May 2007

Who is it?

Leaving marks on your
Cheek and jaw, as I
Push your head away
From me, into the mattress,
Your haunches held high,
With twitches and spasms,
You leave this place, grow cold,
And then colder, I finish, as
With hot water and a wash cloth,
I clean your smell and mess
From me, as I grow dizzy and
Slip away, I feel another consciousness
Rising, his name is Patty, an
Avatar much like me as a boy,
He’s already crying – terrified –
Because he knows it’s his task
To take the punishment for my actions.


Take a number

You’re upset the way peanut butter
Is delicious, the two go
Hand-in-hand, and it kills me, I care
For you or something, but that’s
Not enough: you’ve had a
Rough time of it, I know how
Sad you are, because
You won’t stop crying, and
Hitting you probably won’t help,
But nothing else has worked yet.

This thing I do

It’s not that I don’t love it,
Baby, it’s just that I’d
Love it so much more,
If I could slip this belt
Around my neck, and let me
Tug tight, when I’m about
To blow, baby, that’s all.

All well and good

Burning up with fever,
But desire’s still there,
Sick to my stomach, and
Sweating through my
Sheets, I tried to lower
My temperature of 102.1 degrees,
So took three aspirin,
Or thought I did, but
This raging boner – which
No amount of affection
Has sated – is indicative
Of a triple dose from
A much more potent pill.

Boarding Passes

Across the airport lounge,
Our eyes locked, leading
To protracted conversation,
Leading to a motel bed,
While entering you,
I realized that putting myself
Into you is exactly as much
Fun, as pissing out a kidney stone
Into my sister’s orange juice.

Post Modernism, Innit?

The day Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. died,
I covered myself with jam and
Syrup, then rolled down
A grassy hill, and lay there,
Until the ants and bees
Brought me to a bittersweet climax.


I think I may be ill, mentally,
‘cause when I’m roaming
These city streets, I’m jealous
Of the rampant homeless,
Concerned only for their
Survival, while I care about
So many things,
Charts and deadlines,
Deliverables and documents,
Whether or not I can finish
Screwing this handful of pastries
Before my three o’clock meeting.

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