fellas
what's with
all the arguing?
words won't solve anything.
strip him down
and take his ****
and measure it by the inch.
that'll decide it.
beat the **** of them
and whoever
doesn't die first
that's who's right.
carve chunks of flesh
out of his arm
and make him dance
while he *****
a thousand pretty women,
just so he can show
how the facts are on his side.
let him pray to god
and ask
to **** every *******
who is different
and let god do as he does
as if everyone was a *******
philistine.

I pen a poem
about
a beautiful
flower,
and think that maybe
it is about a woman instead.

in disgust,
i throw it away.

not that i hate her,
the contrary,
but to me,
it seems,
a flower cannot be a flower
and a woman
cannot be a woman.

There is futility
in this relentless
carnal
thirst
that paralyzes me
like a knife
in my gut.

i revile ***
yet it is inescapable.
literature is
littered with it
as if
it's something
worth celebrating,
to be written about
over and over again
with the same words,
with the same ****** phrases
that attempt to approximate it
to something pure
pristine
something valuable,
as if it is not done
out of utter necessity
to keep
that knife
out of their gut.

the intense desire
to put a ****
into a ******
or an *******
is worthless,
yet unrelenting.
it is as bukowski has said,
a dog from hell.
it comes like the tide,
it never leaves,
whether it is satiated or not,
it's always there,
creeping,
waiting,
throbbing,
what terrible stuff.

if to truly love
one must ****
then love is not worth it,
then love itself is futile,
to give is nothing
and to reciprocate is nothing
in the face of eternity,
i am so tired of it,
let it stop.

She usually says nothing
but we get along just fine
sometimes better than fine
sometimes words are not needed

this morning
she stared at me
with such deliberate longing.
perhaps it's incorrect to say
she stared at me,
she stared into me
asking with her bright brown eyes
how did it come to this?

i tried to return with a stare of my own,
but i know it is no use
sometimes words are not needed.

Simply
saying
her name
makes me feel
as if
I am
rising steam
during a
cold morning.

To spend your spare time
On someone else
Is an immeasurable
Act of kindness.

How many times have I been saved
By a stranger
Who wanted to talk about the weather?

And I don't
even know
the father's
name.