estate sale,
with sunshine blisters growing on your face,
waiting for the day you become old and unfuckable.
but i’ll stay here, full of fuck, full of rot,
in the snow deadlier as tomorrow
so visible, so alone
destroy me as i destroy you.
and i’m not a fucking HACK-HAG
I’m not old just yet
I’m not old enough for this
I’m only twenty one
and I bet she’s so grateful to belong to you,
with that ring on her dead molten finger.
Is she as pretty as the day you met her?
oh bitchless, I fall again
FORGET HER
just when we know we can’t take it anymore
just when we know that we need something
when we’re desperate for something to help us get by
something that isn’t a god
something that isn’t a superhero
something that isn’t a sales pitch or a political slogan
just when we despair because that kind of something doesn’t exist
a decrepit and obscure old poet limps down an alley
to watch the final sunrise of his life
and the rats scurry out of his way
and the feral cats of the night pause to stare at him
and the smell of rotten garbage hangs in the air
and the poet unzips and pours out his final piss into a filthy oil slick
and he coughs and he spits and he pukes and he pukes
and we all pause wherever we are as if we heard something
something like creation bending a note on a battered blues harp
the Mothers of Invention
got booked
on a jazz tour in 69
a promoter’s trick
to pump up ticket sales
in the land of greed
& we didn’t play
Top 40 Rock & Roll
This was my Absolutely
Free Freak Out Uncle Meat
version of my band
on the bill with
Rahsaan Roland Kirk
Gary Burton
& Duke Ellington
who I witnessed asking
the tour road manager
for a $10 advance one night
Edward Kennedy ELLINGTON
who wrote or collaborated
on over 1,000 compositions
who generously called
his music American Music
short changed in flimflam
ameriKKKa
& I started this tour off
taking $400 out
of my bank account
so my band could eat
I’m paying my musicians
out of my pocket
tour end I’m tapped out
$10,000 in debt
Eve said, “The fig leaf hides my fruit; hands off, you brute!”
But when Adam got a hard-on in that special Garden
and felt he had enough to fill Eve’s inviting muff,
it meant that he and Eve were told to leave.
“Why not have a ball if you know you’re gonna fall,”
the snake had hissed, which made old Yahweh pissed.
It was to be their fate to be thrown out of Eden’s gate
‘cos Adam dipped in Evie’s well and made her belly swell,
until, enduring dreadful pain, she gave birth to Cain.
A year or so later, Abel popped out on the kitchen table,
for Adam, despite his vice, only knocked his rib up thrice
at least until he was more mature and Eve retained her allure,
for number three was labelled Seth or so the Bible saith.
There once was man from Nantucket
who collected his cash in a bucket.
When he was asked why,
he said “I’m buying a Thai
and going to Thailand, to Phuket”.
Horror Sleaze Trash 