TO BE FIRST
In line for a kiss,
Beneath the moonlit touch
Of a hooker’s hand
Of course she’s a loved one
Loved one, loved all:
French kisses on me, in her
Favorite women’s room
The sky is a walnut,
A prune,
A lady in waiting
For yet another
Eruption,
Another immortal moment
Inside the rock,
It was the second time
We’d met, the very second time
Our eyes brushed against the aura
Tinted air and minutemeasured
Time became second time.
NOW
Hardeyed, I tell you
Love, never a code word,
Forbad
Words of experience
That sounded similar to
“I love you…
Every night, a little more burned out,
Sons of sex maniacs and whoremongers
Sons of coming and going with booze
Daughters of the milking breast
Daughters of the hammered hemorrhoid
Fathers of future disease
Fathers of freedom
Mothers of need and greed
Mothers of the wash room
Grandfathers of progress
Grandfathers of mass production
Grandmothers of silent watchfulness
Your fame and glory
Are candles without wax, (wicks floating in oil)
On the nightclub scene
ADRIFT
HE IS A FAT FOOL
Fat fuck
Got fat,
Doesn’t fuck.
HE HIDES BEHIND
THE ADROIT EXPRESSION
I HEAR HIS FAT SOUNDS.
TIED TO THE VIVID
EXPLOSION
The sky is not a velvet cock
Nor the earth a womb
Of only warmth
Sister Q.Z. (THAT’S ME!)
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
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.
GO AHEAD GO AHEAD AND LIVE!!!!
AESTHETIC RAPTURE THE FIVE SENSES
Held up
By the builder’s cement
Stuck
Together
Up to our groins
In love
GROUNDDOWN
APHRODISIAC,
By Twit Nevershare
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
There lies my mistress in her bed
She’d like to move but her limbs are dead
Her mind alive with rainbow wings
Porcelain yellows
With the thinstreamed truth
After the love juice
Why waste a woman’s life
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?
SLITHERING
ANALECTA
DELECTABLE
EAT IT!
You drive your car
Naked
But not without
A seat belt
DO IT THE WAY I TELL YOU TO.
PARTAKE OF LIBERAL THINKING
AND, OF COURSE,
ANDROGYNE
TOO.
We gather words
Like lonely ladies
Calling for demons
To impregnate the pauses
IN THE
ANGEL SUN
ANGLE SON
DANGLING
FISHSTORY BIG
His tush
As good as gravy
His lips
Were wide awake
Her tush
As good as gravy
Her lips
Were wide awake
I am only a condom, a squirt
A come here, get away. Her walls
Are rainbow wings; I slip out
From the envelope of her body, smaller
Less impressive, no more there
Than the fantasy that filled her
FLUFFY, FLUFF ME, LOVELY, LOVELY
ANIMA
ENEMA
Why women scream
Because of their multiple men
Because of their menstrual release
Because of their mutual isolation
Because they don’t wear rubbers
BUSTLES ENCASE
YOUR GLUTES
HIDING HARRIED PRE
OCCUPATIONS
ExWife’s Rival
She must feel to him
Like a stone cold crack,
For me to be satisfied
And the snores trumpet
Juice dreams of daring
But you, with your legs
Parted, are my fantasy
BUT YOU WITH YOUR LEGS PARTED
ARE MY FANTASY
NOT
ANYTHING THAT MOVES.
This poem was written
By the man in the moon
“It’s sexual suicide to be
Lit like this, with freezing buns”
I remember waking up
With a bad poem in my headache
Coughing up cupie dolls
Words worried wasted when
The man fell on his face
Into the warm wet gutter
Of his woman’s disgrace
BUT I’LL BET SHE HAD FUN, WET FUN
I dream
Pin pricks
Pins and needles
On your fallenasleep
Pinpricked pen,
Prick
And you love it, don’t you?
A REGULAR STORM IN A REALLY FUN EXOTIC PLACE
Base emotions
Acid love
Message to Michelle
Translate me
With a little taste
Lick the words clean
Sucking sounds out
Before filleting them
CRAZY LEGS
BEGS
TO BE BRITTLE
BEFORE YOU
Big balls bounce
Red and brown, down
The slopes of San Francisco
In pairs, past flower shops
Past the bakery, and into
The traffic below
Telescope illusion
Of coq au main
Always something miniature
In the mind when a lover’s absent
FOR A BARE TRIBE
She stuck a flower
In his barrel
He stuck a barrel
In her flower
We were taking a tour of the farm
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
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
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
oh, joy!
enjoy on joy. enjoy joy.
enjoy joy on joy.
on joy, enjoy joy.
Serpent healing?
THE BLIZZARD RAMBLER
I cranked up the Grand Prix
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?)
I spit into the cold
Dark corridors of your soul
To lubricate the vamp you were
Selfconscious
I
Still see
Depth
In her newmade
Love poetry
I bounced off of men
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.
SPARKING
BOREALIS
AURORA NIPPLES
Barmaid titmouse
With a pocket full
Of cheese
Doesn’t want to sell
Much more than sleaze
The gogo girl
Came
To sit on
His Saturday
Suntan
Went without
Waiting
For (money) day
BRUNSWICK
BECOMES ASH
WHEN THE LOVEWAX
WANES
Sperm suspension
Without suspense
They forced her to pose
In that way with them
She’s the one with the cocaine
Eyes, strawberry thighs
And a mouthful of
Muttered, fluttering
Obscenities
Watching My Father Piss
He, who tinkled tremendous
Gushings beside me from eye
Level and whipped it in after
Shaking it off, made me linger
Would I find a thick one, brown and long?
Lick a guava for luck
PRETEND
CARING
Anything sucking
Reminds me of
What you said
About my poetry
Everything creaking
And wrinkled and poor
Glows on the wet face
Of youth you adore
Poetry lives as long
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
Taut horizon
Pitted face of the moon
Rolling, round hills
Licked by lightning
CATHARTIC
PUSSY DAYDREAMS
Sex queen
Starved for psychic
Salivation,
Lips licked,
Eyes popping out,
And other
Manifestations of
A sex scream
“More! Bigger!
Deeper!”
Nobody is home
When
Nobody is foreign
But
I’ll bet I’ve had some boyfriends
Who could make a foreigner out of you.
Crotched random
Caveats and screams
Warm worm?
NO FORCED
CHASTITY
NO MOIST
JAZZ TITTY
A Good Date
He grabbed my hair
And pulled
And pushed
SIN, SIN
CINCINNATI
I’m old but I’m rich
And I’m a poet
Full of
Goblet wailings
And lucky rain
So, fuck me good
Or I’ll complain
You’re not enough
And then you’ll be
Up shit’s creek
With only rope for
A paddle
It seems to be morning, Sour Puss.
You don’t need to purr
Until you get your coffee
In the kitchen and suck it down
PEELED OUT IN THE STRETCH MARKS
BURNED
CLUTCH
OUT
ON THE PROWL FOR WHAT
CLYDE
WANTED IN THE
COACH HOUSE
ON
COCHRAN’S CORNER
IN THE COLD
All I see is the ugly,
Pretending so hard to be pretty.
I am pretty. I am.
You’re considering the bikini
And want to bugger the girl?
Cuntlicker
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?
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.
Why ream the rim
Before you get the ball in?
Why play your first game
In dirty socks?
Trinkets of erotica, shattered romance
In twisted love dance crystal
Of diminishing frequency
Refracted into an infinity
Of excuses
Certain times
Newborn certain time
In timeless now
Times within the now
Oh, yeah, and love moving universes
Celestial music and
“Calm” fucking “the storm”
Salt lick suckers
Froglike toads
Weather or not
We wear our thick skin
I’m going to say
Some really nice
Sensitive things
And then say,
“Hey! Trust me.”
On the lip of your KT boundary
I count 26 million years
With my fingers
Side to side
In front of me
Swinging
Up and down
For fantasy
Senses tuned to wild life
She was never alone
EXPERIENCES
CRYSTAL RAINBOW
WAKEUP CALLS
Epileptic
Take off
Into the mind’s
Miasma
A golf and orgasm instruction video
Well, bigger than you were,
Duckface
Finger fucker
Lover
SECURE BULLDYKE
DREAM SHOP
AROUND THE CLOCK
BUSINESS BUT NOT
STOP AROUND THE COCK
GAY MARY
Meringúe meringue
Murdered Moments
Unfolding face
Drinking the “rivulets
Between my breasts”,
But then he had to go
And chant and pop out
Into “night”, “earth”, “time”.
Eating seeds
Silent
Falling eggs cushioned
By crunchy snow
Maiden form
Frescos
Hellos
On string bikinis
Bronze
The oily sunscreen
I Stoop to Surrender Him to Him
Worry is wasted mental time
When over a woman unloving, wild,
Out, and free. I knew I wouldn’t stay
With him for longer than a whistlestop
But wanted him to please me hard,
Completely, slutless,
Firm grip on my loose bosom,
Arms hugging my writhing waist (no, not waste)
I could mention my lost lovers’
Names if they alone told the story,
If they were in the rhythm of lost
Love poetry
Jazz Intonations in Intercourse, PA.
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
ELLIPSE
OF UNSPOKEN LOVE
Mon oiel!
It’s hard not to look at something you like.
Too painful to be a lie
I puff and wail at your bellyup swollen boredom
Try to find a chuckle on your earlobe
THIS PAGE FOREMOST
MUST BE GOOD
MUST GRAB THE ATTENTION
MUST BEGIN AGAIN FRESH
LIKE THE UNDRESSER FROM ODESSA
WHO TAKES HER CLOTHING OFF
FOR THE TENTHOUSANDTH TIME
BUT MUST MAKE IT NEW AND EXCITING
FOR THE LONELY MEN WHO LOVE HER
FAITH
IN HER LEGS
Summer Bake by Dianna Walker
I hardly bake on Summer days
No longer than his erection
The hot kitchen flexes its stomach
And sweats down the windowpanes
The sun is a fluffy hot bun
Air melting like butter around it
And I huff and puff, swallowing 6 of 11.
Damn straight!
You gave nothing but speed bumps
Looked long and narrow
Like a highway over the horizon
But were a parking lot
Blah, breaking up is hard to undo
TO A
FLIPSIDE
LIKE
The soppy side
Of a sloppy ride
Oh, gosh, how much, how terribly much, I do miss.
The good, old, sentimental verse
MAYBE, IF IT ISN’T WORK TO KEEP LOVE ALIVE,
I WANT TO BE THERE WHEN I RETIRE
Skinny dipping with an Angel
Poets unite
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
OSTENTATIOUS
BIKINI CUISINE
A
FREE VENICE BEACHHEAD
A
FRENCH BROAD
A
FRIEND’S JOURNAL
FRITZ
IN FANTASTIC POSES
Then her
Mallard
Dyke
Uses that bread as stuffing
To stuff them
And dresses their legs
In paperlace doilies
What pain you like
What pleasure is to you
Stinging truth about sensation
GINGER HILL
SUGAR HILL
CANDY MOUNTAIN
“HONEY, I’M HOME
LOLLYPOP LADEN”
I’ve got to say something about asking for what you want
in a way that people can understand
GOING DOWN SWINGING
Isn’t that what swingers do?
Fuck any considerations of anything poetic,
Throw in Tina and What’s Love Got to Do With It?
Ascribing greatness
Like gifts to the moon
With a crack in the middle
Life is a thousand minuscule mindaltering
Amazements every fucking day!
Always the myth of genetic studdom!
CAN’T get away from stereotypes!
(CerwinVega, Pioneer, Crown, Nacamitchi, Sansui)
All these words
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!
You didn’t marry me to suck.
Half of your cock is mine!
That part, I take care of just fine.
Poetry pictures
Because they censor t.v.
Queen bee
Lies about the honey
HEAVEN BONE
SIMPLICITY,
A BONER
Were sipping dandelion wine,
Talked, got drunk, I watched the time,
Fucked her and left, remembering.
You’re not half done yet, hamburger,
Don’t make me eat you raw
The Pioneer hope of spreading wide
Aware
The senses are five
At least
HIS GARDEN
In France,
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
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
And you, of course, sent it to me
Happy, nappy
Unarrested
Dresses
That incite
Desperate freedom
Stabs from
Baggypanted
Conformists
Up the light
Public streets
Of my hosiery
Same old Sunday morning
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
I wasn’t brash enough
To handcuff your slender arms,
Blindfold you, whisper waste words,
Even when you begged to be
Like a fluffed goosedown pillow
To give comfort to my head
The thigh of the dancer tender
Smooth to my touch, a smile for a while
But no table dances
Not girl for girl
Just youth remembered
In tactile desperation
Her body is ripe
But I don’t pick her
Heplophobes
Try to outlaw
My feminine mystique
Yes, I recognize
The soft touch of your slipstream
As we waft past each other
And planets explode
In her hungry mouth
To cure me he pulled out
And swollen pride subsided
Lank,
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!
WASHING
JOHNS
JOURNAL
DISALLOWING
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
Don’t lie to us
She pushed her finger
Into something else
Would God love a stripper?
You nibble the central vein
Of vanity
Had to get Limas
Between someone’s knees
Last saltlizard
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
Chainsawme
Oils the tree
To cut deeper
Into its heart
Mirrors and ripples
Waves and warm spots
And no electricity hum
No boombox distraction
No news about the war
Your thighs revealed a dry well
Before the pump was primed
Flaccid and frigid we made
A lofty love
(No hay fever here)
Go not gently into that deep delight
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
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?
In fantasy throes
My lover want me to squeeze
Out the milk that I can’t produce
With her
Some days deserve
A good spanking
Meter
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
LIP SERVICE
FOR LOSERS
Why do we all look
At our genitals
As an excuse?
LIPS
CHEAP
It was any morning
I woke up with….
Whomever
The dismal decline
Of the Dustbunny
And Furburgers, too
Poetic porn
Focus that camera
I want to see her wrinkles
Your blowup doll
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
LOCKED HEARTS ARE OFTEN
ALL THAT ARE LEFT
WHEN FINALLY HEARD
Soupsucker
Pigeon plucker
Fidgeting with his belt buckle
Drooling over plastic balls
That melt off the flesh
And into the vegetables
“That one’s fresh, got plenty of meat,
You see? I shot my load into him last night.”
He takes out his teeth,
“Saved for chewing beef. This stew’s a
Tender treat to gum”
Row row row his boat
Up a slippery stream
Dip the oars and pick them up
Dripping in my dreams
A Brief History
Got `em
Wore `em
Ripped `em with my teeth
(Used `em to polish my shoes)
Drag your bra and panties on me like a cave
Full of the same bats.
She wasn’t a lesbian, just looking
How deep into love can we go
Before we admit we were not blind
In the midnight meadow?
AND NOW THE ONLY SPOTLIGHTS
GLOWING IN THE NIGHT SKY
POINT, WHEN FOLLOWED DOWNWARD,
TO THE TITTY BARS OF THE AREA
TO SUCK HIS EGO UNTIL HIS WALLET
IS EMPTY AND HIS PANTS ARE WET
MAHOGANY AND MOLASSES
Mount her good name
STICKING TO THE ROOTS OF TREES
IN THE WASH BETWEEN SHORES
Freestyle
Swimmers, lean,
Dive
Into the same lane
Music, tongue
Aftertaste,
Brandy dream
Sticky dress,
Silky
Hot piano
Bending recognition
Got a girl whose name is Mimi
Even if she doesn’t see me
Gonna keep her all the same
Unless she tries to change her name
Pandora has brown eyes
This time
I hug him with my poetry
Pretend emotion
With a pseudo name
“And away go troubles down the drain”
WITH NEON DANCES
SOULTRAIN BEAT
WITHOUT SOULMATE
STIRRINGS JUST SHAKEN
DRINK MIXES
NOT UNKNOWN IN
MICHIGAN
MEN BALK
Trying for earthquakeinspired
Resurrection, trying to pull out
Of a deep pussy willow sleep
GOING BICOASTAL
WHEN THEY HAVE TO UNDRESS AGAIN
Fucking the midwife during the delivery
I’m a saddlestapled
Matte card
Cover girl
Fuzzy but fun
BEFORE THE ANGEL SHOWS UP
BEFORE THEY WILL STRIP
BECOMING
MODERN BRIDE
AND GROOM VOWED WITH VOWELS
THAT IMITATE
MODERN HAIKU
MOODY STREET
BED BUGS OF MARRIAGE MAILBOXES
MORROW
MORNING EATING
THE MARROW OF LUST
MOSIAC
MOSIAC
PROSE
Tired,
Mad,
We have to prove love
Before
We make it
We fuck to find it
Become too tired
To continue searching
And then settle
When we both know he has power,
We no longer enjoy my groveling
We make music with the tools
We swing or sit on or vibrate or hum into
CALLING FOR CONNECTIONS
Hummer gives a change of look
Plastercasting spells the feminine kink
Sticky, stuck to me, StUCK
Paint your woman’s walls
With meaning and truth
NINETYSIX
Just barely legal
Almost 69
Doubletalk doublestandard doubledipped dick
He rubbed me with atomic balm
I blew up and hit the ceiling
Stairs stares sinking in
Ah, what the fuck looking up my dress
DRIPPING WATER
SEX ADDICTS IN
OBLEK (OBLIQUE)
PEEKS OF BOOHOO BLACK
THE FACTS OF LIFE THE TYPEWRITER IS TURNING ME ON
BOUNCING LIKE A BAD SUSPENSION
ON A BUMPY ROAD. LET THIS GO
I won’t tell you
You must see me
Flashing you but
I love that look
Of surprise
Flashing teeth
And dental shields
Open
But not unprotected
Is lady licking lady
Poetry poetry
Because secrets are a romance
That is not mawkishly hackedknees?
Niagara Agoraphobia
Doubt in a box
Plunging vaccinations
Against the roar of
Virginity
The guitar understands logarithms better
Than the mathematicians understand the glue bacteria
I want to crawl up and have sex with something
He slipped away
Loud, abruptly, like the cork
He so favored in his red wine.
I sniffed and sipped but passed
On that old bottle
She slipped away
Squish, slosh, sliding
On the raspberry lubrication
She so often had caught on her tongue
Between her teeth, like seeds and skin
If all your strings were plucked right now
You’d make an overtone gash into the musical side of love
DISTRACTED AGAIN, SHE HAD
OPENED HER BOX BEFORE
FOR A
PANHANDLER
WITH BIG EYES
AND LONG HAIR
Dune cradles
Sand cracks
Under inverted
Sky, dripping
Foam
Mobius
Stripped
For his pleasure
The steam in your moustache
Sticks to you like Winter love
A steam that recycles and starts again.
I sucked your toes
You sucked mine
Then you went home
And wrote down lies.
Bare feet
Inserted into the maiden
Sea
Tight voice
Luminous
Drippings of dew
Off leaves
Dawn
Drenched in muted
Cockadoodles
A Vision of Cal
Clothier
Zipping up
My miniskirt
Blanched
Eyes
Jerking
His breathing
Gratitude
THE TRAIN REACHES
PENNSYLVANIA
AND AGAIN
PENNSYLVANIA
IT’S A WIDE STATE
Hairpie Discrete
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
A brassiere cutting off circulation
One little piggie
Got slippery
Pep tide
Pep toe
Abysmal depth
Of endless murky streams
Clamped peptight
At the feel of warm waves
Peppy prep for evacuation
In wishbone configurations
Stretched wings
Resilience
Doesn’t have
To be
Concession
“Get your fish here!… yes,
We have no hot dogs.”
Birdbrained lines
But still, but soft
Fly over my mountains;
I’ll be your baby
To Withstand
Sliding dew
Darkest stars touch
Mooneyed crescent hill
An endless girl
On couldnot nights
Of a gentle hand
Touch my sad
Forsythia
N Dear
Older,
I endear them to me,
Me to them, with
Cuddles and massage
Alcoved All
Dragonfly heart
Behind
Peering sunrise
Awaiting more universe
One shore
One one one one
Pretty shabby grace
To forget
A last embrace
Dim song
Ended at an arbitrary point
Called a period.
PIKESTAFF
STRONG ENOUGH
TO CREASE THE HEART
OF UNREALITY WITH A SOCIAL WOUND
Pompoms and poems
On pretty legs
In pretty lines of
Please, release me!
FUCK!
THIS IS JUST A MERCY FUCK,
HONEY,
DON’T GET ALL EXCITED.
In all thy orisons be the virgin remembered
Professions of love
Swim down your throat,
Amy? Do the bubbles
Tickle your nose?
Ice and Crystal
Break
Trying to bond
“Put ‘er into third, baby!” she cackles, with lust
“Rock me like
Hypocrisy! Oh, yeah.”
Let’s go, you and I
Like a yoyo and a dodo
To the brink of our love
Or maybe to the Stop and Go
A sip of tension lessened
Left lifted, absence took us,
Our glasses left grazing her
Thundercloud toockus
Talking to Plants
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
Was staring at your tits and ass
Selfinflicted, perfect lips
Hard tunnel for my choo chew
Tooth impressions, scrape marks
Balloon lips bought
Deflated
How much poetry fits into a box?
Liquor
Left no room to
Lick her
Spinning, spinning, spun
Hot Dog
“Lain out naked and long”
Without a good bun
I wished there were catsup,
Mustard, but most of all,
Relish
Braless
Does the best poetry
Speak “best
With its body?”
Memories of Max?
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
This head is a big head
nuff said
Lens Occlusion
Hunter with scope
Thinks he’s bigger
The nurse talks about snakes
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 doesn’t remember the last
One they see before they’re bitten?
Confetti silk
Incipient stone
Catfight clammor
We’re both in love
With the same woman,
Inside us
Pinched nose
Between his crack
Two birds with one
Asshole
Rushing River
It’s not fair to the delta
To be so close to the ocean
With you,
Seedless, tired, running away.
Perhaps, it’s a ball game
The sun is out
He scratches balls, rolls bat in fingers
SheetMetal Husband
Sheetmetal machine
Sets the rhythm
For our sex
From the “girth of expulsion”
I go “pop”
These bubbles glistening down
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?
Hubbybubby
You’re a froggie!
Happy anniversary
My lines are only good
When people watch me dance
Hey, Cristy, I’ll put my tongue around you
You don’t mind fresh fish, do you?
I’ll call you flounderface
And you can keep the name as your own
IN THE SAND OF
SANTA MONICA
AND DOWN THE BRONZED BACK OF
SANTA SUZANA
To control your man,
Fake frustration
To dam or not to dam
That is the fishy question
My poetry has
A footprint fetish
She ladys her headlights into me like
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
Did I hear you correctly?
Did you say
“Sing a song
And suck my cock?”
The spirit of her tits
Took
A rest
I whisper,
“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;
Women of color do not have longer tongues
Bitter about the bitterness?
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.
BUT WATCH OUT FOR
SKAZ
SCAGS AND GERMS
SKOOB
SCUBA DIVING FOR MUFFS
To That Lazy Librarian
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
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
I crawl into the horn of her trumpet
To reach the stars
Let me blow my hot air
Over your
Conifers
Sucking bronze statues,
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
Licking all the sweetness
Off of
Your sugardaddy’s lust
Like The Last Defender
He waited in my fox hole
All day
Knew of nothing else to do
A good mount
Does not hang, after being hunted down,
Dead, against the wall,
Sometimes, isn’t even horny
I ask men for their secrets
To expose them
Before they expose themselves
Teeshirt Poetry
“Up mine!”
You have to admit
Everyone is crazy,
Completely insane,
Hopelessly lost in the ozone,
So, let’s fuck, huh?
Picture this one;
I envied the bitch in heat:
To be a bitch so openly
And, yet, be surrounded
I’ll describe a scene
To trigger visions
So that you’ll listen,
Like the puppy licking my chocolate breasts,
To the last line, which I will
Throw in as a statement.
Live free or die.
I love to see lensenhanced eyes
Looking up at me, lovingly,
While licking my thighs
No man
Has had his hands up my dress
And down into the elastic of my pantyhose
For years and years,
Since one, (that one, that time),
Who was folding my clean laundry for me
Asked, stretching those plastic containers of legair,
“Why do you wear these stupid things?”
No good answer came and until one does,
I won’t.
Squeak, squeak
Squeak,
Squeak
Scat John!
I’ve had men like you, John.
I usually stick your faces
In it
Then say, “Bad boy!”
And make you clean up your mess
Before I kick you out the door
Hey, Norma, dear,
I see you there,
Sitting on your ample
Peripheries
“There’s a woman, Ira!”
I say. He says
“Ah, shit, why bother?”
I agree, leaves more women
For me. Let Ira have coitus
In the open womb
Of his opulent room,
In the cold pit, the dry
Wit of his poetry
That’s what all the guys say,
“Tastes good! Try it.”
I say, “You try it.”
Worship his penis
The ultimate lie
Both heads will explode
And then he’ll die
Hey, don’t sing bird songs to a cat like me
Men tell me that, too
“My fingers will set you on fire”
But I’m water. I flow through the cracks
Of your lukewarm deceit
Does socialism mean that all those young
Spikes get an equal share of my pussy?
To each according to need?
From each according to ability?
Would my pussy be under state control?
“Oh, it’s like that everywhere,” I’m told.
A can of balls?
Are they orange or yellow?
Are they still fuzzy?
Can I play with them?
SWALLOW! WHAT A MAGAZINE NAME! AT LEAST IT’S
TRUTHFUL ABOUT WHAT MANY MEN MEAN “SWALLOW, BITCH”
I’m menstruating
You want to have sex?
Sloppy Joe
In my fingers
Makes me hungry
For the past
Interlocking Illusions of Imagery
Elephant, Flowers, grass, night, needle,
Trumpets, pebble, Raging, serious,
Breaststroke (They always just have to
Bring sex into it, don’t they?
Now I’m supposed to remember the touch
Of the first man on my nipples,
The RUSH of my first woman
And how it was a homecoming
And how we both were the homecoming
Queen and the texture of various fingers,
The indecent roughness, the calloused
Strength, the tender prodding before lips
And tongue and teeth and the anticipation of …
Well, suffice it to say, there’s just too much
Sex in the body of our poetry today
And way too much of it is just attached, superfluously,
Like a penis.
Sex Poetry
Anger me
Use me and abuse me
Make me crawl on my knees
Slap me
Bite me
But don’t make me
Shake my head
In shame,
Embarrassed for you
When you try to stick it,
Soft,
Into my brain.
Fat guy
Depressed
Franticly searching
For his lost……
Youth
Preferring to Admire Her Tanned
Youth
Blinding, golden
Sun slips
Under her bikini,
Dries the sand,
Digs UV into
Disrupted skin
(Should we tell her
The trouble she’s
Going to be in?
Sometimes my pen is full of ink
Sometimes it spurts forth words
Sometimes it gets stuck and won’t roll around
And even licking its tip won’t get it going
I shoved a dildo into your throat
To show you what it’s like
To have to mouth your bad poetry
Wrap my lips around
Your twisted psyche
Lick your tortured syllables
Gag on your thrusts and parries of the truth
Kneel before your delicate(ly barren) sensibilities
Smile when you claim
That what it really means is
“I love you, only you.”
Now, the creek
Where I first
Fucked him
Is polluted
Magical Music
Melody
Whispers
Promises
In The Underground Passage of the Ruins of Rome
There,
We met and stripped off
Our clothing
To drip fevered perspiration
On the stone steps
Where Romans soaked up
The blood of tourists
For the imagery
Of great moments
Great big hotel bills
And Global rhythm
World beat
Night club booze that was often uncooled
All those rich women
Carrying around celestial bodies
(The sun, the moon, the stars)
In their purses
While, we, less fortunate ones
Must cherish them
With pursed lips
Appreciation for poetry
Starts when you realize
That these lines suck
After Occupying Hollywood
Washerwomen
Mothers
Wives
And whores
Populated poetry
Nah,
He ripped open the “I”
That never again was shut
And turned his lover,
Poetry,
Into an aging slut
Fond of the frond,
The limb chandelier
Of her maple syrup
Is sappy and sweet
To my tongue
“She” should have been
A good girl
And buttered your potatoes
Too
WHY SHOULD I BE FRETFUL ABOUT THE FOIBLES OF MEN?
I WANT FEMALES THAT I CAN RESPECT AND LOVE,
DON’T CARE UNLESS WOMEN MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES
CLAWING FOR THE TOP
FEELING UGLY
SAYING STUPID THINGS ABOUT LOVE
Sickness shows up
In those Dr. Kildare, Ben Casey poets’ lines
Because they can’t face death and censor sex
And lost their “Birds of North America Guidebook”
And lent flower catalogues to a real gardener
And gave Bullfinch’s Mythology to Grandma
And all they have left for reference
(Since they mostly avoid boisterous life)
Is that yellowed Gray’s Anatomy from when
They thought they might study “PreMed”,
Until they realized that physician’s assistants
Were going to be having all the fun and profit
Was going to be reserved.
Come Cat Come
Jerkoff juxtaposed,
Nah, just anglertangled,
Caught in fishing lines
I’m twisted from a colorspot game
Of trying to touch tits with the reverence
Of the word “breasts” and Twister that I am,
I smell mostly plastic
Graffiti Plague
Thy thou
Shall
Drop trou(sers)
Bend over
And take
Four lashings
Of the tongue
So B.Z.’s been to Paris, huh?
Bedazzled piano keys
To a stripper’s rhythm
Lock
Out changes
For one famous
Name’s sake
To recognize
Another’s talents
In the broomed sunlight
Of infidelity
Tainted by proposals, I
Don’t dare approach beauty
With psychology.
Overly impressed
By a good body
I can’t find a model
For my poetry.
Nighvisiton
….. He said
Past crying, men and boys, left naked before
Heaven, scream before she has taken all eyes.
Hell ghosts in floats left a window
Times a thousand. Veiled dreaming of the thousand
Naked midnights, more lady to princess,
She’s my my and and through.
UP YOUR ASS
I eat meat
That’s meant to hang
Have a taste for humans
But am no cannibal
Charmed Garters of Ox
Not quite my cup of tea;
When bloodied, the children have to be
Given a reason for a decree
(If not da crow on my backyard settee)
Which makes “meat” merely
Flesh eaten
Not sucked, nor kissed, nor beaten
Into riding submission. He puts on my panties and fishnet
hose
And makes a moist hole to hang the ring in his nose.
Blink blink
I’m so glad to have gotten a guy
Who gets up
In a good mood
Don’t sit on my pewend
or gooend or spewend
I really want you back
But before you come
You have to promise
Not to go through
My trash anymore
Because, now,
I’ve shaped up
And am prettier
Soft, BiSexual Pelicans on Salty Haiku
Fucking pelicans
Beaks flapping
In spermfeather wind
Sticking to the sand
Along the cream beach
Old Porno Picture Lover
He’ll see stormy tongues licking gutterdogs
See bitch leavings
Loving the money
He hopes to see a spidernet stocking crawl
Along the floor on long legs
When the sac gets drained, maybe
He will see water, plunging through pipes and see
Man seeping in, some gamete,
But he speaks for himself
A year before he died,
My grandfather didn’t say anything
To me and I didn’t call him.
I was far off and working on a
Callgirl’s career
Sexual Harassment At Home
Dinner is burning
Shoelace undone
Catapult the garbage
Black, flying fish
Hidden in aerial shadows
From vicious cats
That wish us dead
Because the dogs get the scraps
And the cats
Don’t frighten the bad guys
Who hoot and howl
From hungry shadows
And only subside
To commit more murders
And all this mess
Because you wouldn’t listen
When I said, “No.”
No Gore Allowed
Virgin in a vest?
Virgin vessel?
Romance?
Sword dance?
Vestal virgin
Eggs, over easy
With catsup
Daisy chain
Of Herpes/syphilis
(spirochete)
Genital sandwich
Of HIV crystals
Norepinepherine
Minus one
Oh please
minus one!
Crawling back into
Mother Earth’s
Ocean,
Face smushed
TASTING
VIRGIN MEAT
I sketch my women and men with words
Because most of them look like misshapen nerds
Tickling my thighs with their four eyes
Face dancing like polyps
Blowing smoke out my eyes
Subtlety about AIDS
Is not uncalled for
Deceit
But it is in a higher sense
Uncalled for
ALWAYS LEAVE THEM BEGGING
FOR YOU TO STOP
GIVE THEM SOMETHING TO TAKE HOME
Everything
Becomes you
Except the white dress
(I want it)
The algebra
Of a soggy
Greening brassiere
WEST END
Then I had to put my face
Into the couch
BUT WHORES AND SOME POETS DON’T KNOW
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN “WHAT THE FUCK?”
AND “FUCK THE WHAT?”
Stinging Expansion
Don’t try to insert your dry
Wit
Into the arrid desert
Of my vestal verse
Flaccid time
Is a delicacy
When savored
Some people
Need to crack
Their knuckles
Some people
Need to knuckle
Their cracks
Trim leg with blond highlights
Long thigh, just out of the covers
Leg draped over the side of a bed
Disembodied
Attached to a “she”
That I will never see
Unwilled Passions?
Hormones in harnesses
Limbic lollypops
I remember
Wolfgang the waiter
Bulging
Stereotyping the Stereotypers Typing
They touch their genitals
Because they think of Western women,
All of us, as whores.
Putting on these panties is like stepping backwards
The bulges
From both sides of you
The place where your pons expanded
Against silk lace filigree
Your pubes are darned into the peekaboo
Openings where moisture would once seep through
But now
My clit doesn’t fit my labia
Feel slighted in the tent
Of your protuberances
And I put you into the pile
Of delicates to be tumbled
And shrunken back into shape
But have no heat to unstretch my insides
Since you became a fulltime transvestite
And told me I cramped
Your style
A rose is not a rose
If not the perfect rose
Depending on how you
Lick at it
This is you, you weak little bimbette octopussy,
This poem you didn’t write
“Touch me and I’ll be bad
I’ll be bad and touch me
But don’t send me any
Fuckin’ haiku!”
Pink is the color
Of my true love’s twat …..
Porno spells
Erotic occlusion
Wacko
Wackoff
Hey, girl hey I can’t “handle your load” girl
or
“Erotic” extascy “on the verge of porno” suicide
Euthanasia
is
Murder/suicide
“Stop the world , let me get off” mentality
Come on, girl, let me get on
And finger out some way to give you life.
Let your tongue
Swim through the sunken portholes
Of my clichés, my hackknees,
My dog growls,
My dog ma is the bitch
That torpedoed the best of my days
Sex, Followed By Commas and A List
Sex, falling and darning
Sex, direction and understanding
Sex, meditation and jogging
Sex, pets and the naming of things
Sex, slouches and shrivels
Sex, bonetouching and X, Y without a “Z”
To see the sea
erotica pornography metaphors
Propagate
Late
Realization
Of helplessness
When I remind
Water pump pumpers
That it was always
Water you kept
To prime the dry walls
Creating a vacuum
Water you kept inside
That made water flow
Dry tunnels?
What’s next?
Images “in your face”
To be licked and sucked
By a universal mouth?
Prime the pump
Nunsense
You want a pearl necklace?
You want his poetry in your face
Labia get ready
Slack’s sticking out his tongue
Ready to mouth a habit
But he will get nun
BUT YOU, WITH YOUR LEGS PARTED,
ARE MY FANTASY,
NOT ANYTHING THAT MOVES
FORGOTTEN UNTIL THE VERY LAST MINUTE?