Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Julia Aug 2017
Everyday drooling drones awaken
To a nation overtaken
By souls in stupor so mistaken
That the universe in space has shaken.

Dripping in sulfurous stench
Emerging men and women clench
Their nails into the typed trench
Climbing with the worded wrench.

Swirls of sullied slime and snot
Drooping down from Tyrant's lot
Unfurl as if we all forgot
Our Fathers' flames under the ***.

While high at an ungodly seat
Tyrant twitches from his feat.
Below the witches herd the heat
Into the house of white discrete.

Unmask the mighty majesty,
His hideous atrocity.
Yank yank, courageous cavalry,
For rebirth of humanity!
¡Sí se puede! ✊
Martin Narrod May 2014
So I scuttled up, until I found a voice like Japan, I read him his rights, turned out the lights, and laid right back on the sand. They said, "Sir, he was much of a father to me, but we were labeled his kin, right in our family tree." "Oh wow", I said, with a gentle, smooth voice, he went missing last August, but now he wants back you boys?" "Oh yes, he sure is a feral man. We think that's why he dried up and flew to Japan." Right then, the two of them went silent just like two second story men, so I inquired, "What happened then?" "From Monday thru Sunday he took to prayer from the bible, and on every other weeknight he watched Japan's Top Model. He threw gallant parties to a harem of wives, he read each of their palms, and looked in their eyes; some time later, when everyone was about to leave, he'd turn on Happy End and start a wild ****." By this time I was tired, the sun began to set, I grew tired of my beach patch and yearned for my bed. Although soporific, I tried to be polite, I said, "Let's finish this conversation some other time." "Of course!", they said, "We're off to bed. We'll see that you'll do the same." Then they stood up quick, and reached down and picked up my chains. The beach we laid on was black top, asphalt and tar, the bed I craved was behind a row of private bars. The two of them, them both, were children of mine, because my memory is shot, this might've been their millionth time. i got locked up in a county that's dry as a beach, like Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where I was raised till 13. No one, not even the warden, knows really why I'm here, even some man from Cell Block Five, asked me last Sunday, why was I here. My beach perhaps, it's love at last, concrete, gravel, and stone- a 6' x 10' room with bars and a porcelain throne. It's mine I cry, each night I die, with glee, with smile, with rite. But it makes the other guys run at me, and try to start random fights. I don't remember the boat I took, but I remember the tour, going to Japan at Epcot Center since I'd never gone before.
Martin Narrod May 2014
The likes of you I can't describe,
Yet I love to eat between your thighs.
The melody you spake to me
Unfolds my greatest sovereignty.
I crave to quaff all of your spit,
And swallow every drop of it.
Don't cheat me of your tasty flesh,
Those bare and supple ****** *******,
Your eyes that follow my firm gaze,
While we kiss and lick and misbehave.
I need to feel each piece of skin,
Smashing girl and boy parts over and over again.
It's such a treat to eat you whole;
I'm obsessed with eating 19-year-olds.
#love #kiss #poem #poetry #**** #10 #***** #eating #**** #***** #funny #boy #crush #evil #demons #the #hip #rhyme #blood #and #***** #america #**** #boys #girls #*** #obsession #muse #writing #emotion #woman #piece #skin #free #coming #usa #**** #nineteen #out #poets #****** #freeform #pieces #skinny #parts #monster #follow #****** #whole #******* #verse #humans #men #women #eat #chicago #**** #american #debauchery #male #wet #****** #**** #guys #sentence #******* #freeverse #cool #virgins #following #2013 #swallow #****** #joke #forum #stick #2014 #sexuality #flesh #gore #wicked #stiff #virginity #illinois #cowboy #nsfw #***** #****** #******* #riddle #drop #**** #**** #spit #czech #rocket #**** #submissive #sub #horrid #sentences #******* #dominant #meat #moist #werewolf #**** #*** #***** #skins #mused #muses #narrod #martin #themuse #jocular #prague #skinnygirls #amused #musedandamusedtumblrcom #unitedstatesofamerica #clique #horrific #disobedient #rtw #vampires #dom #eroticism #eroticpoetry #clause #cz #praha #chicagopoetryfoundation #werewolves #lycan #formless #poetryfoundation #teenagelust #treat #guts #onestanza #******* #wretch #******* #quaff #virginblood #lurid #prurient #sexygirls #sexywriting #eroticwriting #humanbeings #firm #overandover #ihaveacrush #19yrold #19yearold #nineteenyearolds #spits #******* #******* #boygirl #doyouswallow #dripping #folds #mons #***** #***** #******* #eatingout #dinnerparty #diningroom #eats #dirtypoems #dirtylimmerick #rhymingpoetry #youngmalepoets #humanpoetryfoundation #eroticpoetryforum #stanzas #1stanza #claws #clawworks #sade #sadomasochism #masochistic #***** #witch #warlock #monstrous #hellish #blooddrinking #periodblood #menstruating #menarcheparty #menarche #teenagerfucking #cutegirls #prettygirls #sexywomen #flesheating #wanton #notsafeforwork #30 #thirtyyearold #adultmen #adultboys #girlonboy #reversecowgirl #cowgirl #misbehave #dominating #pussyeating #whorish #**** #http
Martin Narrod May 2014
Hallucinating Bureaucracies and auditory Hallucinations : When the voice in your head speaks when you don't want it to, to head's of State not present. I could snuggle in bed if I wanted to, but I've got to orchestrate and reorganize the Clinton dowry. It started outright with trying on a purple, yellow, and blue button down shirt that had Scabies in the sleeve- and now you're all going to know why Mr. and Mrs. Obama don't want to talk to me about potentially increasing livestock traffic across the Americas. I think could practice will follow from such a manure, I mean maneuver. I pick up 10 or so bottles of plastic single-serve water for consumption in my apartheid room. It's awful in here. The gold disappears from the mines, and even the hands I used to work with are blurring up in the twister, and as much as you call or don't call I have no business managing your intentions- only mine. Some barrge of women over thirty. But still there isn't a problem. The river is beginning to flood, and the fishery's stockpile is running low. Maybe we ought to empty out an African mass grave and fill it with blacklists of co-conspirators and then make a drake or a flume out of the narrow walkways between the cities. Then maybe we'll have water to last us through the dry season.----------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------- Where in the world is Sam in Hammond, Can Diego? Forklifting pillars, bribing monkeys, playing with his Mickey Mouse and Michelob, catching the taller, eighteen and up crowd catch the last car riding the rapid drop from Space Mountain through, "It's a Small World After All:"  

It's a world of laughter a world of tears, it's a world of hopes and a world of fears. There's so much that we share, that it's time we're aware- it's a small world after all."  

And then he takes the biggest gulp of water into his mouth that I've ever seen the man take, and he puts it in a small cooler that's strapped to the back of his calf, and he swears to me that the aeroplanes are going to come loop around, and when they do their glorious water-landing, he and I, or rather, the both of us, will be saved. Saved, hm? I don't even bother sharing insights or my insides. I quickly flash him the most-pod horrific a tryst that irons down a photo of Egon and I back in the Old City, what was it, Chicago, or something that very much sounded like Chicago. Could be totally awesome and I'll chime in that now is the time when we do our work best. That's all. Intrepid,
Martin Narrod May 2014
They told me the only thing that could cure heartache was war, and since the war wouldn't take me I figure the only thing to do now is take up a life of crime. Gabriel Garcia Marquez says in Love in the Time of Cholera that the only cure for heartache is to find other hearts to break. Five years have passed and I still remember without fail the flint of a lighter, the squint of an eye, and the bell of your dress. I dream a dream each night, sweet variation of the story of you. It comes down to a letter sometimes, I go to the window well with a notebook and a pencil and I draft a sonnet, sometimes a verse, any form of an expression to idle the time it takes for me to find you. I know stars that haven't lived as long. The way I cupped my hands over your ears, the way rapture lived and loved, you kissing me in the shade of the palm trees up their on Notre Damen Ave. I know the curve of the Earth wrapped in the shades of the skin on your body. I live every day for the chance that I will meet you again.
Letter to an ex-girlfriend
Martin Narrod May 2014
We know you, and your little dark colors too. A picture book in your purse penned in mustaches on the full faces of your fare. We call you from bed, 8 o' clock in the morning, dog-light you slow wander the Peruvian darkness making jellyfish tentacles with your hands while you feel your way through Salem. We're colder than night and we wake thrice the bits of your day gig. You collapse in a green field of dandelion where thrushes drown you in Brown. We gorge ourselves on mango slivers, pineapple yolks, a half of grapefruit. We know you are close to your end.

On the tops of the cities you call to your lycan friends, the half-sick and muted bray allures them to you, from Bratislava and Mimon, the thoroughfare through the suq. We wait. The foregone untold, the beep beep jug jug swoop sound of the nightingale, in all her dun glory, we wait. Then, as if descending through the moor-lounging silver smoke, the cool stickiness to your fingertips; the fog.

We are there when the blue-less and smoky screen surrounds you, when you shank the auburn Scot hair of the sly fox that stalks, say, a cigarette from your lips. When you take the corners swiftly, gadding the streets. The prize king of vulpicide. You rub its matte fur against your bristly gray beard. And while you lay in your lumps of twelve carat flesh you bleat and you nag. One day you will never come home.
*Johnny 3:16 is an unattainable film featuring Vincent Gallo. The trailer for the film is available here

— The End —