"earlobes" poems
there are four kinds of nightmares
that leave us disheveled
that leave us disoriented
that leave us undone
the one kind we all know
happens at night
when we awake in fear
from a terrible sight
the second one is common
and happens in broad daylight
leaves us in cold sweat
from seeing his heart being stolen by someone else
the third is a little scarier
and happens all the time
these are not ghosts
that are scratching at my earlobes
the fourth is my favourite and also the worst
it happens on the brightest and happiest days
it's the envisioning of a fear
that everything will fall apart.
(n.n.)
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
And here am I
Saturday's brain
Saturated and static
Beautifully buzzing with anticipation
Glowing, large, gorgeous
I am rotund and proud
Filled with the blissful tension leading
Up to letting go
My heart, like roaring drizzle
Breathes up through my collarbones
out my shoulders and ears
A steady humming in my veins
My earlobes murmuring
In agreement
I think
I'll break the surface now
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
Friend Rockstar,
Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
I’ve never been maternal.
Put the game on. Abortion.
That’s what I’m about.
Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
I can still remember my first broken bone.
I can still remember my first broken *****
That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
can’t grow up
to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
My mouth is wrapped in razor wire. The less said the better. Whole worlds are caught between my teeth. My eyes are somewhere between moons, and my nostrils breathe the mist of demons. My earlobes have the jewelry of vast continents. And my throat is strangled with amethyst tears. My hair wraps your shoulders. My pearls touch your belly. And my hands? They flutter like leaves in the wind to catch galaxies. I long to say the three words. But deserts live on my tongue.
Yet it takes only a moment to say goodbye.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/7/2016
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
Mayan Poetry Translations
The Receiving of the Flower
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let us sing overflowing with joy
as we observe the Receiving of the Flower.
The lovely maidens beam;
their hearts leap in their *******
Why?
Because they will soon yield their virginity to the men they love!
###
The Deflowering
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Remove your clothes;
let down your hair;
become as naked as the day you were born—
virgins!
###
Prelude to **********
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lay out your most beautiful clothes,
maidens!
The day of happiness has arrived!
Grab your combs, detangle your hair,
adorn your earlobes with gaudy pendants.
Dress in white as becomes maidens ...
Then go, give your lovers the happiness of your laughter!
And all the village will rejoice with you,
for the day of happiness has arrived!
###
The Flower-Strewn Pool
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You have arrived at last in the woods
where no one can see what you do
at the flower-strewn pool ...
Remove your clothes,
unbraid your hair,
become as you were
when you first arrived here,
virgins, maidens!
These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch
These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: ancient, Mayan, poetry, translation, translations, love, virginity, *** marriage, joy, happiness, flower, flowers, deflowering, clothes, hair, ****** nakedness
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC
There once was a proper noun,
who started hanging with the wrong crowd.
With alluring adjectives who handed out compliments like candy
− gob smacking gossipers with an opinion on everything.
And with thrill-seeking adverbs,
who buddied up to the most dangerous of companions;
crash, dive, hurl, and gamble (to name a few).
Until the day the sentence came rambling into town,
planting punctuation in the form of kisses
on the noun’s eyelids, earlobes, and collarbone.
Provoking such admissions as, “My thighs stuck
to the black leather seats under the hot, cloudy skies
of that August afternoon, and my hair whipped
like willow branches in the wind,
when I rode on the back of his motorcycle.”
or, “He greets me every morning with a sun-drenched kiss”,
and, “The tulips were picked fresh from the ditch of
a curvy, country road, but now sit in a
vase by my bed, and are slowly wilting away.”
It would eventually be made clear
that the sentence had a nasty habit
of propositioning prepositions,
only to leave them hanging,
and to place things in parenthesis,
that simply did not belong.
And so, the sentence would wind up leaving town,
or “run-on”, as the noun liked to tell it.
Went chasing after some particularly provocative expletives,
eventually trailing off with a faint set of ellipsis...
And the kindest of adjectives
came cooing after the noun,
calling to her; lovely, lustrous, listless.
And the adverbs brought with them
their gentlest of friends; comfort and console,
to speak with the noun:
softly, tenderly, lovingly- all witnesses.
But it was of no use,
and the noun whispered quietly:
“I have been enchanted with a single kiss
which can never be undone,
until the destruction of language.”
*based off of the poem Permanently, by Kenneth Koch
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
In to the mystery of the night, i wander
the tangled tarantula garden
canopied with prophesies of light,
Lit windows are making
overtures to desires
night unleashes at these hours,
hear the buzz in the air
its time to make love,
darkness forgets hurt and embraces light.
i walk alone,
but an enchanting witch wait
for me somewhere in a garden bench,
to take me by my hand to her secret haunt
filled with thick smoke of ****
where she will remove the drapes
to let me see the truth.
On her quill and cactus bed,
she would make me understand,
how far is pleasure from pain
why darkness stalks light,
a jilted lover, walking a few steps behind,
I've heard her, once whisper
to wind in her husky voice
"A life written off by those
who measure out life with coffee spoons,
as spent in vein; this life of mine,
could have its secret treasures,
no charlatan could ever guess about
a serpent's diamonds
very few get to see,
its dangerous to pry, i forgive their ignorance"
Words induced by her dark power
has layers of meaning
but to many it was just meaningless jabbering,
just magic mushroom blabber
She nibbled and nicked my earlobes,
in between intoxicating purrs,
told me the meaning of caterwauls,
**"Its not pain, its not pain,
once you get in to the stream
you only want to drain,
in to the vast blue ocean"**
I recognize now, it's Walpurgis night,
as i walk in search of my witch,
i see dancers around bonfire,
revelers totally out of their minds,
carouse at the heart of the night.
And i see them all, witches in marine blue dresses,
enchantresses in blackly black,
coquettish red or groovy green,
I wait for her to appear,
the only one in resplendent white.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
Nibble Her Neck,
and She'll curl up Her Nose.
Massage Her Feet
and She'll curl up Her Toes.
Tickle Her Earlobes
and She'll Moan your Name.
Whisper Her Cow Girl
and She'll ride on your Frame.
Tweak Her Rosebuds
and She'll give out a Moan.
Kiss Her Lips,
and She'll slurp on your Cone.
Bite Her Toes
and She'll wriggle Her Waist.
Trickles of sweet Honey,
is all yours to Taste.
Apr 28, 2024
Apr 28, 2024 at 9:22 AM UTC
Good morning rooster
How do you do?
It’s the crack of dawn
You cock-a-doodle-do
You sit on your perch pride fully and woo
Standing mighty and bold you call your brood for food
Sleek and graceful you do the cockerel waltz
Strutting vaudeville statuesque
Crowing to proclaim your territory
You stand protecting your roost
***** and brave
Watching for predators coming your way
The alpha male
Your earlobes and crown are blood red like a bird of paradise
Your steel beak as strong as a saw
Your feather mane chestnut drapes over your back
Your breast fuchsia and emerald quill
Your silken tail an extended fan
You run free reign on my ranch
A thousand chickens roost in my barn
You rearrange my garden while pecking for nourishment
Eating up all the insects and brown recluses in my yard
In dust you and your flock bathe
You even watch over the hens eggs
Your calls distinct and powerful
When you are still and content sweet singing rings
You are friendly to humans
And can even be domesticated
Stay here Roo
We will protect you
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 7:10 AM UTC
I want to ****** you with my blue eyes
take you in for a little while
then walk away into another room
then come back and take you in a little while longer
until you come over and speak to me
then I want to listen to your every word
nod, smile, laugh, touch your arm
touch your thigh
look into your eyes
telling you
I want to kiss you
secretly in some kind of visual code,
that I want to lick your neck a little bit
and nibble on your ear
make you go crazy
make you tingle and pull away from
feeling too overwhelmed
then coming back to receive more,
and after that happens,
I want to crawl my fingers up your shirt
feel your warm stomach skin
ribs
chest
shoulders
pulling it over your head and throwing it on the floor
caressing your torso
hand prints against your back
pulling you closer toward me
pressing my pelvis up against yours
taking initiative
on my tippytoes
letting you take initiative
bending your back to my height
and it’s all muscle memory from there on;
breaking away from your lips and pressing my own
up against your collar bone
your shoulders
your chest
your treasure trail
your hip bones
undoing your belt
taking quite some time at this task because I find that
every man’s belt is very confusing to undo -
finally, success
pulling it through the belt loops
popping the button out of the hole
unzipping the zipper
clasping onto each side and pulling down
pushing down
they’re around your ankles and you step out
and then you’re in your briefs
just your briefs
all else is skin and devilish looks
then, pushing me onto the bed
on top of me with a hard on pressing up against
the space between my open legs
that wrap around your hips
kissing my neck
biting my neck
licking my neck
my earlobes
my shoulders
my collar bone
tongue swirls around the aroused tips of my chest
arousing me more
wanting me more
wanting you more
then you’ll take off my underwear and I’ll be fully naked
for you
on this bed that I want to **** you on
biting my lip
leaning forward to pull down your briefs
and you are fully naked
for me
you pop out freely
hard
stiff
pink
eager
your two fingers linger low and decide I am ready
in goes the stiff
out goes a moan
out pulls the stiff
in it goes again
I cannot describe what it is like
when you look me in the eyes when we make love
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley
this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans
growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot
the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits
diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals
get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?
beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill
Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero
Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
Probably just a man with his gloves on backwards
Darkwood doves in his outercoat pocket
figs and fossils hanging off his earlobes
silky cigarette smoke scooting up his fingers
got a moody mad eye and he knows how to use it
when he gets a brain block,
he breaks it with a breeze block
nudges out mice and shrews from his foot box
fixes up his old bow-tie for the foxtrot
there gonna see his burnt out knees and elbows
easy to fix though, with a bit of Velcro
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
*Your mind, I can read through the mirror of dark eyes,
no iris reading technology this, an ancient practice of lovers
disagreement creeps in to your naughty mind
don't I read it's alphabets and words?
you still smile and act amiable,
just to mislead me and hide your war tactics.
this little game of ours has a subtext of lust,
in bed we translate it to a physical duel
half moons of my nails etch blood mark all over your back
your sharp teeth, give quick bites, lips nibble my earlobes,
love play quickly become a rough and tumble game
when you are the naked aggressor sitting above, I the victim,
moving up and down, we inch forward to culminate in sweet thunder,
you have your sweet revenge, my lover, like in times before,
dissolving your disagreements, in my willing surrender
to your charm, warm naked body's entrapment, every time my dream*
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
I imagine petals of light pink roses or of cherry blossoms gliding in the air
Slowly, they turn and fall, gliding through the empty space
I see a pretty woman, with mesmerizing hair and pretty ears and earlobes, sitting there, in a pink dress and with an elegant white hat
Her hair is pulled back into a knot and she plays with little flowers dancing with the wind
I cannot see her face, but I know that she is beautiful and I know that I feel something for her
Perhaps she has blue eyes and small pink lips
Or possibly she has penetrating dark eyes and luscious lips
This woman, is surrounded by the pink petals
Flowing with the gusts of wind that blow the pink dress and white hat
Hundreds, thousands of petals that surround her like little butterflies in the time of love,
Turn and swirl freely, spinning vertically and horizontally
They fall and fall, as if from trees atop the clouds that hang above
But then they rise, too, can you see? Rising, flowing, going everywhere with the waves of blowing air
The lady holds her hat and grabs a petal that far-off mountains and the trees, the rivers and the streams, dedicate to her.
The petal, smooth and delicate, a reflection of her tender hands
The petal, pleasantly aromatic like her fragrance
The petal, soft with subtle shades of pink, a reflection of her gentle nature and all things that surround her being
Lost in my thoughts, I imagine a fragrant atmosphere, with scent of pink rose petals,
And there, a sweet and pretty woman sits surrounded by floating petals in the air.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
you look so good
like a goddess
where's the courage to tell you?
do
I know the right words?
An innocence of love like
a bird in the sky,
in its cerulean heaven,
all its purity
untainted.
all the painters in the world
using all their colors
like ravens and vultures,
and the advertisers
using maroon and crimson
like doves and love,
they just don't know.
How you look in a snapshot,
is better than a mural.
I hate that we can't talk any more,
seems decrepit, I'm so poor,
spoiled by the gift of your lost love,
like a pearl in my mouth,
every gulp of the sea
is a tearjerker.
All I want is love and affection
from the eden of your love,
the juice of your apple
a knowledge
only concerning to gods.
The seed of your body,
a peachtree paradise,
each pod dropping to the body of my death,
like the shroud of renewal.
Each new picture of you:
the destruction of your youth,
and the eruption of your wonderland,
is another nail,
another regretful wish
that I'd seen and understood
everything beautiful about you.
Even in the moontide hours,
when the dawn brawled
and your teeth crawled against the loose skin of my earlobes
as you gripped with pearly whites
my lying flesh,
and my lips touched every truth you'd never known.
Only god could ever know the pain of now.
Only I could ever wish I knew your heaven.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
i peed in the attic because the stairs creaked
and your roommates were asleep
your hair licked your earlobes
and your mouth was rough
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Money money money money money ******* money. You think you’ll find happiness there. Happiness doesn’t buy you things, doesn’t take you out to dinner. Happiness doesn’t sit prettily on your finger or hang from your earlobes or rest around your neck. Happiness doesn’t have an engine and four wheels that takes you wherever you want to go. Happiness doesn’t add an extra comma or two to your bank account. Happiness doesn’t buy things to make you look beautiful or feel special.
Happiness holds your hand when you feel down. Happiness cooks for you when you can’t be bothered. Happiness tells you jokes and laughs at yours and when you make eye-contact, happiness keeps it and smiles back. Happiness tells you you’ll pull through. Happiness walks hand-in-hand into the darkness with you without any apprehension.
Happiness is a seed. You plant it and water it, watch as its roots take hold and the sapling breaks the surface. You nurture the fledgling stem as it grows over time into a huge and beautiful tree. It shelters you from the sun during summer and offers refuge from the snow in winter. It protects you from all the bad things. It gives and gives and gives unconditionally, asking nothing in return. It does not wander off to better climes. You will always find it exactly where you left it. It is your companion in an otherwise barren landscape.
But I am a dead tree, useless and ugly. I haven’t produced leaves in years. I offer no shelter, just shadows of possibilities on the ground. I harbour no birds. No deer eat my bark. I will fall and all around no ears shall hear. I am not your happiness nor anyone else’s. Just a mess of sticks, not even any use for firewood.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
I.
You can always tell the
Virgins from the way they
Glide—cerebral giddy with nectarfilled
Hearts and earlobes full of
Wax/
Wane moonshine turf if you’re not
Dying for astronomers’ loves and what makes
Ptolemy different from Claude is
Given prove:
Equal and opposite reaction.
II.
Shove knife down pork
Wasn’t so hard, was it.
III.
TWO SOLIDS INTERSECT
In a plane. In the bathroom, to be exact.
What follows is not
Essential to the proposition;
Calculate the spatial
(surface area, volume of cubicle,
conclude insufficient is <
where escape
velocity is )
useless to
resistance factor 7 [prepare
for lift-off landing
taxi
To the Bronx of course where else would I
Be on a night like this it’s raining in the parlour
Wont you step outside?
III.
anemic & half-
starved half-
sandwich
go on,
have a bite.
IV.
in arm will undulate bloodcellspouroutcantstoptoowide
are you just imagining this?
What would they tell you in school blood is
thicker than water
i’m not sure they eat
carnivores here.
CARNIVAL
festival of meat.
Flesh
LIVE
trembling
quiver SWIFT shoot through air DUCK dead swandive nosedive outplug
BOOM go the couple in the cabin
lavatory
laboratory? Rats go bang in the night
crash & burn debris over Detroit is our
favorite way to die
colorful isn’t it rainbow—
brushfire—
bruises and fire storms out and around the
populace to decimate seems like mating by a factor of ten
V; or. X^2+i(70x7)=
aftermath:
my ex squared
with me seventy times
seven
equals in
fortitude (labor-intensive)
tea costs sixpence in dallas what about
you so
integral to my
being that sometimes I wonder if you’re just
imaginary or if
what it takes to be transcendental is
beyond what’s rational or even what’s
real to me:
eight is
enough for the eggs.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
Ah, where to begin, take it from the crown,
And roll down the usual bump of your bouncy hairsanality,
Teasing your cerebrum with every spin,
Then quietly continue along your slender necking with a whisper,
To gently land on the heavy shouldering of your broad world,
Resting a moment to tickle loose those knots of compassion,
Move onward carefully, tiptoe to your pendant earlobes,
Grown wise from listening freely, flirting for a subtle nibble.
Lets swing over to perch on the bow of your maple cheeks,
Held up by the strength of your Ernest smile,
A spring of rose petals on a landscape of pure snow,
Alas, how the rose must envy the radiant hue of your lips,
Now, leap off to the cushion of your ample *****
Perfect for nourishing presents of unique creation,
The pounding of your heart, speaks through, ba-dum ba-dum
Half the necessary beat to a lifelong dance, till death.
Next, a slide down the concave curves, slim fitting to your flawless figure,
To carriage at your slender swinging hips,
The favorite resting place of your healing hands,
Supporting the vertebrae that keeps strong your secure dorsal,
Start at the bottom and slowly shiver up the spine,
Only to shake back down with a relieved sigh, past the seeds of life,
And massage down sturdy legs carrying you through strife,
Come to a rest on the tip of your twinkle toes,
Those shine at the end of your lily starfeet.
With hopes that they’re moving to a compass where I mimic north,
And those bright almond eyes cast their gaze through the pane,
Your visage, making the difference between my dawn and dusk.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
give me the pleasure of knowing
that i can please you in ways that not even you can
i want to detain your innermost secrets
i want to become more familiar with your body than you are
tell me your favorite fingers
let’s discover your favorite toy
i want to know which spot makes you shiver
i want to know which spot makes you moan
i want to know exactly what type of stroke makes you shake
i want to know which spot makes
your eyes
your hips
your head
roll
so that i know precisely when to roll you over
and vivaciously assault you from behind
while i croak romantic entities
and watch them travel down the notches of your spine
and wrap themselves around your earlobes
and curl their exclamatory hands around your throat
and reach around your body
and diligently massage your ****
while the planes of your forearms give out
due to the weariness of supporting not only your body
but also the head on your shoulders
whirring with the fact that this moment is almost
too large for you
just like the member pumping
in and out of you is
and just like that member
these moments were at first
difficult to swallow
let me stop
and take a moment to admire the way sweat
gives your curves a flattering spotlight
and provides the candles in the room more reason to
applaud and reach their crowns in the air
almost as if to detach themselves from
their own wax and join us
in order to extinguish
the fire deep within themselves
by allowing me to drown them in their own juices
just as you have
i want to admire the way sheets of sweat
glaze your skin
in the same way your juices glaze
your opening
let me enter you
as you pucker your mouth
bite your lip
and beg for more
i want to know exactly what makes you
denounce me to the dirtiest of things
give me a title only worn by those wearing sweat
and exhalations
scream my name
pull those eyebrows together
and spread those legs further apart
and let the part of me
that isn’t me
(but is me)
deeper inside of you
let me carry you to ******
afterwards i'll lean down and bury my mouth
between your legs
and taste what meal your supplementary pair of lips
have prepared for me
i want to digest my libidinous progress
and mount this triumph in my heart
as the first of many
powerfully lecherous
conquered temptations
k.n
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
My precious
You become a beauty
Only when you languorously
Hug the waists of damsels as cincture
Countless are the times,
earlobes or ankles
Unadorned by you
Inflamed me
A plain a yellow thread has ousted you nowadays
When you swing from an ear,
It is indeed fascinating to watch
You have even usurped my sleep
As a nose-ring, through its keen glitter
Costume jewellery has replaced you too, many times
Still, my precious,
It is when you are pawned
That you become real ‘gold ‘
Like the revolutionary
Who become more so
By getting hanged
Like a soldier
Who become more of a soldier
By getting shot at the border
My precious, my precious
My precious pledged gold.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
twitters and tweets
pictures are sweets
keeping you hooked
on the tabloid elites
just out of bed, hair on his head
matted and messy, way better than said
your public is waiting and verging on vexed
"stay tuned for more selfies", you casually text.
stand by the mirror and pose for your followers
leading them into the worship of men
drawn to the sight of your bare naked belly
this bowl full of jelly is quaking, and then
this one, her *** just after the baby
she's worked out like crazy, perhaps she just clazy
spray-tanned and bare butted
tattooed and nare studded
back in the crack but her tact has been share gutted
no worries, it all comes around
in some hotel bathroom you click at your Iphone
like all of the rest of us, yet so alone
trying to snap one both **** and manly
the wife beater t-shirt, the boxers and phone
we can't really blame you, your business, your life quest
but fashion is funny right down to the jewels
both earlobes sport earrings, just like mommy dearest
whatever your pleasure, some little girl drools
and she scantly clad there, for all of her viewers
could not give a **** about "ahhers" or "ew'ers"
but don't stop, you're on top and making your money
and laughing right back, since we're also quite funny
we once wore our hair all pulled up or with mullet
thought no one was laughing, we knew we were cool
and now all the stuff which we wore gone forever
or passed off as costume, just vintage, old school
where somebody bought it from some smelly thrift shop
and wore it again with a sense of true style
the polaroid pictures we took at the bus stop
that camera is back and will be for a while
Stand at the mirror and smile for your camera
not really getting that folks can be odd
some are perverted, while others disturbed
and still others are cranky and smelling like cod.
Someday you'll grow up, a mommy or daddy or maybe
a granny once shaking her *****
or maybe a pop-pop
and scoff a their moptop
and laugh with your grandkids
it all comes around.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
I have written so much
****** poetry across this city;
left it in bars, under streetlights, and
In the bathrooms where people have ******
all over the toilet seats
and I had to use my poems
to clean it up.
They are on napkins
and receipts;
pieces of toilet paper,
and even a one-liner
on the carcass
of a piece of paper
that once held a straw.
The words get soggy on wet bars
and bloom like black flowers
losing all consistency and coherence.
Sometimes
I write them out of pure impetus.
To get me going,
I need a couple beers and those
Pabst-drinking, past-drunk
drunk girls that get close up to you
and put their lips on your earlobes
like they want to tell you a secret
But all you get is a present
of soft stinging breath.
Sometimes
I write them for some girl I meet,
like the one who came up and sat down
right beside me.
She said her name was
so and so.
I said my name was
so and so,
so we got to talking
And the topic finally reared its
fat, ugly head:
“Are you going to school?”
“Yea I go to State”
“Oh that’s cool, whats your major?”
“Creative writing”
Then she smiles at me
like I’ve got some broccoli
in my teeth,
and she wants to figure out a way to tell me
without breaking
this three-beer-good-buzzing mood,
finally she says:
“write me something”
And I become a dog for her.
In my doggish way
I take my tail
out of my pocket
and tuck it's wiggling self
onto a napkin.
I write
about how meeting someone new,
is like trying to figure out
if what you’re looking at is a skyscraper
or a mountain,
or just a Norfolk freight train
barreling down the tracks
with your name on it’s front grille.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
i am ******* dying
to be something other
than a ***** hiding from
her own shadow,
twisting herself up in
senseless wants
maybe if i tattoo my skin
or gauge my earlobes
or pierce my nose
or wear band t-shirts no one's heard of
or go to shows and head bang alone,
then, yes,
then, i will be unique,
oh ****
there's a tumblr for that,
actually, there are a thousand tumblrs for that,
moving on...
how about i try
wearing black and
hiding from the light,
pulling away until
i only come out at night,
speaking to no one
but the notebook i carry
everywhere with me,
ah, **** that's been done too
here, here, how about this,
i'll enter the mainstream,
get my degree,
even work a job from seven to three,
marry a **** bag
with no sense of life,
have some kids,
and pretend i take joy in being a wife,
and then, when i'm having
his colleagues over for dinner,
i'll lose it and **** them all
with a butcher knife
as i backflip over
our ten thousand dollar
dining room set
they'll oooh and aaah,
and somehow forget,
that i'm ending their mediocrity,
instead they'll think,
what yoga studio did she join?
her legs are so much more
defined than mine
and as they all lay bleeding out
over their
steak tartar,
i will smile and smooth my
perfect blonde hair,
and wait
to join the leagues
of the unforgettable
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:00 PM UTC