Freezing Moon* by the stereo
and as a bed poet
I'm takin' a ****.

Did you know about that guy
who slit his wrist… on this? she says.
No; Martha, Jessica, Julia: but still…

Here, alone, with the MacBook Air
- or was it Pro? Nevertheless,
an useless tool for worthless ****.

****, Pr0n, Pony - *******.

Here, alone, I and only I writes with the capital I.
And after the **** has gone
it feeds the air with oriental glams of leprosy:

and after a long working day I am not afraid,
watching its face, as I'm flushing it in the toilet
just like all the *******' poetries @ Home-Poetry.

Gay
you ******* ******
FAGET!
blue boy blues
blue boy's eyes
here in my room
no, no,
i'm bisexual, you see
i'm a poet, you see
I'm Bret Easton Ellis
disguised in a fashion identity
twisted lovers between your ragged sheets
rrr-rr
call me, Beverly Hills 90-210-SIX-SIX-SIX
i eat more chicken than any man can meat
but i'm no more mean than you
here
with a sick pack of abs
drinking a can of beer
PABST! BLUE RIBBON!
Cold sirens sing for you
and me

SHOOT! SHOOT! SHOOT!

siren's ****.

The protection for my love
come in my eyes and insecurity
no one dances in the ballroom
the bride legs' are opened wide
in my *****
in this dark fantasy
all night
touching my self
behind my mother's bed
******* my mind
there you're lying with me
with a spike in your arm
i'm troubled, you see
i'm messed up, you see
i'll eat your heart out, won't breathe,
won't bleed and scratch and crawl

i'll rip you

LIMB

BY

LIMB

she says: hold me, i'm fallin'

and then i saw your face
and then i saw your smile
dancing
to some Yeezy song on the stereo
there, all alone, put your make up on
and tie off my arm
and turn the T.V. on
and fire up these boys
and give me another *******
- before i'm on the nod.

Go ahead and smile, you ****.

I've rotten and snorted,
sneezing other men's
***** in your room
- milked you like a cow
- loved you like my mom.

And i'm nothing but an
used ******. Love:
the kind of thing you clean
with a mop and bucket.

this ain't no art, man,
this is just a careless whisper
this is just George Michael
singing in your stereo
this is just your bourgeois-blues
this is merely a bewilderment
this is not the art, you know it,
you ******
you ****
you chronic masturbator
you who dare to write on the internet
dancing with yo papa' shoes
and in yo mama' lingerie
ah, look at yourself, a human miracle
Angel of a foreign Harlem,
you who wasted all away,
speaking in foreign tongues
inside the thighs of a british stripper,
you idiot
you *****.

and when i'm done i'll come for you,
like a ****
like a dog
sniffin' and slidin' in your park
in your ***** trailer park
there with your fat-****-husband
stalkin' yo every move
you *****
you ****
and when i'm done i'll look for you,
simple as that
simple as an Einstein formula
served to you on exotic dishes
by Norma from Twin Peaks,
cars for the missus and furs for the mistress
and when you'll die you'll ****
between all your champagne wishes
and it'll be ******* ridiculous.

But that's life, babe.
Get down on thursday,
drains you in May.
You *****.

so be-my-babe
i say be-my-babe
in black and white
like the Ramones
or the Ronettes or
the Rolling Stone
- i still want to know
how your insides look like,
- i still want to save
your capitalist nature
in my mother's fridge,
- i still want to fly
high on a jet plane with you,
alone,
with or without needs,
crashing on our bridge.

I love you-
love me!

I put my gun in your hands.
I push it. I shovel it.
My bones are broken
bound by all the words
i never dared to say
- and here, my love, right here,
i put IT in my mouth,
i feel the cold steel in my tongue,
-- how much blood from
such a tiny hole, Lizaveta!--
and this, and so much more.

but please, i say please,
would you feed me?
would you need me?
i'm a little angel drowning in candies
who's eating his heart out and ******* his candy
ah, would you say this? Would you?
Just because it ain't cool?


Well if i'm not cool i'll drive my kite all night
and take my lunchbox and
shoot Panama down and
shoot Mexico down and
shoot a *** smoker down
and shoot a crack dealer down
and shoot a beer dealer down and
shoot Mexico down
shoot Osaka down
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
my love will gun down all your school
Look at me - i say, look at me!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
and don't you forget to say my name,
as i'll

****

YOUR

SKULL

«So teach ******
a thousand romance
and play, and sing,
and dance?

no one will ever
understand.

Go tell ma'
i cant' pay the rent;
Go tell ma'
these are twisted sinews
from a tiger heart:
Go tell ma'
my life is only fluff.»

Dreamin' is free?,
don't tell that to me;
I've spent awake
my time in bed
so tired, I've lost
everything I had.

You are not alone.
2. You are like a special flock of snow: unique.
3. You prefer the smell of freshly new books to the one of the old ones in the public library.
4. You like takin' naps every one in a while, endearingly dozed, upon your mattress or on the couch, when no-one sees you - approximately after lunch.
5. You smile with your heart when Backstreet Boys are on the radio, remembering.
6. You can instantly remember and distinguish the sound of your mother's stroll on the stairs.
7. You wonder if the passing stranger will remember you like you do - every day of your life.
8. You like to wake up restored in the soft early morning, breathing air near your window and pour fresh coffee on the mug your lover's brought you from his/her last trip, right there near your rusks and grandma's cherry jam.
9. You are moved to happy, silent tears, when what was your favorite cartoon episode comes up on someone else's baby TV.
10. You are beautiful.

I think I fell in love with a ****-star
And got married in a bath-room
Honeymoon on the dance-floor
And got divorced by the end-of-the-night.

On her thin white neck
the Devil's mark.

****-I'm in love with my *****-chick;
I present her to my mother
with a video, with my MacBook Pro™,
smokin' her Marlboro™ clove cigs,
all glimmer up with cheap make up
falling curls over her shoulders,
between you and me, o'er her *** in debris.

There's only one, and one there's only:
don't bother me and my ***** chick
if you don't get cheap thrills from a midnight flick
if you're feeling suicidal, or barely lonely.

*And I love her.

I used to watch your ****,
shamelessly, naked, here,
on my mother's couch, alone.

I used to watch your ****,
until the sunrising and my
hand felt dumb 'til the morn.

I used to watch your ****,
reminiscing nights of *****
as Jesus set as stone.

I used to watch your ****:
but then I stalked you on Facebook™
and find out you have a life
and find out you have a baby
and find out you have an old spanish husband
who's got scars, and tattoos, and smoke cigarettes,
and find out you got ugly
as the years and years passed by
in a careless whisper, of all the nights
I used to watch your ****.

I've watched a video on hamsters™
that reminded me of you
between your riddles and answers,
the tired mother on the rearview mirror.

Many times do I wonder
as you opened the door
with your yellow hair
falling on shoulders
nothing to say
naked
nothing to do
as you stroked and stroked
and stroked.

"Do you love me
- like I do?"


But then again I'm also doomed
to slit my wrists under the moon:
that same old moon, already missed.

Black rickety bridges
upon bayous and flowers
Stephen King's novel, then devoured:
let's go to Albuquerque,
and count the rings
around my eyes.

(their waiting to get warm..)

They lost the ignorance.
They took a shuttle
and burnt the witches
down down in Seattle:
made your own mother
a watery bad of waffle.

(How come are you
still drunk, Michael?)

Lana del Ray is singin'
in our backyard - and I
never felt so hard: close.

Up, up, up!
He's back!
She ain't never come-in' back!
She ain't never come-in' back!

Where's your apartment?
Where's your apartment?
How's Annie? How's *Annie?

And as we get undress
by the sparkling image
of a Jennifer-Love-Hewitt
randomly on our TV -
we too are turned on.

Turn the TV on.
Turn the TV on.

You smile, gal. You smile.
You smile and say Hi Daddy -
as I penetrate you with my gun.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

There you go, she said.
She always do.
Like she should.
Oh, oh, oh… Oh.

Cigarette puffs and
morning bluffs
all tied down to
some handcuffs
ugly girl's poem
petty little problem
on my handkerchief
on my lost soul of
slime, treachery and
fruit colored nails
and your own scuff -
who said you hurt?

Come. Come. Come again.

And as the elevator
lit itself up your thighs
you touch my lemon -
and you smile.


I finally transcended my sword
and I'm bound to an unlit world
as I spill my yogurt on your curves.

Now.. Why so insecurr??

The makeup falls from your eyes
as we shower after the last fix -
I kiss your lips, and you kiss mine.

I wonder: does it feel like this,
to be alive? To live, dance and die?

My darling, the water is warm
and you smile with your eyes.
Our own bodies are warm
and we dive like a lonely drop
in a long forgotten ocean.

I kiss your white body!
Oh, nights of restless sleep:
how far could it go so steep?
Stick around: you might find.
The streets are all gone empty.

How I wish we'd be like this - forever!
But to wish is to possess, and forever
is just another useless unwanted caress.
Too much joy, now: let's go back
to the days of honey, to the days
of glamorous ****** addiction.

My love: it's to late now.
Gonna kick tomorrow.

You're the Devil
with your firing eyes
calling me, haunting me
you who wants me,
you who hound me,
you who love me -
and hates me and ates me,
breaks me and shakes me.

Why, why? Enough, enough!

Sick addictions, poor afflictions,
I fade into you, I fade into you!
listen, listen… I tried my best:
but I couldn't.

And so I drown.

We work at three
'til the last of moons
crumbles in the sea.
We work for thee:
we work at noon.
Our life's a noun
our love's a crown
for bitter hell spawn
from some tortured
simple little sounds
of babies and fingers
and nails - not found.

Hush, now.

Our love stand still
our job's our will
far from secret thrills
we'll buy your will -
and even your father's
white ancient windmill.

It's a strange circuitry
our nature - ain't it?

Jamal doesn't talk:
he's been lying on
our friendly ground
'til we start to walk
'til he look like chalk.

Jamal, Jamal!,
what have you done?

You used to run free
with your brothers,
your sisters and me
- with the sirens happily
and merrily on the beach,
the Sun did set and you
and me and Ahmed
smoked and prayed
for a better day yet
you sold your soul
to the corporation
to the inflammation
to the ignorant creation
to the culture-starvation
// and you drink coffee
you go out at night
with your fine Armani suit
with your firing gun shoot
with your babbling babbling
lil' baby girl ain't a baby no mo'
lil' baby girl ain't a baby no mo'
she shoot she shoot she shoot
- to make the point is moot.

Where is your ancient fire?
Where is your cool, laid-back
tongue that spoke of Youth?
Where are your tambourines
and wings and strings and flutes?

They finished shooting the sky.
They finished. They finished.
The war is over. Glory hallelujah!
Your wife is gone. Her baby, too…
Now you don't know
how to walk at night
as you don't remember
nightmares of a butterfly.

You don't remember
nightmares of a butterfly
you don't remember
nightmares of a butterfly.

Layin' awake
in the heat of the night
feelin' your breath
warm upon my shoulder
I wonder: "Do you wonder?"
as we kiss and blend
like the final moon beam.

A present from the night:
you are.

Such a delight
to find myself
alone
again
in this cold dark road
in this same old room
thinkin' of you:
my whole life
rememberin'…

A work that's not done
a sight that's not seen
a sigh that's not cried.

We fall like tears
for over the years.

-T.M.™