Just a quick warning – this poem has caused people to: get up and walk out of readings, threaten me with severe injury, yell equally obscene things, etc. In short, this poem often offends people. If you are offended by anything you’ve seen so far, I’d suggest you not read this. If you are not so easily offended, then by all means, read on. If you’re under thirteen, I hope you have learned to think for yourself, otherwise, you may not want to read on. If you’re over thirteen, that’s your own damn fault; quit your whining and move on already.
But to give it the proper intro, I wrote this bit of prose that I think of as free form poetry without a page big enough to hold each line, shortly after I got off the phone with my mother. At the time, we were discussing the frame that defines the debate on pornography; me on the side of “it liberates women, is cool, etc.” and my mother on the other side. But I’d been discussing how so often in porn, the “money shot” is a load on the face, and I wondered at the implications. Then I came across some wretched Bush thing and this was the culmination of the two.
Jerk my cock and stroke my nipples until I cum
gallons of cum washing down the mountain of my head
stripe the lanes of this little road we walk with it.
Isn’t it what we want; Cum inside our eyes and our noses and our mouths and our ears, and our asses?
Isn’t this what we’ve all been waiting for, the next scene will only be the credits, are we all there?
Cum all over the windshield as I drive. It’s coating everything. Everything is under its dominion.
I have fallen subject to the pornographic wishes of an ever so noticeable idiot where I now have a gun and a ruck sack, not a fuck sack. Can I have a drink?
Can I drink my sorrows away after I’ve killed all that I can kill today? It’s just a prick, a small needle in my back where the penises are put, tiny penis shaped transmitters sending out the details of my movements.
Daddy is a cunt and he anxiously awaits my return, cock, balls, deep drawls, and everything TEXAS! We’re big here in this new order where the fries can chase you down and we will have a hydrogen car! We will have that thing in our asses that makes us walk far, on patrol, in a country we never learned about in school. Was that stick-it-up-our-ass-a-stan, or did we just take over Rhode Island?
I know, I know, it’s a need to know basis, but shouldn’t the executioners be convinced of the crimes of the condemned? Is it just my job to flip a switch without consequence or conscience? Is my job just to fluff the stars cock? Should I stop?
What if I bite down? Will the show go on? Or is that civil disobedience?
