jgtaylor

The pope is dead.dot.damn.dot.dead.dot.dead holy.dot.dead. well fed pigs at a trough, sleeping jerks dream cream colored screams. dot.dead. … dot . dead. not dead not dead not dead no offense no defense, no slips to trip undressing in pleasing essence of lives in doubt, in grace periods between payments for pavements of ripped up screaming … Read morethe pope is dead

it is your formLying asleep (on my pillow),that pulls my soulfrom my heart.it is your breathHeard faintly (over my rushing blood),that fills my heartwith your soul.it is your eyesSeeing things (i cannot)that beckons my approachto your lips.i am isolated in your kiss,frozen in the exploration lenguaof all the words that are not  – because to start … Read moreThe Gift

I have stolen myselffrom TV DinnersDreaming of Jeanieon velvet coucheswhere rooms force exclusionand small childrenare too cruel -I will strike withmy stolen teeth from Omahaand all it’s wild kingdomsagainst those that wouldhave me locked in basementswaiting for punishmentsthat already were.With spotlessly cleansed mouthI mouth these words…I am more than your self-loathing,more than your love, I … Read moreUntitled #21

Cry little boy.It’s just how life is.Doesn’t get much better,you just get used to it.Fat people are made fun of,you become a joke.Insecurities are pushed on you,and you’ll eventually give in.