Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I'd rather have the kind of love
That grows organically
Not forced or rushed

I'd rather have the kind of love
That grows from a wealth
Of shared experiences
One hundred cups of coffee
One thousand laughs
Ten thousand smiles

I'd rather have the kind of love
That burns slowly
Continues to provide warmth
Gives off a steady light

I'd rather have the kind of love
That's built on substance

I'd rather have the kind of love that lasts
Movies and books would have you believe that love has to be a huge explosion of feeling. That the moment you meet someone you should know they're the one. There's more to love than that.
Hot Cheetos
Over ***
There's more fire in msg
Than monogomy
 Apr 2015 The Good Pussy
Coop Lee
.                     i was ******* when the earthquake hit.
                      i’d say it was the best ****** i ever had.

an animal!
a multicellular eukaryotic organism of the kingdom ingesting other organisms to progress!
a well-organized kid of chaos strutting his stuff and puffing his puff.
rifle, duffel, falafel, phil.
fully blessed and stressed to strum forward for the sun, or fun
and fandango.

we are the people,
and the people are merely material,
and the material breathed and breached the darkness, for more.
we are man and woman and dog,
beasts screeching in a field over nothing, over everything, over ant-mounds and the sounds
of seasons meeting.
we think.

eat, drink, wine, woman, song.

he thinks
of nothing but her.
and so in the name of her, he acts, he reacts, he attacks the momentum of weekends into weekends into rhythm. he rolls
out and the words roll off and the days roll by, but this is the unfolding of life,
right?
strife upon strife upon struggle to eat,
and repeat,
and eat her *****.

he was a well-spoken yet savage young buck,
evolving to confide and subside with these friends or enemies and imbibe the night away.
repeat/
he was a rise and shine early type with a mug of hot brew.
or the dream and shine late type with a bottle of cold cider.
repeat/
his blind date is a troll woman digging through the dumpster across the street.
he is a goblin boy gritting his fangs toward a girl, on a dancefloor, in a club, and bubble go the texts.
his texts are long and resolute.
she doesn’t respond.
she does respond.
she is seeing someone else. others
from a tall tree or lineage of men with strength and material.
a tall line of men and misters and teachers and tongues, all men obsessed with death &/or glory.
and by rite i obsess with death &/or glory.
and the dog, i want the dog there with me.
and the girl.
 Apr 2015 The Good Pussy
Coop Lee
there in the wilderness
all things go to live
and all things go to die.

she stole my shirt and hatchet
and took to the woods.
                           hacked out the heart.

traded one wilderness for another. city into
trees.
she needed to breathe
and wring wet socks, relax, and study the mycelium songs underfoot.

she she she, like a marvelous
new love.
the grass and green stuff woven.
canteen replete with wheat nectar
         or half-batch whiskey.

needs nutrient,
the seed so new.
needs space,
the daughter as she grew.

what tempest breaks the trees and old heads
of mother timber?
         perhaps deep-winter,
         to test the fiber of a florescent forest fleek.

she built a chikee from fallen arms of a sprucewood soul,
drank water from a clay-thrown bowl
and granola to heat her bones.

new fish.
the river is cold on glacier blood.
new day,
driven beyond the random access roads & cobalt blast-holes stretching
gulches bloomed in chaparral.
up they crawl along monumental spine and shoulder,
giants sleeping.

she she she, live a marvelous new love.

the wonder is seen.
the wilderness lived and remembered
by girl or elk bugling their high-decibel poems
when ready.
Tangled up melodies
At least your song plays
Skinny arms and wrists
You're the girl I never kissed

Drinking up sorrows
For the songs that never play
Fill the void with cheap liquor
Easy escapes we should never make
 Apr 2015 The Good Pussy
Gaffer
Between the sand and the sea
He’s free
The crashing of the waves
Mean he’s safe
Slightly broken
But only in mind
Some Days he’s fine
Don’t shout
Don’t crowd
But be around
He may ignore you
Say hello
Next time, who knows
He has a story to tell
His inner hell
He’ll make you laugh
He’ll make you cry
But don’t pry
The story runs for years
All about fear
Brave as brave can be
Strange to see
Anger, tears
Voices in ears
He’s won the battle
They've told him so
But he’s slightly broken
He doesn't know
Between the sand and the sea
He’s free
The crashing of the waves
Mean he's safe.
Next page