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All poems posted here are my original works.
Copyright ©2012-2013 John Moffatt All Rights Reserved.
All poems posted here are my original works.
Copyright ©2012-2013 John Moffatt All Rights Reserved.
John Moffatt
John Moffatt
21 hours ago

It's a rough deal man,
this life.

I didn't ask for this shit.

It's not an easy gig,
being me.
I am what I am
and lots of the time,
that's fucking awesome,
but being surrounded by
simple mother fuckers
who are hell bent on
bringing me down
is tiring.

I bend but never break

They grind away with
their spiteful machinations
and greedy hidden agendas,
bereft of any compassion,
lacking any real substance.
They are shells packed with
hate, stuffed with shit,
and I can barely breathe
in the presence of such
fuckery.

I do it all for the boy;
I tolerate the average,
put up with the mediocre
and the mundane.

His life will not be as hard

I promise.

John Moffatt
John Moffatt
2 days ago

Timeless and graceful
Draped in our ancient shadow
Luna bleeds for us.

Sleeping evades me
This ordeal, my ringing ears
Then becomes now. Fuck.

I may be rancid butter, but I'm on your side of the bread.

Wrap your pale skin
around my dark eyes;
I don't want to see anymore.

Crush my ribs with
your peppermint breath;
I don't need to breathe.

You love him like you should
for he is precious but
I am the one living
on your wet
fingertips.

That's just the way it is.

I sing in the night
to the centipedes and
slugs, to the bats and
the branches it is
a tired dirge,
heavy and long.

This death of ours,
this sacred end,
we hold it in our
sweaty palms
bruises
our tired backs
and our growling stomachs.

We hold it close, this
death of ours.
This final moment,
the only one of
our choosing.

The bugs and the bats,
they own the night.
All I do is listen to the worms
crawling in the ground
and try to imagine the taste
of your skin with three days
of me on you.

  Reposted by John Moffatt  ·  Apr 5
Ormond
Ormond
Apr 5      Apr 5

My skin is virgin—
John Moffatt, with scorpion chest,
  .  .  .  Reads with a mean wit.

John Moffatt
John Moffatt
Apr 5      Apr 5

In violent light,
shadows are sharp, crisp and clean.
Heavy is the night.

The salt of your skin
rests uneasily on my swollen tongue
as I fuck you like your life
depended on it.

How many times have I wrenched
the impossible from the ether
and left you slick and aching,
bereft of any intelligible thought
save for the feeling of having
been entirely filled and
completely consumed
in the same
endless moment?

One moment can change
your universe.
How long
does it take to lose an arm,
to come for the first time,
to surrender?

How long does it take to cut too deep?

I can become your
deity in the violent light
of our sanctuary
and you can take my
blood while I sleep
in your hair.

Heavy is the night
but your skin is cool
and all I want is to
die inside you.

The salt of your sins
my only meals as I
burn in the furnace
again.

I can't take my eyes
away from the edge
of our shadows
in this
violent light.

I can't take my eyes away.

  Reposted by John Moffatt  ·  Apr 2
victoria
victoria
Mar 25

There's a revelation of spirit
that blows in from the west,
a scented wind that
parts these patriarchal pines
revealing
a restless murder
of crows cawing,
battling warriors
exhaling a thunder
of balmy breaths heard
in the frenzied heartbeats
of every crushed rose -
Survivor of circumstance
your soul sails  
on an uplifting breeze
that shifts the shadows
of bruised cloud that pass
through your sunset
...And freed
you herald in the promise of night,
this hour,
that sees you drape
lustful
in the golden half light of evening

 
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