I want to taste the perfume of your mouth
until I go numb with pleasure and pain
I have become
An echo of past reckoning
The un-being of a person
Pleasured by my own undoing
By a boy with a vendetta
Against the many wombs
Who conspired against him
and his brotherly abode
In the world of men this was an unspoken treaty
That man and woman
Lived on separate islands
Bridged between their only similarity
The sex:
That new beginning
The dust,
And the ennui of innocence –
At some point they become insufferable.
I thought of summing it up in a boo hoo memoir
Like, -Diary of a Swatted Fly-
Yeah, my good news awakening gifted to other
Ever after at a loss assholes.
I tell ya, that Catholic soot, ain’t no amount of sin
That can scrub it off.
Into the confessional.
The raspy voice,
Issuing from the other side of the grille,
I can still hear it clearly.
‘And now I want you to say one Our Father,
one Hail Mary, and one Glory Be,
Very s-l-o-w-l-y.’
And is the tempo supposed to make it any
Fuckin’ holier, Father?
Me, any fuckin’ sorrier?
By tomorrow my soul’ll be dripping wet with the
Same sorta transgressions.
And I treasure that wetness, the water right outta Jezebel’s
Cooze, cuz it washes off the dust of your reset;
Your ‘state a grace,’ which only cakes up under my
Fingernails.
No wonder I gotta bad habit of scratching others.
Let my prey thus be anointed!
It’s easy, when ya cease to be haunted by a god so
Breathless running down the centuries he can’t answer
You in prayer.
The image of matted hair crowning a rusting antique which,
If it could speak, might sound like a cross between Dustin
Hoffman and Russell Crowe- it don’t bother me like before.
Cuz I left my innocence with a litany of witches,
Left it drowning in their blood.
Hey! Your words, my Lord:
‘Thou shalt not suffer…’
I love my modus of twenty-two exits.
The sharp tip goes in, then comes out.
Out! Out of time, out of love, out of rust and
Dust and suffering and penance and…Flies!
From the witches’ wounds grow the trees of
My new Eden.
‘Bless me, Father, for I have made a garden where
neither Lord nor larvae can flourish.’
Already I’m bored again.
What are birds
In the night
If not air’s flat iron
Of bone, the river’s mercy
Sings, a darker cadence –
Do you know
The place I mean
No trains run there
There are no birds to speak of.
At first glance the world is always terrifying
Then beautiful, then terrifying again –
Where do they put all of the things we’ve seen
After we go, who will speak of the snow
That fell across our life
In perfect layers of mute blue hush
It’s dark
Here. It is morning.
It is almost as it never was.
I was happy to have seen
What little of the world I saw.
Pain gave me more than it took.
There was never enough beauty
For any of us.
I could say more
But the words don’t feel right.
I’ll leave it at that.
Sue slips up to her knee in the muck.
Without admitting it,
we’ve been both, lightly drunk,
looking for a place to fuck
back here in the swamp.
Now we admit to looking for a place
to dry Sue’s pants.
We chance on a knoll
of moss and rotting leaves around
the trunks of a pine and a maple; then
she shuffles off her jeans, hangs them on
a low branch, and I’m taking mine off,
she’s removing her blouse.
We hold each other naked and smiling.
After rolling and humping in the dirt,
coming, uncaring about anything
but sunshine and sex,
we rest, chatting; realize we followed
into the swamp and embraced
much like the first night
we wound up in bed together.
The sun budges toward dusk. Shadows
lengthen. My underpants
lost, jeans muddied, testily sobering up,
pine needles down our backs,
trudge homeward out of the swamp uphill.
She got very deep
into spirituality
at her mother’s
sound advice
A lot of people,
including her mother,
got into spirituality
as a means to calm
the feeling of having
no control over life
whatsoever
But behold,
there are those who
go through spirituality
and come out knowing
that it none of it’s true
Suddenly they know
and understand we have
one hundred percent control
over our own destinies
Today she was one
of those people
“It’s all a matter of
how we manage our
thoughts,” she said
“How we organize
our minds. You attract
what you focus on
most of the time.
It’s that simple.”
The guys at the bar all
nodded, each hoping
to get some private
lessons out of her
And one of them did
He took her to his place
where he found out that
she was on her period
And she used her dead father’s
severed thumb as a tampon
“Indeed,” she said
as she put it back in
“I and the father are one.
He had created me
in his image and
I am a part of him.
I am therefore never apart
from him and he is never
apart from me.
Oh, young soul,
please brace yourself.
There is so much I have
to teach you.”
He got into the lotus position
beside her and listened
There was nothing
else to do
It was just like one of the old nights,
Those nights of chaos and utter
Derangement. I got in early and began
My often trudged path to total
Obliteration; beer came in pints and
The whiskey came in doubles and one
Followed the other until I didn’t care
Anymore. I ventured outside for a
Much needed smoke, smiling, scanning
The scene of St James’s Street on this
A typical early Friday night. All
The usual crazies were around and, as
Usual, felt just like one of them as the
Smoke takes hold but before too long I
Got back and inside again, returning
Quickly to my throne, my stool, at
The bar in my delinquent palace of fun.
I got back into it until my reflection in
The mirror behind the bar is nothing but
A blur and I know, calling the barman
Over, it’ll be time for just one more.
“A god-damn half-pint but always take
The double,” I tell a blur of a person behind
What I hope is the bar and as they come over
I stand to my feet, drain some of the beer
Before hitting the whiskey all the way down
And before anyone knows it the beer is gone
With me not far behind it, down the road to
The safe sanctuary of my room for a smoke
Enjoying the beauty of sweet oblivion.
For you
the extra mile
the long talk
the last sip
all I have
and then some
mountains
move em
forget the world
here is a hand
that knows
the dirt
the blood
lost to blood
for you
the very last mile
bullets from every direction
the hardest part
the very last bite
the other shoe
this back; climb
on
I hear them down below
sayin; just jump already
they don’t even live in the same world as us
whatever it is
give it here
I’ve got you
whoever you are
reading this
right now
when your night is long
and you can’t shorten the distance
between your hand and your heart
I’ll do what I can
to see you through it
I want to see you through it.
Aw, man, rehab.
I asked, “Is this
Really necessary?”
It was just three DUIs,
The nose-candy thing,
And a couple hassles
With disturbing the peace.
It ain’t all that much.
But, no rehab and my
Workin’, bill-payin’ woman
Was gonna cut my ass off
Cold. No cash, no nookie.
So I got with the program.
Got some mellowing drugs.
Got the shot that made
My tongue stick out.
Attended the boring classes.
Then came the enlightenment:
Backslidin’ was expected,
Actually seen as a part of
The recovery program.
That I could handle.
Sashayed out and had
A scandalously wild week.
Not sure when the cops
Corralled and returned
This heathen to the haven.
Don’t know when or where
I got this tattoo on my weezer.
Got some mellowing drugs.
Got the shot that made
My tongue stick out.
Then, got the bad news.
The state’s done with me.
No insurance, no money,
My woman done gone broke.
They put me on the street.
But still the law said
I gotsta be in a program
Or it’s Sing Sing time.
So now, I got my collar,
My shots, and my leash.
Three days a week,
The ol’ lady takes me
To obedience school.
I’m okay, the Lord knows
That I can hump a leg
With the best of them.
The minister on television
says these are the end days.
That might be true,
but I’ve heard the same thing said
every day since I was born.
That might just be
because I was born in the end times,
but when you look back to the past
and read history
you find that the preachers
have always been saying
“We’re living in the end days.”
You can place bets if you want.
Check the Las Vegas odds
on survival from day to day,
month to month, year to year.
Maybe you’ll win big.
Maybe you won’t.
You’ll never collect
if you bet the bomb will go off
in the next half hour.
It’s probably better
to tune it all out.
Pretend the news isn’t there.
Who knows if it’s real anyway?
All of it.
Truth is easily hidden,
confused, lost
in the noise from talking heads.
Live your life now.
Love your life now.
Be nice to people,
even if you hate their guts,
if only to see the surprise
on their faces.
Watch your garden grow a half inch
in the new March weather.
Who cares if you live long enough
to see flowers let alone fruit.
You’ve got it all made in the shade
until that last moment
when you don’t.
I cheered, maybe a little too much.
The next day, you said you loved me
then called for my hearse
You are so impatient
You couldn’t even give a girl time
to get ready
to die
Before I knew it,
my ride was there
And you had me all set, pale-faced
to your two-faced
I didn’t get a chance
to show you my underwhelming
zombie-cheerleader kick
You would’ve been charmed
I’m sure
You always said I could make you laugh
like no other
So, now I’m a good little dead girl
’cause I know
You will never laugh the same
again
Horror Sleaze Trash 