Winter Warning

If you think
you have all
the tools necessary
to never succumb
to the elements
or the offhand comments
or the slap in the face
random acts
of poetic justice
that come at you
like forced kindness
in lieu of true loveliness
then allow me
to clap back
and pull the rug
out of your smug
conceit where
you feel that confidence
alone is enough
to weather
gathering storms…
all I’m saying
in everything
I just wrote
is that hey, it’s cold
out there
at least
please put on
your emotional
winter coat

Minimal Dark

Street lights aren’t orange any more
So we’ve lost that dreamy haze
That pumpkin-coloured glow
Which made every night feel
Like a nostalgic flashback in a movie
Impermanent and eternal
In equal measure

Beneath that light
Every spilled liquid
Beer
Blood
The urine-soaked in-between
Took on the fathomless depths of the night sky
Blackly boundless like a patch of dream
The sleeping mind had yet to fill in

Now the street lights are perfectly white
Shining pristinely
Like the sterile oppression of a dental surgery
A bleak illumination of every part of
The diorama of the city night
No longer a dream
But a painful waking to the reality
That this is all there really is

I made a romance of my night walks once
Now there’s only the minimalism
Of one foot following another
Going nowhere in particular.

user

on my little & big screens I watch her
naked body
clapping with mine

at good angles I hit pause, and admire
her beautiful parts
and when her mouth opens wide and 
eyebrows arch, I try to wrap my arms 
around this memory on the screen as I say
I love you so much

I will continue to make one-sided love to
her in the screen
for many years to come yet, I expect 
because 

she trusted me

Together With You as Evening Fell

-Cleopatra, announcing my erection
You remember the coming of your love.
You didn’t demand anything from me to marry
Neither gold nor silver
Only my glorious penis
Hanging like a pole
Over your bleeding cunt.
Like a good Samaritan
You took me into your life
You saved me from putting my head
On the train tracks
At Atocha Station
That goes from Madrid to Paris
Because I was desperate
From not finding a job
And even less able to buy a house
Where to build our love nest.
Also, because of your unsettling question:
-Antonio, where is your manhood?
Like a ragged beggar
Who wore secondhand clothes
Bought at the flea market
You redeemed me forever
Because I sang to your pussy
I adored it and composed verses for it
In the Saint John of the Cross’ style.
Thanks to your money
We were able to rent an attic apartment
On Prado Street
Across from the Ateneo de Madrid
From where we could see its roof
Through a small window.
To the small attic
We had to enter on our knees
You first
Me saying to your ass:
-I adore you, I bless you.
Once inside
We could stand up
Going straight to the bedroom
Passing through the kitchen
With a bathroom included
Leaving our clothes there.
Our two sexes united
We sang glories and praises
To the cock.
-My love for you has no end, I would tell you
Trying to touch with my penis
The uvula of your throat.
-Give me seven orgasms
So I can father a child, you would tell me.
When we finished, we would do 69
And with our tongues we would clean
You my penis, me your cunt
Always together with you
As evening fell.

Waiting

My father died of Cancer.
His mother, my grandmother,
died of Cancer.

I will die of Cancer.

They suffered horrible deaths.
I will suffer a horrible death.
I’ve come to terms with this. 

I’ve contemplated suicide—
as I’m sure they must’ve as well. 

Both had nothing to live for 
except alcohol, cigarettes, family, friends—
life itself. 

I live for these things too—
but also for my philosophy,
the written word—
the chance to exist unhindered—
an unborn audience—

to live dead forever
with Nietzsche, Plato,
Alexander the fucking great. 

But that’s stupid.
Pointless.

The human animal
isn’t worth saving. 

Yet,
still I go on.

Man Accused of Masturbating at Annapolis Starbucks

What a headline to read
on page eleven 
of the local newspaper.
The twenty-eight-year-old man 
faces up to nine years in jail.
A woman who entered the Starbucks
for a cup of coffee observed the man
sitting at a table near the entrance,
his right hand moving “rapidly”
inside his sweatpants. She screamed.
The man fled next door 
to a fast-food chicken restaurant
where he was arrested,
his trial, scheduled
six weeks from now,
in Annapolis District Court. 

Sparkling Arsenic

Birth dogs while death bitches.
You know: cunts, cocks, curfews abound.

¡Bark! ¡Bark! ¡Woof! ¡Bark! ¡GRNNGHLHRR! 
Or: your eyes glistery as hectares of lit 

rain-sprayed windows at Seattle’s dusk
on my eyes make my heart crawl with lice

and its mad thrompity thrompings don’t 
curb one single lice-itch—thank god. Our

twosome smothers the smothering the angels
smother the smothered with. I.e.,

me. O, life’s shittings: all the shit that’s 
fit to print weighs on me as much as

raindrops on Mount Rainer. When
I’m with you. Wherever upon the warp

of the world we are. I wish my cock
was twenty stories high, or thirty, or

vapor if that’s what you want. I don’t care.
Duh. So long as you like me liking you.

Let this be the most beautiful thing I’ve 
ever–forever afterward included–ever said:

you are life yet you are fair. Or: 
you are life yet you are fair. ¡Bark!

Marry and Reproduce

Backyard CIA stress positions have left me forgetting how to breath so would you place your hand on my chest, reach in, give it a squeeze?
Stepping on wasps
It’s like stepping on wasps
Those little sounds that they make 
Bodies pop
And from the mouth of a licensed professional it came:
“Marry and reproduce
Do it again and agin”
But It’s another lecture
Come too fucking late
‘Cause I’ve pulled out again
Bore you a thousand sons 
all left to die on your back 
all to protect the women of the world from any future attack
Staked from throat to heart, cigarette in lips, I am the conquerer worm
Burrowed deep
And they say take as needed or just take it all
Fix your imperfections
Botched resurrection 
Weak chin
Weak heart
a throwback with
blood in your cum 
shades of Caligula on your gums
Half drunk to death
6 am 
Porch lights still on
Yeah, you’ll like it right here 
It’s home, comfort
fuck it, you’ll be dead in a year

Being Born Bent

and knowing 
even then
at a micro age
something was completely off
and possibly not fixable

The fights
cops
the disappearance of my mother
the dad who was not
my biological dad
knowing every time
I went outside
everyone balked
stared
whispered
but no one ever tried
to salvage my wreckage

It’s always reassuring
when you’re on the outside
of the cage
pointing at the dilapidated
worn beast

Dark circles formed under my eyes
by age ten they were permanent
from those early years of
sleepless nights
where sounds began as whispers
grew savagely into screams

And nights when they were locked up
or drugged out
Grandma at any minute – and mostly
in the wee hours
would wail endlessly
so guttural and piercing
from the poison of thunderbird
or whatever she was able to swig down that remained……I remained
in that house
for years after
as if I could repair it
the caved in roof
the cracked windows
my irreparable parents
and full-crocked grandmother

I remained so long 
rooted
like a desperate weed
roamed the streets
begging for comfort
as if the streets
were safer
than my scarcely furnished home
as if

Love to Hate

God-awful people
are kinda cool
because they
dare to blatantly
be who they are—
annoying in the most
cloying sort of way
and everything
they say or should I say
verbally hurl
makes your toes curl
and their worst impulse
makes your blood curl
and raises your pulse
for they are the absolute worst
thing to happen to humanity
and they make you
get this close
to losing your sanity
but then out of the blue
they do something nice
like smile or act courteous
and you no longer feel
so very murderous
and realize they’re just
faulted and confused
and multifaceted
just like the rest of us
and they have their own worth
though you still secretly wish
they’d all go extinct
like the Tyrannosaurus Rex
that once roamed the earth