Scary Story

I will die

the same as
my father died

and his father
before him.

Once those facts
are laid out
on the table
from the opening gambit
there isn’t much
left in this life
that could give me

THE FEAR.

Rhetorical Question

after sitting there
listening
to their tedious conversation
where they relentlessly insulted
all men
from
all walks of life
referring to them with names
such as:
assholes
douchebags
and
liars
amongst other things
while suggesting that
it was impossible
for them to find
anybody
even remotely
worth dating
in this
big city of ours
I finally
took a sip of my beer
and proposed
a simple question –
“did you ever think that,
perhaps you’re a cunt?”

Poet Fucker

I slept next to her
in the same bed for a week.
Each time I looked over
I became disgusted
at all her lies, the guys she fucked to be a better poet.
“Even my cock doesn’t have that much magic,” I told her. “Keep writing.”
The way she breathed, the nocturnal language she spoke,
the way she kicked her legs like somebody running from home
blamed it on insomnia, never mentioned the Adderall
then would get up and paint her nails over and over
her eyeballs were about to fall from the sockets
and her voice, more metal than bus brakes at 5am.
I couldn’t watch anymore.
I turned the other hip towards the window
watched hustlers in long coats work tourists in Pershing Square,
crack heads strutting like pigeons
scanning for dropped rocks on the sidewalk,
a man wore a garbage bag as a tutu
pirouetting for a god that never answered his prayers,
a Chinese woman crouched on the sidewalk to take a shit
wiping with a brochure a missionary just handed her.
I wished I was out there
where the insane
know exactly what they are.

one of those shits

it’d been a while
since i had to shit like that
it was one of those cheek squeezers
where you try to hold it together
running for the bathroom
hoping you don’t let lose
fortunately i made it
even had time to grab
my copy of
the complete works of william shakespeare
though i will confess
i wasn’t really in the mood for theatre
it didn’t take much of a push
but christ
the shit just wouldn’t stop
i thought for sure
i’d find my guts floating
when i got up from the pot
and to make matters worse
it was one of those shits
you just can’t wipe off
even if you stand up; get into it
the more you wipe
the more shit on the paper
it was one of those shits
that stayed with me
all day
everywhere i went
i could feel it
rustling around back there
such is life
no matter how much
you try to wipe away the shit
or hide it
with love
religion
politics
it remains
a deep dark secret
clinging
to your most private parts

Sometimes I like role play

I’ll be your slutty student,
your damsel in distress,
the cheerleader to your football star,
even a dominatrix.
But don’t you dare,
make me call you
Daddy.

He’s the reason I crave sex.
The reason I despise it.
The reason I hate the word,
Daddy.

After he came into my room,
I had no chance.
He sat down beside me,
pretending to watch me sleep.
In case mom walked by.
But he slipped a finger in me
and covered my mouth
with my teddy bear.

My eyes shot open.
I knew this was wrong
but at thirteen
the hormones had kicked in
and I did as he said.

Moan.
Arch your back.
Bite your lip.
I did it all.
I pretended he was my history teacher.
He has hot and young.
He was not my daddy.

Shut the door.
Remove your clothes.
Lay back down.
Don’t tell your mother.
He always kept a finger inside me.
I moaned – like he asked.

As he rubbed my stomach,
squeezed my growing breasts
and finally kneeled over my naked body
he looked me square in the eye.
Then told me he knew what I did with the neighbor boy
and demanded I show him what I had to offer.

He threw my legs back.
My toes hit the headboard,
revealing all of my young, bare pussy
and he shoved all of himself inside of me.

The cock that created me,
was now in me.
The hands that once held me,
pushed my thighs against the mattress.
I couldn’t hide that I was wet,
pretending he was someone else
and gasping for breath between pounds.

I shut my eyes tightly.
He forced me to open them.
To stare at him
as he pumped himself in and out and
he watched as his speed made my boobs bounce
faster and faster.
He told me to moan for him as he went deeper.
Mmhmm, Daddy.
Oh yeah, Daddy.
Harder, Daddy, harder.
Daddy.
Daddy.
Daddy.

Stop!

Please treat me like the sexy nurse to your patient.
The dumb secretary to your boss.
Even the victim to your rapist.
Just never,
ever,
make me call you,
Daddy.

She’s Not a Whore, She’s Your Whore (There’s a Difference)

She never goes ass to mouth
on the first date.

She’ll pour you another drink
cook you dinner in six-inch heels
& pay for her own abortions.

She loves titty fucking.
She doesn’t wear underwear.
She’ll squirt if you suck on her clit just right.

You’d marry her if she believed in marriage.

All she needs is your love.
So what’s stopping you?

What Not Being Depressed Feels Like

Holly and I went down to sell plasma
seven days a week and never bled
a drop or squeezed centrifuge release
or felt the cold return
that exchanged money to burn.

Every time Holly and I arrived
shaking and glancing at other folks
who supplemented their odd habits
such as children and crushed pills
straight glass pipes and electric bills.

Every time we leafed through paperwork
every time shocked by the details of blood
and what doctors might find in the test
seven days I pushed the papers at
the nurse with whispered bullshit.

Same bullshit seven different ways all cuts the same.

Seventh day we sat on Holly’s bed
in her disgusting room where we bred flies
and traded most pleasant lies,
where I’d leave her when she’d cry
and I’d go fuck someone else.

The seventh day she lifted her face
quick away from the shimmering plate
And swallowed back something cheap and sharp.

Snorted with cute fist on nose
with a theory to propose
she asked, “is this what not being depressed feels like?”

A Lesson In Listening To Others

For 3 weeks straight
she called every night
looking to come over
what did I care
I had nothing else going on
I’m not sure why
I never considered myself
a great lover
but one person’s trash
is someone else’s treasure
so maybe I was hers

there would be very little
in conversation
we would strip down
have sex
make some noises
smoke cigarettes
like the orgasms were
all that great
and then just lay there
that was the most real
I ever felt
as her finger tips
gently moved
up & down
torso to chest
and back

she would then try to talk
about “us”
future plans
likes
dislikes
I would pretend to listen
as I remained in my own sanctuary

morning would come and she would leave
just as she came
with very little conversation

the phone stopped ringing after a while
I wondered what happened
I guess I should have paid more attention
to what she was saying

she probably broke up with me
and I didn’t even know it

you’re sure you still don’t wanna shower with me?

Now
that you’re gone
I need to learn
how to be
alone
again.

I have to
re-learn
how to sleep alone,
how to eat alone,
how to watch movies alone,
how to take showers alone,
and let me tell you,
showers
just aren’t as fun
without a nice, cute,
naked girl
showering
next to you.

I took
a shower
yesterday
alone
and it made me
sad.
It made me sad
because you weren’t there
naked,
singing
and dancing
and wiggling your wet butt
to punk rock tunes
playing off
your phone.
When the shower head
saw you weren’t there
with me today
it cried salty tears
on me
instead of water,
and that made me
wanna cry too,
because crying
can be contagious
like laughing,
and like herpes,
and like laughing herpes.
I was so sad
I didn’t know
what to do,
so I just stood there
and thought about how
if you hold
a black comb facing
downwards
on your upper lip
it looks like a mustache,
but if you hold it
facing upwards
over your lips
it looks like you have
a robot smile.
Those are
the kinds of things
you think about
when you’re sad
and alone
and the shower head
is crying
on you.

Then I remembered
I was supposed to be
showering,
but I didn’t wanna
shower alone,
so I went to my room,
and grabbed my old, stuffed
teddy bear.
His name
is Cool Bear.
(I’ve had him
since I was 6 months old)
He and I
used to be pretty tight,
so I had him
shower with me.
It wasn’t the same
as when you showered
with me
though.
He didn’t sing
or dance
or wiggle his wet butt.
Actually,
it was kind of awkward.
He just stared at me
the whole time
with this really blank
expression
on his face.
It made me
uncomfortable,
really uncomfortable,
so I tried
washing his back
like I used to do
wash yours
but it wasn’t
as nearly
as nice.
You had nice, clean,
smooth skin,
and he had fur.
Lathering up
a furry back
doesn’t feel nice.
Not even a little bit.
Actually it feels
kind of gross.
My dick used to get hard
lathering up your back,
but I didn’t even
come close
to getting hard
lathering up his back.
I don’t think stuffed animals
are meant to be
showered with,
but I just didn’t know
what else
to do.

The whole thing
was a bad idea.
If anything,
it just made me
miss you more,
and although
I wasn’t aware of it
at the time,
it made me realize
I was beginning
to fall in love
with you
too.

Love
is having someone
who makes all the
mundane, boring shit
we have to do
on a daily basis
tolerable,
if not fun
and special.

Everything
felt much more special
with you around.
Even just
sitting next to you
and biting my nails.

You’re way better
than a teddy bear,
and not to belittle Cool Bear,
but you give
way better head
too.

I miss you.

family life

in the future
if you want
a family,
but cannot
afford one,
you will be able
to rent one
by the hour.

there will be
“Mom” and Junior
and Babs
the teenage daughter
and even gramps
in the attic
gummy without
his teeth.

you will sit down
to dinner with them,
ask your “wife’
about her day,
ask the kids
how school was.

you will listen
attentively
to everything
that is said
and dispense
fatherly advice
puffing on a pipe.

after you have
cleared the table
and done the dishes
an argument
will occur.

Junior or Babs
or both
will make a scene
over some small
thing,
and you will seek
to impose order.

your efforts
at authority
will be met
with sass
and disrespect.

you will put
one or both
of the children
in turn
over your knee
and give them
spankings,
perhaps lingering
over long
on one of
their asses,
drawing shouts
from “mom”
and colds stares
from gramps,
but you will
pull back,
restrain your
base instincts
so as not
to violate
the terms
of your contract,
and save
the whippings
for the bedroom
as you spend
the night
as man and wife,
rings upon fingers,
with this rented
stranger
only too happy
to oblige
your wildest whim
so long as you
stick around
in the morning
and make some
repairs
to the house.