who’s your daddy now?
September 21, 2013
or, she will be fine
deadbolt deadbolt chain
hunting down the steel
forget these men
their ingenuity their
nothing to do
TV parts all over the floor
cathode diode little
rubber enema pump
***
blood in his eyes
the day the screen door flew open
shitting his pants
who’s your daddy now?
***
she’s fine
she’s alright
she’s fine
shorten her lead
wrapping your hand
a flavour slick along the ribbon
slacken your belt
you bet on her last round
root of filth
earth and water
your eyes crown
a head like a gator’s
scam the room
with your body submerged
teach a younger one the economy of words
mine time for conclusory social experiments
fis{t//\\h}ing stories
unrealized in bromance
things i want to say to you
he’s said them first
men i’d like to be for you
forget them
he’s generations
yr saying my name
“when’s it gonna be ok?”
“it already is”
and i says yrs
full down, the fountain
head given
deep scull fuck
too cheap and the humming bird motel
***
this is easy for you
you guys don’t talk about anything
hard up
forward
“when’s it gonna be ok?”
Picket fence Oedipus
September 17, 2013
But what if all of it changed suddenly And you could still feel but the feelings all had new names and moved through your body without hiding in the corners. You are sure your brittle knees and creaking elbows and snapping shoulder blades have the dust of them still trapped. Husks disintegrating over three year periods. The time to get through it might have been a curse cast by one having no concept of his power, so a hunger for that which he yielded unwittingly in his frustration over its lack. Or was it that he was clawing at the earth a foot above his head all around in a hole he deepened clawing. Or was it that he knew it could happen and didn’t want it and in arrogance over owning and knowing took off after someone else’s Fate. Picket fence Oedipus, running from and fucking his mother. Anyway, you’ve defriended him.
Hymen lapse and Lapping sea
September 16, 2013
Driven from the castle (thrown out the window), Queens become ducks and circle the moat. Beck of the child King. Bread crumbs once a day on hot days. Swelling hot crumbs on the glistening surface of a pond, too. Man has made and maiden will peddle push a paddle boat out to the middle. Just a buoy, pregnant plastic place holder until the bravest little swimmers pass the ropes kicking. The ropes scratching gently their freed ankles. Dead weed bobble head sea monstress. Death and dying. Breath and breathing. Breed swell to quell the loneliness.
The association is maddening. Yr a pretty girl. Such a pretty girl. So handsome yr brother the picture on his license looks like a cis manchild of fifteen.
He takes it boating and forgets the lesbian shore. Witches have him tethered, just in case. Forgetting is part of the ritual. He will swim back all on his own so the tether wears, seaborne. The theory goes. No need to drag. Salt to the nylon eating thread by thread. Baptist by name and still calling it it. Are we sure, sisters? Are we true? Place a scrap of fur there, on his dick. Lay it there like a scrap on one of Oppenheim’s wooden fingers. Thus robed, he will remember once the forgetting is done. Glue it to his dick. Crazy glue is good for this. Nail it to a board. The whole thing. Dick to the board. Flanagan risen. Opie sunk in.
snakemouth
September 10, 2013
sucking
snakemouth [makes] the mistakes feel good.
folded over and can hold the weight of
in a pile on their shoulder.
dough in rough hands
invisible baker.
the man above we don’t believe
in.
laughter and laugher
swelling and constant
breath hard and harder into my face.
the hole through your lips
gap stayed
boat tongue that takes
down their throat
pennies for the eyes
drunk and paying the driver
saved and the survivor
skyman gone
mother there
wing.
prayer.
mine to
take take take
smokebreak
period