jgtaylor

I want to masturbateinto a frenzy of dirtrising out of the plains –the guts of my soul.I want to fill the spacesbetween the lands withmy seed, forever rollingand forever loving.I want to tie my tonguein knots of grape vinesheld by string elicitedby my children’s fingers,frail in their 18 hour joybehind the man’s spinning wheel.I want … Read moreUntitled #73

Continents from home-Swirling Beauties-like me, 5 hours from home7 hours now,9 years sinceis there prime in all these odds?Odd beauties float aroundButterfly wings beating my heartmy soul, where I lovemore deeply than I could hateBirds on wires greetinggrey over cast – waiting the rush out.We’ll pay penance for crimesin past livesor will it work out … Read moreIHOP Dreams

Joe Berry was a bank robber went down in ’69 Got paroled in ’73 after doing a little time. No regrets and he wasn’t sorry except for a daughter he knew about in ohio Said he’d do it again,     everything just the same except for his daughter in Ohio. A war hero with some medals … Read moreJoe Berry

The first man to hold a bird in a cage found himself that bird of rage. I was a horrible child smearing passion across a wild landscape of lovers playing second fiddle to my true love, the Sphinx’s riddle. I wreaked havoc on church bells, I railed against imaginary hells and when my devils got … Read moreCaged Bird

Some people have sometimes been something but I have always been something just not quite the thing I have always wanted to be. so to Hell with Being Any Thing They want me to be today. Not Today.

There was a shine in his eyeswhen Rage was home.Like spring dreams,his cheeks would rouge.I did not want to coweror even dance.My dreams held a kisson his pursed lips.I would eat the stabsof dagger tonguein awe of the delicate flowersperched around his nose,where all I could thinkwas to smell him.I felt the holes in his … Read moreGregory Taylor

I hate your paintings like my grandmother’s sundays in front of laurence welk. You bore         -not into my soul until I’m shaken with Rage at your chance at immortality I want mine I want razor blades across your impressions     in pastel

My thoughts are hampered by my penA wretched human invention;a sad intellectual temptationto jot and rotwith the words now solidon paper as fragileas our soulsto be thrown awaywhen comes the daya death certificate to sign -Will my pen outlast this time?Or will another’s make the markforgetting me with the other pigeons    in the parkto have coffee … Read moreNoah’s Arc