"It tells me I am prostituting myself"
Edgar Whitman Wilde 

There is an image
Working to free my mind
From violent dawns
It probes at the backs of my eyes
It tells me I am prostituting myself
Here in my bedroom
In incestuous union with myself
I hallucinate and fantasise about
Doctors sons, butchers boys
Teenage thieves, deserters
Drug pushers, scandalous rent boys
Vagrants, pimps, prostitutes
And silk lingerie and don't care.
I sit destitute of thought
An insonce dissonance of macabre music
Playing out melodies of an image in my mind

Deana Luna Oct 2012

It was a desperate kiss.
I could feel you pulling away-
going inside yourself
and I was trying desperately to pull you back to me.
I was kissing your neck,
trying to bring back your pulse.
I was kissing down your breasts,
trying to make it quicken.
All I knew was that I wanted you.
I needed you.
Here.
Now.

"ge Hungarian lust encouraging provoking prostituting on her knees back tummy fingers mouth m"
michael reid rubenstein 

none of you understand what i’m saying is i’m not like any of you never married never parented children never owned real estate don’t believe in government the law hate rich people not afraid to lose everything risk life for the chance at a better life yes i graduated from Philadelphia dental school practiced medicine several years dashing handsome cordial Georgia physician yet knowing i was dying then of tuberculosis i wanted to feel alive know danger taste possibilities fuck you greedy ranch and railroad barons all you cotton gin grist mill moguls loud mouthed Yankee carpetbaggers bounty hunters self-righteous snake oil preachers with your fearful farmstead flocks what the hell do you think Big Nose Kate and me were doing in Tucson why i risked my life at Tombstone’s OK Corral i’ll tell you why because we were desperate beyond your comprehension long-drawn-out careworn hours twisted in desperation insufferably plodding nights so desperate Kate relieved me daily yet in back of each our minds we understood we were both slaves to ancient unfair corrupt economic system that provided enough whiskey to cope desperate for money allegiance shelter frantic enough to face loaded guns aimed firing at me it was hell on earth glaring sun beating down desert dust blowing burning eyes bullets cutting everywhere 1880’s revolvers lacking accuracy even with expert gunsmith modifications young men riddled with bleeding gunshot wounds in 6 years i was dead age 36 hey Kate was no cakewalk she was a bitch who knew how to play me flirting charming admiring exaggerating her strange Hungarian lust encouraging provoking prostituting on her knees back tummy fingers mouth managing somehow to become acquainted with Arizona Governor George Hunt then surviving to age 90 you modern day sleepers who read this rambling cower at airport security passively submit to insidious militarizing culture invasively inspecting camera scanning for cuticle scissors nail file weapons all ludicrous absurdist theatre while real bad guys can easily tape 3 McDonald’s plastic knives together or ball point pen pierce pilots passengers throat arteries skyjack planes hijack bus trains you are no safer than you ever were before Homeland Security Czars foreign wars where we don’t belong riding has grown so weary courage ruthless longing vexing generating entire industry of airport security corporate mall tariff duty free shops inflated restaurant menu prices liter bottle of water $4.99 welcome to America kill me now or kill me later who cares what i look like what i wear if i’m dry shaven smell like goat if i cough up chunks of lung spit tuberculosis germs on polished floors just so long as i pay the toll fee and don’t go shooting off my mouth

"Do not make the mistake of prostituting the glorious deeds of Hercules"
Rangzeb Hussain 

Freedom is premium priced,
At the casino of the world nations throw the dice,
The tables are rigged by the fat rats and mice,
Girls in curvaceous miniskirts on poles entice,
Opium laced drinks and cancer sticks merrily fleece,
Fizzy burgers are served filled with crucified cheese,
Layers of salt and blood and veins congealing with grease
Are the fillings inside the consumed meat,
Come to the sale of the century and let your life be diseased,
Take whatever you want and still you will never be pleased,
Remember, one day all will be held to account, so all evil immediately cease,
Do not make the mistake of prostituting the glorious deeds of Hercules
Or polluting and selling the message of almighty God so cheaply.



©Rangzeb Hussain

"Prostituting our morals for pieces of paper"
Elysia Kathryn Malloy 

We whore ourselves out to whoever comes along
Prostituting our morals for pieces of paper
The superfluous pieces of paper that seem to rule the world
Lies upon lies to keep the truth under wraps
Nobody knows
Rounded up and slaughtered in what looks to be a serene beautiful place
"It's our culture and our race"  
It's population control, we are doing a service
While they slip you poison in your dinner
Let's disregard all the blood that has seeped into the ground
Those who take a stand, we beat them when they stand
We are the culprits but as well can be the saviors
We are sucking the life we are given, till its dry and barren
And the blood is increasing by the minute and soon the sea will be red
Corrupted and needing to revert
Thousands crying out, but the cries fall on deaf ears
And we don't care
Because haven't you heard?
It's the new fad to be cruel
With red water flowing through the currents
Of this red sea

"Prostituting she said with a Gasp and a Sob"
ShamusDeyo 

The Steamy air Hung heavy
In the Office of the Private Eye.
Kansas City in August
The Air wants to die,
Or it only Smells that way.
Drifting up off the Riverbank.

Thelma my receptionist Waits
Filing her nails by the Silent Phone
If things Didn't Pick up soon or Late
Bills would have me Down to the Bone
Chasing Bail jumpers, something I'd Hate
Have to settle on, less some business was done

Just as I knocked back a Belt of Bourbon,
Came a Knock at the Door, in Walked
A pair of Legs from Here to there, to look on
Not sure if it was the red of her lips,
Or the red of her bright Hair,
But a Swing in her Hips Got me there.

She Laid on the tears as she told me her Fears
A Long lost sister being run by the Mob
Prostituting she said with a Gasp and a Sob
Her Silk Stocking legs crossing Sealed the deal
I'd put an ear to the street and find out the feel

A Kansas City Kingpin ran her on the street
If I staked out a Corner I'd see them Meet
Slipped my .32 from the Leather and Spun it once
Checking the chamber for a full Loaded Gun
I hunched down in the front seat of my old Chevy

It was only Minutes till he played the Heavy
I shouted out stop, as he Pulled a gun... Popped
It Seemed like Slow Motion as his body Dropped
She screams for Police, next I'm Cuffed by a Cop
Long legs says I stalked her, and am Patently Crazy
I took the Fall 'cause she set me up for the Patsy

The moral of the Story is..........
"Dames and Bourbon Don't mix".....JMF 12/11/14

Dedicated to all the Suckers set up in life....

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
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