Aafia Siddiqui.

i am ashamed. why didn’t they just murder you, like they did your young child? why didn’t they sell your 2 oldest to Afghan Warlords, as they do? your existence is a stain on us. i cry dry tears for your suffering so long in the despair of Nations. your broken body, deformed spirit wake … Read moreAafia Siddiqui.

Rough Poetry

The Poetry is gone.Left in a hurryafter getting dressed;Drank the last swig of wine,emptied my walletbefore slamming the door.It’s mourning again,the Sun’s accusations burning …The Poetry asked for it rough,begged to be hurt,said it wanted to feel alive.Now I feel guilty, ashamed -the wine and wallet are inadequate,my own death is inadequate.My poor, sweet poem:ravaged … Read moreRough Poetry

heart’s marketplace

I stand at the bar trying to hold on through the waves     of visions: Letters to Muses, eons since last week. Whores that will not tell me the price … Insisting it was me     – the whore – demanding payment! We’ll never get anywhere if we can’t agree on Buyer & Seller.

Ruination Day

Had I known The visions would plague My waking hours, I might have rejected Such flippant pleasures. Were I aware of the suffering, The blindness that comes from staring into the sun, I might have caught my train. But I was not, And now, I am able to see nothing – The blackness of ecstasy: … Read moreRuination Day

modality

Shall it be said that we did what we could, limited only by what we would? Shall we not consider that we should, even if it means it would be good? and where does charity stop and genuine love begin? can we not continue to shop for love again? (and again and again and again)? … Read moremodality

I have not died

I could never be what was needed, the peace negotiator was murdered in Belgrade, during the battle of trust against the savage Serbs. And without negotiators, there will never be peace. platitudes and flattery won a tenuous retreat so that my wounds could fester in love’s mad jungle. Reaching the edge, there is no satisfaction … Read moreI have not died

Expensive Whores

i’d forgotten how much she enjoyed being beaten; being cared for enough that energy would be expended. I’d forgotten what the expenditure of energy meant for her: a budget of love that could be deposited into her. I can appreciate that money won’t get into her pants, & I can really appreciate how slapping her … Read moreExpensive Whores

August Dreams of September

The August dreams alter all of time. It is the future now, but I can’t live in it. A persistent sensation that might cause one to question the surrounding circumstances: August moons appear in September, the stars ever off. They might question my ability to understand time. They might question my agreement.

hang-ups

She hides her hang-ups behind unspoken regularities: Lights off, T-Shirt on, Panties on. Occasionally she loses herself in a rare moment of passion – Burning bright, twisting pleasure into knots – her hang-ups are gone. Those moments are why I bother: to have the sun enwrap you! Who wouldn’t – even if it’s so rare?

Whims

This terminal illness of love;its unbearable weight upon my back,its fangs upon my heart…I pray only for entranceinto your kingdomwhere I know devotion is devouredin appetizing first courses.I will go too soon, I know,but it is no use to fightas the lion holds a tenuous agreementwith all of mankind,that its victims will beat the whim … Read moreWhims

Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind