beLIEve.
*for my purple taco
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
mcdonald's dollar coupons
getting wet in my pocket,
in the rain.
*"lo,
we’ll have to settle
for something cheap
for dinner tonight."*
my lover’s perfect legs,
the angle of the arch
of her back.
her two feet.
her ten toes.
*for my lo
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
"life is like darts,"
the pretty, little drunk girl
said, *"the more you miss
the bullseye,
the more you know
how not to hit it."*
i had two thousand dollars
in my pocket,
a full pack of cigarettes,
and an eight ball back at the hotel.
it was sunday.
i didn't have a girl,
and so i told the bartender
to line the shots up for us.
who said i'm even aiming?
* for my bullseye
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
things get boring.
even vaginas get boring.
a thousand vaginas
might not get boring,
neither would a million.
i’d like a million vaginas.
i would eat and drink from them,
use them as bait,
sell, smoke and ponder them,
write sonnets for them
and live in them,
glorify,
sail and sauté them.
then they wouldn’t be
vaginas at all.
they would be more like a habitat,
or an ecosystem.
now that might be something
of interest.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
eleven hundred,
twenty-three feet up,
looking out over
shannonadoa valley
at midday
and the only thing
i could see
was her face.
***for my lo
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
**********
whitman,
was that not his name?
his poetry
was only good
because the language
was more beautiful
back then.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
i am just the tip
of a burnt match
left smoldering
in the ashtray,
but you,
in your version of
the universe
and everything--
you made me
a ******* forest fire.
***for my purple taco
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
an open book on your lap,
hair a black jumble as you cross your legs.
i can hear the skin sliding over skin and the pursing of your lips,
like the sea chumming it up with the salt or some ships.
and of your tongue like a red oval sun
fighting against mine in the dark,
i lilt and drown in the dime of flesh above the ankle strap of your left shoe.
you uncross your legs and look at me, then dip your head toward the ground,
draw your hair out with your fingers, past your face, and let it fall
between your thighs.
skin brown as sand and as hot inside the living room,
beneath seventy watt bulb and lampshade.
you sit up, one mile into my mouth,
and cross your legs again, begin,
*“do you like the way that sounds, joshua?"
when my thighs brush against one another?”*
the moon gets caught
somewhere in a net as birds shut up
and cats uncurl.
unbuckle an ankle strap,
slip one foot barely out of your shoe. *“listen to that,
joshua, you can hear my foot
arching, my legs smearing into one another.”* sand glistens
with sweat
and trembles. uncross legs and gather your hair behind your neck,
slip off your other shoe and claim that you are “naked”.
i believe you
and blame my imagination on the book covered in the folds
of your dress.
***for my shortie
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
she was a soft golden, oiled, nakeding
underneath the afternoon sun,
inside the city's park;
simply shining for all the world to see.
brave little star,
challenging the daytime's authority
and in a barely-there, baby blue thong.
***for my angel
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC