My ******
When I asked you what part of me was sexiest, that's what you said.

It weirded me out at first.
I mean,
I have a nice ***.
Great ****.
Good hips.
Vaginas are icky.
They smell and leak gew and blood.
But I don’t know,
now I like it.
I love the fact that you love it.

Maybe because it's the most intimate part of my body.
No one's wanted that part of me before.
No one's touched me like you touch me,
kissed me where you kiss me.
It’s deeper with you,
and I guess that's because
you love me

When I asked you what part of me was sexiest, that's what you said.

It weirded me out at first.
I mean,
I have a nice ***.
Great ****.
Good hips.
Vaginas are icky.
They smell and leak gew and blood.
But I don’t know,
now I like it.
I love the fact that you love it.

Maybe because it's the most intimate part of my body.
No one's wanted that part of me before.
No one's touched me like you touch me,
kissed me where you kiss me.
It’s deeper with you,
and I guess that's because
you love me

When the horns wear thin
And the noise, like a garment outworn,
Falls from the night,
The tattered and shivering night,
That thinks she is gay;
When the patient silence comes back,
And retires,
And returns,
Rebuffed by a ribald song,
Wounded by vehement cries,
Fleeing again to the stars—
Ashamed of her sister the night;
Oh, then they steal home,
The blinded, the pitiful ones
With their gew-gaws still in their hands,
Reeling with odorous breath
And thick, coarse words on their tongues.
They get them to bed, somehow,
And sleep the forgiving,
Comes thru the scattering tumult
And closes their eyes.
The stars sink down ashamed
And the dawn awakes,
Like a youth who steals from a brothel,
Dizzy and sick.

Lati ball dressed for the costume party with relish.
She wanted to look pretty.
She wanted to look mysterious.
So she took a mask from her closet of witches, tied the lace bow around her head.
"My" she said as she stared into the mirror.
She thought 'the men will ask me to dance, the men will forget the rest.'
Lati Ball went to the dance, the mask fit on her face tight.
The people did not reconize her. But she was the best!!
"oh who is this women!" they all cried,
"she walks like an angel, and floats like a swan!"  
She swept around the floor into another land.
The night gew late, Lati Ball had to stop inbetween dances to rest.
Then the clock rang 12 times, and a cake was brought out.
A cake of 12 candles.
Lati Ball wondered whos birthday it could be.
So she hurried to hear.
The hostest of the party laughed and said
"the cake is for you, the cake is for the best! now take this knife and cut some for the rest!"  
But before Lati could cut the cake, she wanted to make a wish!
So she leaned over the cake and said to herself
"i always want to be the Best; Better than the Rest!"
So she blew at the candles.
But the cake was made out of wood, and caught fire.
It burned her face, it burned her mask.
Soon the mask was part of her face,
and she looked like *death.

Life is far from fair. He was born to this place, but his ancestors took it by foot. So long ago he can’t remember what being the immigrant felt like. Can’t remember the xenophobic slurs were placed in other people's tongues to whip the different out of him. This took place so long ago now he doesn't remember what blood spill looks like, can't remember his fist drawn back. He is the **** Italian immigrant, the fire crotch Irishman, the Gew the ******* and now the towel heads. He is everyone who has made himself at home hear afraid again, that a new immigration will take all the parts of their home  he loves the  most. Forgetting quickly he was the ones marching last time around. Refugee is so much more of a statement then immigrant. An immigrant is looking for a better future. A refugee is looking for any at all. They fleeing from war torn promises and bombs that fall from the skies like rain. My government fears ISIS, those towel heads, they all look the same to our fear filled eyes, so we through them to the wayside. My government does not speak for me, I would welcome every refugee.Anyone who has that common enemy, who wants to fix it with love and a new life, I open my eyes and my arms wide.I remember that I didn't  belong here at first, that we were promised something more. I can't deny that to you and yours, I welcome you. Life's not fair, it’s clear to see, I am sorry that you are you and I am me. Difference only in where I was born, difference in this is already my home.I am sorry. Sorry that those with fear filled hearts have no room left to welcome you. That they are so worried about what pain might feel like that they can not feel sorrow for the pain you are already felt. I am sorry. To every middle eastern refugee that has been denied the right to live humanely… all I can do is be sorry.

You were my first 'real' boyfriend
And it went well, for a time
But you pushed me beyond my limits
Made me do things I cannot forget
A small innocence lost
And trust impaired

You whispered such sweet things
Into my hungry ears
That craved a love I thought we shared
You whispered the same things
Into many ears
You were the angel I gew to hate

I buried myself
In every crevice of your being
And let you steal pieces of me
For 9 cruel months
In return for the 'love' you gave
We are both alone now
And no less sad

You are perfect
In every atom and fibre
But you came into my life
At a time where I lack  trust and compassion
We are both broken things
And by trying to put out our fires
We do fuel them
I want to love you

Pick it up,
Set it down.
It was working fine yesterday,
But today it won't make the right sounds.

Pick it up,
Set it down.
Sometimes it's receiving information,
Sometimes it's just loud.

Pick it up,
Set it down.
Sometimes there is nothing
Better,
Sometimes I don't want it around.

Pick it up

A knock upon my door quiet late
A very upset angel standing there
Can I talk with you awhile asked
Yes sure come in pull up a chair

My partners gone to see his mistress
I found out about it not that long ago
I'm angry upset sad and bewilded
Not sure what to do feel badly its so

I living now alone in my own home
I said well first you get rid of that
Go grab a gew things then come back
By morning you'll be fine thats a fact

Comes back takes a shower has a wine
Then has a few more feeling better
Whats good for goose good for gander
She said dressed only in an old sweater

By morning all was feeling wonderful
Vowed to let him unknowing have his way
What he does'nt know won't hurt him
Now all is just fine come whatever  may

( as I was told )

terrence michael sutton
copyright  2018

Death
Over
Gew
S

Across cyberspace,
the following epistle
yours truly (me) doth lob
as the figurative pressure
tightens on the virtual ****,
I would moost certainly benefit
from a part time job
hence this rather goofy atypical reply
crafted (at initial
ten plus years ago date)

following reasonable rhyme written
then gingerly trying
to remove pesky Windows kernel32 dll
or blue screen of death errors
(oh... how so yesterday)
(while gently inhaling) from
imaginary hand carved corn cob
from whittling fingers
of one named, (albeit alias) Mister Bob.

Anyway, this aspiring writer dejure
shoe lee mastered his a, b, c's
though during test time
experienced nonfatal forgetfulness disease
all my learning seemed to freeze
oh and although the following
non-sequitur added comment
moost likely irrelevant
back in the day o me early boyhood,
I passed thru initiation rite of passion

sans tickling ivory keys
in addition to learning
about human species,
whose relatively recent ancestors
incorporates caveman
argh gew hob bully naked ape,
who exhibited death defying feats
analogous to acrobat
holding fast to trapeze
of mine swung from sturdy trees
only pausing long enough
to smoke cigar and wheeze.

Additionally, I cobble, dabble
and gabble with double entendres, nibble
and tinker with byte sized words
monosyllabic terms
like this or that
as my pedigreed intellectual toy
with an intent
to affect, invoke and joke
with intellectual ploy
opening mine mien,
whether unknown reader
counts her/himself among Jew or goy
ideally to be witness literary employ
and earn an income oh boy
netting gold anchor ahoy.

Rational wordsmith asks himself why
he habitually answers
in his poetic way per responding
posting defies conforming
to the established formality,
yet nonetheless asks
**** sitter a shun sans my reply
ideally couched
with an affirmative decision
no less than
twenty thumbs up well nigh
to be extended,

and offered a hand
for me to join this outfit
as another common
Jimmy Neutron to help ward off lions,
tigers and bears oh my
powder milk chomping
Joe Schmoe type noir guy
essentially a human combination fly,
whose nom de plume as newborn cry
himself to sleep baby
nearly exhausted dry tear ducts,
the muttering bard of Perkiomen Valley
sometimes used as ruff lee an alley bye.

from: Matthew Scott Harris,
who might find himself booted,
knowingly, longingly, and magically
transported to Paris.

Insipid ingurgitating
And it never hurt
I needed that it was never a chore or pain worth memory.

mine are
Cheap like a gew-gaw,
Shiny and strong like a dark horse
Sweating in the sun
Shallow as a caliche grave

But fearless when it's nightime
dragging the corpse of my voice by the knot in that bag of bones
You've been throwing like dice
That never play

Always with a sharp tongue
a new plan and borrowed bad words
You'll find all that back for you waiting
While you're reaping

The narrows have been sounded
The depth plumbed
Only by the skin of my teeth
Did I slip from
That shallow grounding.

Coddle me
Laissez-faire
Installment plan living
Leaking vitality
unused limbs no longer tools
Of expression

Madame caterpillar
Your butterfly brilliance
Now patina still life
Sepia celluloid memory clips from some
Dark cutting room floor of your own imaginings.

Leave my voice untouched by the wind from your acid lungs
Return to your wilderness
Refuge is yours only there