little Hitlers
if I could,i’d join throngsof Little Hitlersdiscussing thepossibilitiesof a pointlessbut still meaningfulexistence.
Poetry
how shall
should i not live the resistance of prose or believe in the salvation of Parisian Orgies? Shall we not mute our minds’ deafening shrieking drilling into the hearts of men lost to the teeth of hell hounds, with all things that can mute such treasures? should i not rejoice in the rejection of sanity that … Read morehow shall
fuck shit
fuck. shit. fuck shit. it’s come again. nagging voices, uncertainty, doubt masquerading as sadness. it comes in rays of sunshine through slatted blinds and soft tendrils of hair left on my pillows to be stared at like a 2 headed cat. You can’t keep everyone from knowing just how much you can’t hide from yourself … Read morefuck shit
letters to gods
dearest Venus, tell me if you’ve read these silent nothings of empty orgies consisting of only you and I, Please? Would you tell me if the soft spot between your breasts was really meant for someone else? Is there an efficiency equation I could apply for the joy you provide to my over-lonely heart? I … Read moreletters to gods
untitled #19
You sleep like lions stalk i’m no diner worthy. just watching you dream, i would lay down for you to eat me.
hepcat fuck
two lovers cum just off from the other 5/8 – 2/3 – it’s a jazz rhythm the legs, Pushed up driven hard against walls, Pushed from the belly, up from the diaphragm palm flat upon Breast, breath in heavy beats in/out in/out slowing for the passion that demands each pore be inspected for genius lurking … Read morehepcat fuck
too much, never enough
Momentarily reeling, head trying to spin stuck to an ugly body: it is the curse of thought. And all I can think of are my dirty fingers pinching the wet skin, the pelt of warm invitations squeezing firmly these lips hidden in pubic-hair forests, when, puckered by my pinching grimy digits, I plunge (never as … Read moretoo much, never enough
price is words
it’s a Brutal Sun that exposes my sins … A gruff voice describing my own failures … He says, “angel” and the moment clarifies: the price is words.
Not
I won’t look at you. Will not. Will not want. You. Your eyes will not see me. Can not. Can not desire. Me.
untitled #7
Jump out of your eyes until attention is all that’s left; dower corpses animated on chemistry wasted upon chemical swaps / swamps. [ was it your voice ] [ I once dreamed ] [ each saturday night? ] it was not certainly