Warning,
this poem
may contain
language
and images
which may be
disturbing
to some
readers.
The words
featured
are performed
with the writing
of professionals
and should
not be attempted
at home
without adult
supervision.
Reader discretion
is advised.
all the stores are closed
but we have enough smokes
to fill the ash trays with butts
to pace grooves into the wooden
floors, to peak out from
behind every shard of broken blinds
to dance sinister, our genitalia
angry and corrupted with every thrust
to rail crank until the end of the week
sitting idle and naked, the breeze
from the broken window alien
on our marble haunted bones
I know we haven’t eaten in
like three days & I know you’re
getting tired of the moonlight
& I know the director has
been beating on the door
for the last twelve hours
he must be mistaken, I guess
he thinks the party is finally over
but I don’t know how to stop
& you don’t leave the bed now
without it and our skeletons
only know how to sway in
chemical patterns; we have
forgotten how to greet
the sun-shined world
with anything that isn’t disdain
tentacles appear
to enter a girl’s pussy
and come out her mouth
mommy wants to show
you her new boyfriend + teach
you how to please him
amateur women
uploading videos of
them masturbating
yr bully agrees
to stop if he can fuck yr
mom + make you watch
fifteen minutes of
women humiliating
themselves for pleasure
on a crowded bus
a japanese woman is
groped for an hour
a bratty legal-
aged teen gets punished by her
stepmom + likes it
the search term ‘gentle’
is only used w/the term
jack off instruction
a dominatrix
puts a man’s wife in a cage
+ fucks his ‘bitch ass’
a woman jerks off
w/a strapon that shoots ropes
of cum on her face
sex w/tentacles
does not seem to count as
bestiality
a circle of eight
young women masturbating
while filmed from above
jewish mom cracks jokes
anally masturbating
watching her own screen
office lesbians—
boss makes her secretary
sniff her nylonned feet
only french women
in french pornos smile during
sex even anal
russian woman plays
three characters at same time
all showing upskirt
training video
for bimboification
might cause seizures
There’s an uncertain essence of a spun out drunken night
We play game show at the bar w/ the choosing
of the most fitting cocktail on the rocks
Another chance to exploit our unearthed issues
in a gin-drowned diatribe
The punk band mocks the animal audience
sausage packed into polyester irony
Spun out on a blissful Saturday
For the 4 hour ritual
Throwing darts at the head of my despair
Emboldening the half breed acts
Imagining the heuristic notions will explode
my dying sexuality
Halcyon flesh, witness the sun’s incest
Blinding lights of autumn’s fading spire
washed up mentions, half past noon
Dancing to the bird’s migration croon
“She was the type of woman who would
have brought tears to the eyes of John Ruskin”
Maurice Dekobra
Her idea for a gap year was
to save all the tips she made
working as a cocktail waitress in
an upscale pub and from some soft
core hooking on the side. Soft core
hooking, to her, meant causal tricking
without a pimp, casual hints dropped,
beverage napkin dates, cell phone
numbers exchanged. “I like the older
guys. They have more money,
are more than likely married,
and don’t ask questions and, man,
they expect the same. I don’t do
perverted. Not for money anyway.”
Was planning on doing the European
tour, on her back, first hand, in depth
research for a Baedeker’s Guide
to Getting Laid, she was going to
call, Do it on the Rails: Getting
the Most from Your Euro Pass
and Have Fun Doing It. Something
like that, anyway. If that didn’t work
out, her back up plan was a Sociological
study on the sexual habits of the horny
European Male: You Don’t Need
a Translator to Have Good Sex.
Sociology wasn’t her major, and she
couldn’t write worth shit, but that
was something she’d worry about after
the research was finished, and recorded
in a diary she’d lose somewhere between
Buda and Pest. Thought protection during
intercourse was “for wimps, was like playing
Russian Roulette with an empty gun,”
when it was more like playing with one
chamber empty, high stakes stud poker
with someone else’s money, drawing a card
for an inside straight.
She left me sitting alone in McDonalds
Didn’t take a bite of her Big Mac
Or touch a single one of her French Fries
She grabbed her Coke then walked away
And never even looked back
I thought about eating the fries
Although I had lost my appetite
It wasn’t because I was hurt by the drama
She spreads ketchup on top of all of them
Instead of dipping each fry
I’m sure you know the type
When it comes to eating French fries
Her method doesn’t follow proper etiquette
Even though it bothered me I never said a word
Because she gets pissed off so quickly
And becomes belligerent
I didn’t understand what just happened
It left me totally confused
Why did she Super Size her order
If she wasn’t going to eat the food
We had a date to go for dinner
I couldn’t figure out why she got upset
I told her she looked gorgeous
But maybe a little overdressed
She looked surprised when we arrived
And said McDonalds you’ve got to be kidding
How insensitive of me to take her to McDonalds for dinner
Knowing her favorite hamburger joint is Burger King
another lazy afternoon
where the mind
wanders from endless
love to sudden suicides
yet another tragedy
on the highway
broken families litter
the countryside
half want to elect a king
the other half wants to
be free
there are ghosts in these
fields
you can hear them cry
when the wind blows
calmly at night
they wanted to be free
as well
you can almost hear
the heartland love songs
the other night, someone’s
baby daddy raced the devil
down route 28 and lost
his motorcycle bent into
an obelisk outside the supermarket
a monument to a moment
now eclipsed by sorrow
In places like this
the buffalo no longer roam
instead they circle the skies
as lingering white clouds
bringing rain down on the
brimmed hats of farmers
their children smoke marijuana
hunt for the cool glow
of urban rebellion, the distant
horns of longing fade in the foothills
In places like this
we dance along the gravel country roads
in the beds of pickup trucks
with the lights out so we can watch
the galaxy spin above our heads
watch the gods sway in celestial winds
cheap beer, our sacrament to nirvana
or whatever destination awaits us all
in the dark
In places like this
I am a ghost
When radio was invented
there was already a
smooth jazz station
but can you hear my
transmission?
from a Super 8 motel
parts unknown
to all the easy riders
on the Missing in Action Highway
and the Lonely Hearts Club
at the Green Door
can you hear me?
there’s Vaseline on the clock
time is slipping away
I’ve loved so very few
that have drifted through
the empty Kmart of my life
we all just pissed in the wind
and crossed streams
shared cigarettes to the filter
drove until there’s no gas
stole change from unlocked cars
so we could take the bus home
then there’s always a day
that the music died
and right now
the wind is blowing
the end is nigh
so meet me at
Friendship Park
on the swings
3am sharp
before my voice fades
the radio cracks
and it’s nothing
but smooth jazz
No one really knows
how they end up naked
in the bartender’s bed, but
I do remember we talked
about what happens after
we die.
Red solo cups in a studio
apartment. Cheap, familiar
gin. We settled on a sort
of agnosticism, something purple
and eternal that we’d never
truly know.
Then that inevitable shift
to on top and under. His hands
splay around my ribcage.
I’ll be the first to admit I bit
my lip too. I tell him, “use
a condom.” He tries to barter,
“just
the tip.” Then my feet on his chest
like pushing off from the edge
of a swimming pool. I beg
the sweetest “please.” He rolls
his eyes, spits that corner of foil.
Now I can smile when commanded,
“open
your legs.” Fucking hell.
Some of the best dick
I’ve ever gotten. Fireworks
in my lower back. Somehow,
it felt like mango tastes.
Then
hands fan like dove wings
above my hip bones and he says,
“I want you to have my babies”
and nails curl into my back and
“two of them” harder now I say,
“absolutely
fucking not” and his hand
reaches for the condom
that’s strangling him and I
start crying not for any
virtuous reason but because
I know
I have to push away when I
want it so bad. Could you just
stop talking, please? Maybe just
face fuck me so hard I can’t
think anymore. Just choke me
until
I feel purple and the last thing
I see is you throwing the condom
across the room. I have to be
ruined to enjoy this but I want
to enjoy it so badly
daddy
yes that’s what you want to be called daddy
turn on the fucking lights daddy
I’m going to cry while I put on my clothes daddy
no I’m not that beautiful daddy
no I don’t want to finish my drink daddy
I’ve never felt like such a good girl saying “no” to so many things daddy
I’m going to carry my sweater and jacket and belt and toque in my arms like a little baby as far away from you as possible daddy
this is the closest we will get to dying while still being alive daddy
I want you to know daddy
that I’m going to take an Uber home absolutely soaking my panties, go up to my apartment, put a condom on my bright pink dildo, and fuck myself with it while thinking about you and being really fucking confused about it daddy
but I’m also going to close my eyes and take the condom off in between thrusts and hope to god I feel the difference so no one else can ever do what you tried to do to me daddy
and I know I will cum and cum and hate that you have everything to do with it daddy
oh and daddy I hope that when you do really die it is completely and utterly
black
Horror Sleaze Trash 