Sister Q.Z. (THAT’S ME!) 92
Had a man who couldn’t please me,
Didn’t even try to tease me,
Needing, as I do, a spank and a whack
When I scratch his brother’s back
I was a fat tub 94
Standing on squat legs
Young and begging
To be entered
But you gave me a diamond scrub
Descended upon me from above
And, in bubblebath crystals,
You brought me lilacs.
Until Winter Pops In For a Visit 94
He Reads
A Postcard From Iraq for Christmas
The people snub us
But to surrender. Send toothpaste.
Met many terrible, smelly men barracks crowded.
Great to be on shore patrol, off the ship.
It was a long four months at sea.
I may be home after a second wave
Of blood soaks the sand. Baby’s due
In July. No contraceptives or abortions
Available. It won’t have your eyes.
Your loving wife,
Chastity
By Twit Nevershare 91
I am modeling myself in porcelain
Halfbaked highlights, rerounded
And rerouted in the runny clay,
The glint of light does not enter me
As I shape the outside of my poetry
Porcelain yellows 92
With the thinstreamed truth
After the love juice
What if he, like a flatulent hero 92
Blares in your face, his finepointed part
“You’ve no violin, you petulant Nero!”
Adding an F to destroy your verbal art?
Why waste a woman’s life 92
With postage sent for vanity
Training her thoughts toward Gothic strife
When she could blow revolution’s fife
Instead of “mine”, instead of flirting with insanity?
You drive your car 94
Naked
But not without
A seat belt
This poem was written 91
By the man in the moon
“It’s sexual suicide to be
Lit like this, with freezing buns”
Message to Michelle 94
Translate me
With a little taste
Lick the words clean
Sucking sounds out
Before filleting them
Big balls bounce 91
Red and brown, down
The slopes of San Francisco
In pairs, past flower shops
Past the bakery, and into
The traffic below
BAY WINDOWS (94)
BROKEN OPEN
And Dickie breaks, too 92
Telescope illusion
Of coq au main
Always something miniature 91
In the mind when a lover’s absent
So stay off the street 93
And wear a sweater
Hamhock, sirloin, 94
Filet, shoulder,
Butt and Chuck
He separates his lovers
Into parts
She stuck a flower 94
In his barrel
He stuck a barrel
In her flower
We were taking a tour of the farm 91
Until, suddenly I screamed with alarm
Just seventeen goats and a bunny
So I thought it rather unfunny
To feel a goose on my bountiful charms
Telephone Tearings 94
I called an old boyfriend
Told him I was being eaten
Alive
He asked if he could help
I said the problem was too
BIG!!
For him to help with
And that this was to be my final,
Final goodbye
I can not color in your eyes 91
The oil on that old canvas,
Unfinished, dry, in cream
Skincolor sits. The studio,
Empty, I study your thighs;
I don’t think they’re right,
Either.
on joy 94
oh, joy!
enjoy on joy. enjoy joy.
enjoy joy on joy.
on joy, enjoy joy.
That’s the way 92
Baking
Delicate delights
No noise in the kitchen
Ingredients and temperature
Just right, perfect texture
On the cooling tray
And someone with a sledge hammer
Comes in to smash
The table and counter
The cookies and sink
The grass is the cousin 91
Of my ass
She is the motorized hum
Of a lawnmower
She is the growing
Prunedoctor
She is the weedeater
And sodlayer
She is the trimmer
Fingernails pulling at me
I cranked up the Grand Prix 92
For his girlfriend from Australia
While we were awaiting her plane
Said, “let’s go for a ride”
Told her, in secret, “I’m a storm
Buster. See that thunderhead?
We’re going into it.” We did.
At about a hundred, hydroplaning,
We rode the length of the storm and then
Turned around and rode the storm backwards.
She said her fear of airplanes had been cured.
(please note, it wasn’t written like
Turned around and rode the storm backward
doggiestyle,
Daisychaining with the other wild women, rough riders.
She said her fear of flying had been cured.
Now was it?)
Rosegarnished 92
Dinner
A lost recipe
Describing grief
Because love
Can be laughed at
(whereas laughing at grief is not PC)(That’s a TLA and
this is a TLA only that TLA is a twoletteranagram and
this one is three)
I bounced off of men 94
Like the drunk I was
To the player piano rhythm
Of dentists socializing
Feeling the spikes of their approval
Like pollenmasked migrant workers
On the side of the highway
Kerchiefs flapping against the napes of their necks
Garbage bag dragged in one gloved hand while the other
Speared the litter on the edges
Of my vagina.
Barmaid titmouse 92
With a pocket full
Of cheese
Doesn’t want to sell
Much more than sleaze
Cribbage 91
We peg for points
Look for pairs and threesomes
Doubleskunk when we can
Play listless
Play
Love that heals 92
Has to be
Like regular meals
In place, permanently
And the time it takes
When love’s alone
When forgiveness rakes
You to the bone
Is a kind of reprieve
For the kindness that made you forget to grieve
Poetry lives as long 92
As pen meets paper
In any gutter or penthouse
Where there is feeling to express
Or thought to share
But good poetry goes
Where great poetry doesn’t dare
And will until the penthouse pet
Kisses the gutter dog with glee
And calls the barking “great poetry”
Siniod at Maggie’s Nipple 92
Taut horizon
Pitted face of the moon
Rolling, round hills
Licked by lightning
Nobody is home 94
When
Nobody is foreign
But
I’ll bet I’ve had some boyfriends
Who could make a foreigner out of you.
Clothespin fever 91
spin fever
in fever
in ever
in Eve
I’ ve
“I”
All I see is the ugly, 94
Pretending so hard to be pretty.
I am pretty. I am.
Cuntlicker 91
I’m a cunt licker with long tongue
I eat them alive
But can’t tell you that
In a plain simple way,
Hide behind the mask
Of solopseudopsychology
And “your turn today”
Why not frame the remains? 92
Bronze the toothpick he used;
Put the wine glass under glass
With a touch of red wine and his dribble
Still inside, vacuum seal it.
He comes; he goes.
You don’t desperately need him
He comes; he goes.
You won’t leave up the toilet seat
He comes; he goes.
Finger, you “obscene” silly symbol, I watch 94
Myself blaming you for this expression
Now you won’t pick my nose or enter her crotch
And my hand gets the blame for this digression
Flowerless husband 92
Bearing bulbs
Removes his wife’s leg
From his flatulence.
Outside, bed bugs
Run to the warmth
Of hot air
Under satin sheets
Salt lick suckers 93
Froglike toads
Weather or not
We wear our thick skin
I’m going to say 94
Some really nice
Sensitive things
And then say,
“Hey! Trust me.”
On the lip of your KT boundary 94
I count 26 million years
With my fingers
Senses tuned to wild life 94
She was never alone
Give me a poetry I don’t understand, 94
A boy who walks like capital letters
And runs like a semicolon.
A golf and orgasm instruction video 94
Another wife 92
Wishing for
Separation
A state,
A lone star,
A bank failure,
After threatened divorce
DICKEY (94)
Turtleneck 94
Power
Of the questionable
Meaning
Murdered Moments 94
Unfolding face
Drinking the “rivulets
Between my breasts”,
But then he had to go
And chant and pop out
Into “night”, “earth”, “time”.
But for words 92
Like “dark leaps of time”
I would be happy to see
Two hands joined
(Or even four)
(Or hips, for that matter)
(Or hearts)
Your calamari living 91
Your scungilli life
Your pasta vasule
Your clam character
Your fettuchini sex
Your egg foo young legs
And your mayo shark mentality
Splat
Against those same damp
Dining room walls
Hey! I want my first seventeen in ribbons 94
Jazz Intonations in Intercourse, PA. 94
Your P.A. was a public address
Improvising on a latex fruit
The squishing sounds of evaporating consonance
Lubricated by light tinkles on the tin roof
And a romantic motif, barely remembered
Your lips lost in smudges of strawberry stain
No Wonder They’re Wimps 94
The court case
Displays
Bobbit glans
Bahloons 94
Six pense
Wadeyed
The perky nymphettes
Stir and snatch their Spring
Drools, while I, boss, task it out,
You play, you work, you get laid, you
Collect cucumbers from the garden,
You shear the weeds and Bobbits
We are here 94
Well,
You are there
But I am here
This is my picture painted
With words for you to look at.
Do you see it? Do you feel it,
At least? It, the mood you know?
There is something here…
Well, not here. I’m here.
Prop 94
A
Gand(er)Ganda
In
Columns
(But not stacked)
Poets unite 92
Your tongues
on THIS!
FUCKFACE TRICKY TONGUE
CUNT HAIR ENTWINED WITH HIS HAIR
(OR HER HAIR WHOSE HAIR? WHOSE HAIR IN WHICHES?
IN WITCHES? HEY, FUCKFACE, ON TOTEM POLES,
HEY, PROTEIN ENRICHES LUBRICATING HIS TONGUE
SPRAY LIQUID PROTEIN LIKE SPRAY STARCH
THAT’S WHAT THEY KEPT TELLING ME [BEFORE AIDS])
FUCKFACE TRICKY TONGUE
CUNT HAIR ENTWINED WITH HIS HAIR
DENTAL FLOSS THE NATURAL WAY
Your big fucking words 94
That enfold mistaken meaning
The detritus of premature ejaculation
Free salt for your wounds 94
Free focus for us females
Forget it for guys
In those words 93
I hear that droning voice
That “This is poetry” voice
That “this has religious sanctity”
Voice
Hypnotizing
Without
Hip
Mo
tizing
(and no floated titty to exercise the tongue and lips
and mouth, to boot!)
Metaphor malfixation
Polygamists of that type
Don’t waste the fertile topsoil
Have a plethora of unbarren
Land for the planting of seeds
GOING DOWN SWINGING (94)
Isn’t that what swingers do? 92
Ascribing greatness 92
Like gifts to the moon
With a crack in the middle
Always the myth of genetic studdom! 92
CAN’T get away from stereotypes!
(CerwinVega, Pioneer, Crown, Nacamitchi, Sansui)
More like a roar against silence 91
And a whisper replied, “I don’t love you”
He tries to widen her certainties 94
……. We comply
All these words 94
All these unnecessary words
About wishing for great poetry
(And all I really want to say is that I love you
and have you believe it)
Remember this, you fuck! 92
You didn’t marry me to suck.
Half of your cock is mine!
That part, I take care of just fine.
Secret sex is a thrill 91
If you like dishonesty
Picture poetry paints
Pretty lies of sunset sex
Sometimes, soothes
In France, 94
You demand
An answer, in English,
Say “There are no Frenchmen”
When they just look at you.
From a French brothel
You stomp away
When she refuses
Your demand to
“Show your tits in English”
For widows 92
I will kiss
The walls of their
Disappointment
With yellow paint and
A pleasant yellow smile
Your husband made such a fuss about your diary 94
And you, of course, sent it to me
Happy, nappy 94
Unarrested
Dresses
That incite
Desperate freedom
Stabs from
Baggypanted
Conformists
Up the light
Public streets
Of my hosiery
Same old Sunday morning 94
Latex in satin sheets
Cages of squealing cockatiels
Teal highcut gown, cut and ripped
Until it was lowcut and then lost
And tomorrow will be another same old
Monday, going shopping for formal wear
Heplophobes 94
Try to outlaw
My feminine mystique
And planets explode 91
In her hungry mouth
Lank, 94
For a second,
I thought I had spoken
For the third time
With an inch between my legs
Indelibly wounded
Abstract expressionism
No! No! No!
THINGS MY OLD BOYFRIEND SAYS AT WORK LIKE,
HOW ABOUT A LITTLE INSPIRATION FOR THE CONVERSATION
A LITTLE FINANCE FOR THE ROMANCE
A LITTLE GREENERY FOR THE SCENERY
A LITTLE CASH FOR THE FLASH
A LITTLE DOUGH FOR THE SHOW
A LITTLE TIPPING FOR THE STRIPPING
House symbols 94
More cracks
To lick with love’s
Psychodrama
Painted with spittle
Sinking into the soft foundation
Of mortality
The center sagging
In a wide gaping smile
You told me that prophets said 92
That the end will come
When Zion lives for twentyfive years
Without war, create you own hell
On earth, make war on
A regular schedule,
Every time I say “I love you”
You nibble the central vein 94
Of vanity
Cinderella, shoes 94
In hand, ready to trade
Nothing satisfies
The line
Searching for a period
Had to get Limas 93
Between someone’s knees
Last saltlizard 94
A sex lick
Slick sex
On the slippery slope
Of the passion levee
Filled with the power
Of the hard swat of waves
Along the warm, lapping
Of the ocean’s edge
Walking along the shore 94
…….That’s all.
Umbilical Amniocentesis 91
So much poetry is from the belly
Cocksucker poetry 92
Making sperm pretty
Bitter about the bitterness
Of beer and poisons
But mentioning only oysters
Not realizing the symmetry
My unfriend 94
Ununloads his
Unununderbelly
Unundulations
Scraping sperm
From unununununder
The unununderbrush
Unproductively
Your thighs revealed a dry well 91
Before the pump was primed
Flaccid and frigid we made
A lofty love
(No hay fever here)
Go not gently into that deep delight 93
Rage, rage against the rhythm of the night
Though your limbs are long and your buns are tight
Rage, rage against the rhythm of the night
And go not gently into my deep delight
Lah lah lah 92
Lah lah lah
You do put down
Your own thoughts
Putdown pudding
Lah lah lah
Tapioca
Philosophy
With runny eyes
Lah lah lah
You swallow
Anyway
Everything is everything? 94
In fantasy throes
My lover want me to squeeze
Out the milk that I can’t produce
With her
Some days deserve 92
A good spanking
Meter 93
Rhythm
Meet her
Rhythm
Meter
Rhythm
Match tonight
Match to ignite
Meet her with him
Peter
Ho hum
Penis pounding
Her tight drum
Meter
Rhythm to ignite
Match to light
On her rhythm
Drummer in love
With a Metermaid
Now that’s the ticket
The rainbow hit the concrete 94
With a splat of fractured color
And all that ever was was washed away
In the warmth of summer rain
Why do we all look 91
At our genitals
As an excuse?
It was any morning 93
I woke up with….
Whomever
The dismal decline 92
Of the Dustbunny
And Furburgers, too
Poetic porn 94
Focus that camera
I want to see her wrinkles
Your blowup doll 91
Doesn’t deflate when pricked
Your imagination
Doesn’t collapse when tricked
But lack of use and frequent abuse
Can leave a loss of function
The musk on Fire Island 92
Is as thick as chicken hawks
On the fly
Row row row his boat 94
Up a slippery stream
Dip the oars and pick them up
Dripping in my dreams
A Brief History 94
Got `em
Wore `em
Ripped `em with my teeth
(Used `em to polish my shoes)
You turned on 92
Your stereo to imitate
The rhythm I couldn’t match
You sat
And shaved…….
So, fucking what?
They wrote bad poetry 94
Taking me completely by surprise
Each fucking time
I will never fear Summer 92
Nor falling faint in humidity
Your A/C love keeps me chilly
Drag your bra and panties on me like a cave 91
Full of the same bats.
She wasn’t a lesbian, just looking
How deep into love can we go 91
Before we admit we were not blind
In the midnight meadow?
Music, tongue 92
Aftertaste,
Brandy dream
Sticky dress,
Silky
Hot piano
I prefer dewberries 92
Crawling along the pasture
Under the grass in the bushes
Gone in two weeks
Pandora has brown eyes 92
This time
Pretend emotion 94
With a pseudo name
“And away go troubles down the drain”
I say that everything is a woman 92
Nothing is outside of femininity
Or the feminine domain, nothing.
MEN BALK
Trying for earthquakeinspired 94
Resurrection, trying to pull out
Of a deep pussy willow sleep
GOING BICOASTAL
WHEN THEY HAVE TO UNDRESS AGAIN
I’m a saddlestapled 92
Matte card
Cover girl
Fuzzy but fun
Sticky goo 94
On his fat stomach,
Oncetreasured sperm
Marriages 93
Only a certain
Amount of syllables
Woman, buy your seeds in a Burpee Catalogue 91
For all your fertile attempts to cultivate
That belching, incontinent man
We make music with the tools 92
We swing or sit on or vibrate or hum into
Peggy’s peonies in warming bathwater 92
Jazz cat lapping mama’s milk 92
You can’t copyright pictures you create 94
In other peoples’ heads
Paint your woman’s walls 94
With meaning and truth
Wrong moon, right moon, it’s still the moon 92
We fell in love under
Ants in our underwear
Doubletalk doublestandard doubledipped dick 92
He rubbed me with atomic balm 92
I blew up and hit the ceiling
Stairs stares sinking in 94
Ah, what the fuck looking up my dress
I won’t tell you 94
You must see me
Flashing you but
I love that look
Of surprise
Niagara Agoraphobia 94
Doubt in a box
Plunging vaccinations
Against the roar of
Virginity
Evil playgrounds waiting 92
Niagara calling
Wave crochets the wind
Earth blushing, frost crawling
And I sit writing, frightened,
Inundated, undated, dated, ate D Ted Ed D
He slipped away 94
Loud, abruptly, like the cork
He so favored in his red wine.
I sniffed and sipped but passed
On that old bottle
Fashion some lines 94
That show your tits
And make Elsa
Klentch
So what, to your artsyfartsy abstraction? 91
Three naked girls used to dance
In the bouncing geometric refraction
When the four o’clock sun hit all the cut crystal
Every afternoon, in the windows of Rainbow Time,
Running colors colliding on sweet young flesh
Mobius 92
Stripped
For his pleasure
I sucked your toes 91
You sucked mine
Then you went home
And wrote down lies.
Bare feet 92
Inserted into the maiden
Sea
Tight voice 94
Luminous
Drippings of dew
Off leaves
Dawn
Drenched in muted
Cockadoodles
A Vision of Cal 94
Clothier
Zipping up
My miniskirt
Blanched
Eyes
Jerking
His breathing
Gratitude
Hairpie Discrete 94
Munch, munch
Eat a world
Lunch, lunch
With a girl
I don’t care
How much you weigh
I’ll lunch and munch you everyday
The same essential stillness 94
A brassiere cutting off circulation
Pompoms and poems 92
On pretty legs
In pretty lines of
Please, release me!
Fickle musiclover 94
Haunted by the ghosts
Of one note after another
Haunted, exorcised, haunted, exorcised
Because there has to be something
To fill the silences
Rumors of the Ball 91
Bounce off of her
Champagnestained gown.
A drunken nose sniffs her cleavage
During a short waltz
Arms and shouts all around
2 seconds to go. 1 point down
And Akheem throws to Samson….
Shit! Missed alleyoop(s).
Let’s go, you and I 94
Like a yoyo and a dodo
To the brink of our love
Or maybe to the Stop and Go
A sip of tension lessened 92
Left lifted, absence took us,
Our glasses left grazing her
Thundercloud toockus
Men 91
To smell you is to
Want to sneeze and cough,
Hold perfumed fingers
Under my nose, while
Escaping
The second month plus one second 94
Of separation
Talking to Plants 91
I love you still
Shriveling, losing rigidity
Or turgid tonnage, filled with life fluid.
I wet you down and purr to you
And say how pretty you are
But I never seem to treat you
Nicely enough
To get you to buy that new, yellow car
I’ll bet someone there 92
Was staring at your tits and ass
Liquor 94
Left no room to
Lick her
Spinning, spinning, spun
Hot Dog 92
“Lain out naked and long”
Without a good bun
I wished there were catsup,
Mustard, but most of all,
Relish
Braless 92
Does the best poetry
Speak “best
With its body?”
Hey, hand me a twenty, 93
I’ll give you a wink.
For thirty, I’ll wink
At you …. in Spanish.
Hey, Masochist! I’ll give you a sharp kiss 93
A lah lah lah 93
A dee dee dee
I want to be
Frust
rated
With not always tongue in cheek 94
But, at least, tongue in twat poetry
Memories of Max? 91
Thrill me to the min
You know, that’s just a few blocks away
From farago
Where he flashed, reflected
In your polished, silver bowl
Like a ladle
Come share my yearning 94
For… well, not hurricanes nor watermelon
Lens Occlusion 93
Hunter with scope
Thinks he’s bigger
The nurses talk about snakes 91
Remembering the giant ones
And the little ones
And those that were very different
Maybe the brightlycolored ones
Or those that were some sort of first
But don’t remember the last
One they see before they’re bitten?
Dr. Spock’s Little Monsters 91
Some, twisted, turn
On the memorized road
Of “for a nickle I will
Blow up the toll gate.”
Confetti silk 92
Incipient stone
Catfight clammor
We’re both in love
With the same woman,
Inside us
Pinched nose 94
Between his crack
Two birds with one
Asshole
Rowing into Summer darkness 94
In only briefs,
He calls himself, “Poet”
From the “girth of expulsion” 91
I go “pop”
Automotive Mother Goose 94
Fairy tales for women
And a few sensitive men
(The rest of the sensitive men
Can run home to mama
Like the crybabies they are)
These bubbles glistening down 94
My bosom are my toys, my treasure,
My perimeter. These baubles glittering
On my bosom are …..
Men want them
Removed before they see me
Lick my coins? 92
Hubbybubby 94
You’re a froggie!
Happy anniversary
Okay, if I agree 94
That there’s no use
That all is lost,
Will you still strive
To be a cunning linguist?
Will you test your talent on me?
To control your man, 92
Fake frustration
To dam or not to dam 93
That is the fishy question
Such landscape 91
Such sun
Such an open door
But, where’s the
“Girl in the white wetsuit?”
She ladys her headlights into me like 94
Bumper car cushions, her electrical switch expertise,
The way she fingers it should convince me
She’s got a man
Wants the switch deep inside
Guided only by Chilton’s
Her book of turnons and turnoffs
Cramped smile 92
Is like a
Cramped simile
Did I hear you correctly? 94
Did you say
“Sing a song
And suck my cock?”
The spirit of her tits 94
Took
A rest
I whisper, 93
“I don’t care what you call yourself
If you’re not my own little twatlicker
And if you are, the victory
Is not in saying you’ve been there, done that”
No, it’s not true; 94
Women of color do not have longer tongues
Father’s Lesson 94
All love is precious
Bitter about the bitterness? 94
But you don’t feed your man on the right diet
Of love and exercise and tenderness
Ah, well, who needs sugar? You can always buy it.
There is no “other side” to my biography. 94
I’m open to all
To That Lazy Librarian 94
If you’d been doing your job
She wouldn’t need picturebooks
About pregnancy
She would have read from lines like mine
About what a GRAND time
It is to be on your knees, pumping out sperm,
On your back, ingesting injustice
And how we’re made to pay and pay and pay
For the pleasure
At my poetry readings 91
I do a table dance to pronounce
The beauty of the line
Of my legs and hips
To accentuate the body of my work,
Because men (and most women) will listen to nipples
Stuck out in the middle of a teeshirt line
I crawl into the horn of her trumpet 93
To reach the stars
Let me blow my hot air 94
Over your
Conifers
Sucking bronze statues, 92
I lose the flesh features
Of the man that he is,
Deny him his humanity
By denying the truth
Of beauty
Objectifying metal
Like men aren’t able to
They’re the romantic ones.
I don’t care about flowers,
Just like to watch them pose
And crawl
Unsulky Sue 94
Licking all the sweetness
Off of
Your sugardaddy’s lust
Like The Last Defender 92
He waited in my fox hole
All day
Knew of nothing else to do
A good mount 92
Does not hang, after being hunted down,
Dead, against the wall,
Sometimes, isn’t even horny
I ask men for their secrets 93
To expose them
Before they expose themselves
Teeshirt Poetry 92
“Up mine!”
You have to admit 93
Everyone is crazy,
Completely insane,
Hopelessly lost in the ozone,
So, let’s fuck, huh?