screaming at low volumes
jgtaylor I digress with these dreams of home, instead of marching through the bowels of hell determined to reach the other side, conquered and acquired in a satchel of experiences…. were i stronger, able to refuse the dreams – Oh the drunken tales I could tell. But I am not and so I only have tales … Read moredamn the torpedoes
this kindness is as impure as my desires; to oft a ‘no’ is heard where acceptance is required. requited? No… they stream in front of the window where I stoke loneliness with great swings of my arms and I won’t speak to them; their garbled tongue grinds ears to pulp, their whore pussies sap lives … Read morewaiting on decency
I’d met him at the bar, or just outside it – a dive in DC where the powerful were not: just those of us dead inside. He’d told me he was a pimp, but i didn’t see any of his whores. The conversation was muddled and muted, when he finally said, “Sometimes, all a girl … Read moreSometimes, all a girl gots is her fuck
She says “He’s not good looking”, to her girlfriend, then tells me it’s not the same as ugly. she says I’ve got a small cock and that I sweat too much – I drip when we fuck. She gets annoyed in the morning when I probe her cunt with my semi-hard cock; most of the … Read morewhy do i bother?
all the possible futures i could never allow myself to imagine, are now dreams you’ve lived without me. cold comatose with unlimited stimuli leaves me sweaty in bed coughing, wheezing, wishing for the doldrums of your life. And how oft have I said, “I need wind!” to a heart crumbling in my pale breeze, left … Read morewhat could have been, was.
sunday grey the summer’s day with violet roll overs in dreams dreams dreams. can’t someone say what all this means? And this coincidence? will I get off this fence and decide if gifts are given or received: the full and empty hand are what the eyes perceived. she always wants a future that she can … Read moreheritics on Sunday
dip 2, don’t call back somewhere, i’ve got a shack to lie in: there’s a sofa sleeping behind me I woke up. drunk dial better written than done: in my head, it’s a gun that determines shicksal – always when I’m 88. i couldn’t stay straight so went down and gave it try; that dentist … Read morewasted efforts
the interesting thing, i find, is the blinding light that accompanies every grief. wrote poems, never a mention, made pictures it was acceptance. Had I read the letter closer, the lines that said, “accepted it”, I might have done nothing different. one imagines in that a venerability – vulnerability ( I did ) but … Read moreuntitled #413
buried under winters frost, dreams gone and dreams lost. I imagined her strong, black hair, green eyes; I imagined she would sing great lullabies; I imagined she was quick, a sharp tongued wit; I imagined her paintings, her poems and her dance; I imagined we would live in France. she was to be the best … Read moreItalian Easter
“At the bottom of this bottle,” i said, tilting it full throttle down my throat, down my throat – a whisper in my ear begging to choke; to find release in anesthetic, let the time pass mechanic each swish of the second hand; oh how that run was grand.