There are women
Short skirts
Tight shirts

Leaning on counters
Popping gum
Smiling at every man that passes

Handing lollipops out to girls with braids
Ribbons
And ambitions.

Women who get undressed
Flip hair, don't care
Sliding into passenger seats
Standing on tip-toes to reach

Wear blue on a golden afternoon
Read books "far too complicated"
Eat messy food with unmanicured hands
Who don't belong to you.

There are women

Can't even begin to squeeze
into that tiny size 2 dress
Don't have the time to stress over
How many times a week
A month
A year they shower.

Women that don't even think about the color pink.

There are women
With babies
And menstrual cycles
With short hair
And Harley motorcycles

There are tough women
And strong women
With tattoos
Degrees
Febreze
Who love other women.

There are women that save lives
Who thrive on the idea of being free
"I don't want children"
"Don't need no man"
Who don't like to sing
Don't like to dance

There are women who are loud
Who take tokes
and laugh at jokes
Women with hymens still unbroken
Or reminded of it's absence every single day.

Women who have hair in more places than one.

And there are women who are sad
Who are broken
And angry.
But those same women can be glad
Can be put back together again.

There are women
Who don't know stereotypes
Or how to break them.
And there are women
Who have hips
And know how to shake them.

The night falls swiftly,
And yellow flashes
Of northeastern
Fireflies mark
The edges
Of the
Hedge-lined path,
And gnats
Hang in the air
Like suspended gravel
While my flats
Slap the pavement
Like a ****** rap gavel,
In repetition so
Soothing I forget
My sentence
And all that I'm losing,
And everything makes sense,
I feel connected
To the heron
Gliding above
The river
Like messenger
Pigeons follow
The street grid,
Or like a charge down
The neural pathway
That makes me grin
When I realize
I'm not defined
By what's within,
No more
And no less
Than the wilderness
Can be constrained
To the way the wind
Sings its wearisome
Twilight refrain
As the air moves
And spins
Through the spaces
Between the wooden
Masses atop
Parnassus,
I feel the humidity
Flee,
And my breath quickens
As Corycian nymphs
And the nine
Sacred women
Of creation
By man's mind
Surround me and drive
Me to place one
Ancient foot
In front of its partner,
The images they conjure
Like a Reckoner diamond
Encasing me
In a cage of
Liquid iron
While beckoning
Me forward
With 72 hymens,
But I know it's a lie,
I know why
Men fight and die,
And it's not for any
Contrived diatribe
Promoting an
Unattainable
Ultimate prize,
It's to give rise
To the feeling
Of being alive,
That's all we want,
That's all we strive
To find,
And that's why
I'm approaching
Mile five,
And breathing
The life
Inherent in night
With the scent
Of the soundscape
Still burned in
My sight.

Her name is Tiffany.

We met when

our orbits collided

                                  and crash landed,

on a wooden picnic table

                       in the dead of night.

I saw the world in her eyes—

and she had this spirit about her
       that made me want to follow
                her with an umbrella
                       the rest of my days
                             so she wouldn’t
                                    even be
                                      bothered
                                                by the rain.

I swore, I’d make her believe in                        h u m a n i t y.

Conversation, spit-balled from her lips like a machine gun

trigger stuck—

we tore through topics

                    like bullets tear through skin,

I tried my best to keep up.

We dead ended on the subject of children.
She grew silent, pale.

                      “I should be the mother of twins” she stammered.

I’ve been told I have quite the poker face, but in that moment

                                                                               I know she saw.

Turning her head as if to answer my unspoken question

“Miscarriage”
                        she breathed.

I spent the next however long soaking in her story, like a sponge.
I could tell,
                               she doesn’t do this often.

I have no respect for fathers who stain the honor of father
with a ******'s blood.

For boyfriends who can’t hear the word “No.”

over the sound of their
                                          d e s i r e.

These men painted her the color of smashed hymens.

On her wedding night,

she won’t forget.

She can’t give                                            what’s been stolen.

She finishes.
I exhale—breaking the silence first.

She looks at me, with all the innocence they must have stolen from her,

and i wonder

if she can

hear me

b r e a k


This, is the kind of story you read about.

I had no words to fix her— I couldn’t fix her.

All I knew was I wanted to sear my flesh and

m
   e
       l
         t

into the crevices of her broken self

and convince her

It will be okay.

“I swear, I’ll make you believe in
**h u m a n i t y.”

Black and white keys are beautifully stroked,
Under these tips, her true feel is cloaked.

The magic of the symphony, hymens her to play,
As music escapes her aching soul, the mind is left a sway.

For this is the only break from the madness, her only place for peace,
So her fingers wind wildly, as the emotions in the air increase..

Her get away to another home is found within the keys,
So she plays her dil, and the music goes still, freedom and happiness, finally at ease.

great tear colored shapes,
violent glass protrusions,
glisten in the distance,
defying wind and sky.

head lights
blink in the dead night
and race to the red light.
got no place to go
but they still go

only humans and horses
have hymens.

I.

À qui donc le grand ciel sombre
Jette-t-il ses astres d'or ?
Pluie éclatante de l'ombre,
Ils tombent...? - Encor ! encor !

Encor ! - lueurs éloignées,
Feux purs, pâles orients,
Ils scintillent... - ô poignées
De diamant effrayants !

C'est de la splendeur qui rôde,
Ce sont des points univers,
La foudre dans l'émeraude !
Des bleuets dans des éclairs !

Réalités et chimères
Traversant nos soirs d'été !
Escarboucles éphémères
De l'obscure éternité !

De quelle main sortent-elles ?
Cieux, à qui donc jette-t-on
Ces tourbillons d'étincelles ?
Est-ce à l'âme de Platon ?

Est-ce à l'esprit de Virgile ?
Est-ce aux monts ? est-ce au flot vert ?
Est-ce à l'immense évangile
Que Jésus-Christ tient ouvert ?

Est-ce à la tiare énorme
De quelque Moïse enfant
Dont l'âme a déjà la forme
Du firmament triomphant ?

Ces feux-là vont-ils aux prières ?
À qui l'Inconnu profond
Ajoute-t-il ces lumières,
Vagues flammes de son front ?

Est-ce, dans l'azur superbe,
Aux religions que Dieu,
Pour accentuer son verbe,
Jette ces langues de feu ?

Est-ce au-dessus de la Bible
Que flamboie, éclate et luit
L'éparpillement terrible
Du sombre écrin de la nuit ?

Nos questions en vain pressent
Le ciel, fatal ou béni.
Qui peut dire à qui s'adressent
Ces envois de l'infini ?

Qu'est-ce que c'est que ces chutes
D'éclairs au ciel arrachés ?
Mystère ! Sont-ce des luttes ?
Sont-ce des hymens ? Cherchez.

Sont-ce les anges du soufre ?
Voyons-nous quelque essaim bleu
D'argyraspides du gouffre
Fuir sur des chevaux de feu ?

Est-ce le Dieu des désastres,
Le Sabaoth irrité,
Qui lapide avec des astres
Quelque soleil révolté ?

Grant me the opportunity  to embellish a collection of my recollections
When we were all seraphs in the heavenly connection
Then the mirror we saw in one another gave no reflection
Soon it broke in shattered sections

A life constructed of broken hymens
First steps going somewhere new
Experiencing inaugural moments
Look back and say “the first time when”

Going through it *** backwards and having half-assed it
Playing parts and wearing masks with
Two faces one stone the other elastic
From cradle to casket

To concede and admit mistakes
And see things I start to the end
Let’s swim naked in the luminous lake
So we can say “do you remember when?”

Words are echoing through
the sins of a heart,
            but some are worth the guilt
of what may wash away on our reflections.

But with every fool there is a knight
       that has fallen for the moment of love
that shines his armour brightly.
Somethings were meant to glisten on a heart.

Occasionally a heart cant but listen to the
             hymens of what reverberates within
                   the echoes of every breath of love.
Sometimes emotions are a lifetime in a singular beat.

When I venture eyes slightly glazed
           at that ****** light permeating
my room like an unwanted guest
                               knocking at my door
at 8:00am in the shock treatment of my
                                    
                                               awakening.


But still versing hymens of my woeful
                                   acknowledgement.
Covering ones self like a concrete tomb.
                  covering light with plasters
of inconvenience, hiding the cuts of awakening.

I will slumber, entombed beneath shallow blankets.
                          Never arising
                           to the wants of another day.
Clinging to the beauty of darkness,
                               I awaken to the reality of another day.

Et maintenant, aux Fesses !

Je veux que tu confesses,

Muse, ces miens trésors

Pour quels - et tu t'y fies -

Je donnerais cent vies

Et, riche, tous mes ors

Avec un tas d'encors.


Mais avant la cantate

Que mes âme et prostate

Et mon sang en arrêt

Vont dire à la louange

De son cher Cul que l'ange,

O déchu ! saluerait,

Puis il l'adorerait,


Posons de lentes lèvres

Sur les délices mièvres

Du dessous des genoux,

Souple papier de Chine,

Fins tendons, ligne fine

Des veines sans nul pouls

Sensible, il est si doux !


Et maintenant, aux Fesses !

Déesses de déesses,

Chair de chair, beau de beau.

Seul beau qui nous pénètre

Avec les seins, peut-être.

D'émoi toujours nouveau,

Pulpe dive, alme peau !


Elles sont presques ovales,

Presque rondes. Opales,

Ambres, roses (très peu)

S'y fondent, s'y confondent

En blanc mat que répondent

Les noirs, roses par jeu,

De la raie au milieu.


Déesses de déesses !

Du repos en liesses,

De la calme gaîté,

De malines fossettes

Ainsi que des risettes,

Quelque perversité

Dans que de majesté... !


Et quand l'heure est sonnée

D'unir ma destinée

A Son Destin fêté,

Je puis aller sans crainte

Et bien tenter l'étreinte

Devers l'autre côté :

Leur concours m'est prêté.


Je me dresse et je presse

Et l'une et l'autre fesse

Dans mes heureuses mains.

Toute leur ardeur donne,

Leur vigueur est la bonne

Pour aider aux hymens

Des soirs aux lendemains...


Ce sont les reins ensuite,

Amples, nerveux qu'invite

L'amour aux seuls élans

Qu'il faille dans ce monde,

C'est le dos gras et monde,

Satin tiède, éclairs blancs.

Ondulements troublants.


Et c'est enfin la nuque

Qu'il faudrait être eunuque

Pour n'avoir de frissons,

La nuque damnatrice,

Folle dominatrice

Aux frisons polissons

Que nous reconnaissons.


Ô nuque proxénète,

Vaguement déshonnête

Et chaste vaguement,

Frisons, joli symbole

Des voiles de l'Idole

De ce temple charmant,

Frisons chers doublement !

Quand je me hasarde à descendre
Jusques aux bas-fonds du désir,
À l'heure où l'on pèse la cendre
Que laisse après soi le plaisir ;

Ou quand je sonde l'origine
De ces hymens vils et fortuits
Qu'en songe la chair imagine,
Ressouvenir d'antiques nuits...

Je crois que dans une autre sphère,
Où je me sentais déjà mal,
J'aimais, ne pouvant pas mieux faire,
Avec des instincts d'animal.

Là je rêvais déjà sans doute
L'amante qu'amant orgueilleux
À la brute qui me dégoûte
Je préfère en espérant mieux,

Et je suis traité d'infidèle
Par la plus belle d'ici-bas,
Parce que j'aime son modèle
Où mes lèvres n'atteignent pas.

Ainsi, de la poussière immonde
À l'éther qu'on n'étreint jamais,
Mon idéal de monde en monde
Me devance au monde où je vais.

Your wheel has spun round
and reached the apex,
the end
 of one season

ushers in the next.

I remember each time
you put on new shoes
to walk roads untrammeled
when the old you outgrew.

The luthier had strung you
a special guitar
hewn from a tree
grown 'neath the Pole Star.

Working your mojo
swift wit and sweet smile
raised dust with your feet
and Cain with your guile.

At night I still hear
your voice in my sleep
magicking then making
unblemished clouds weep.

Monarch butterflies
burned off their wings
drawn to the flames
when they heard you sing.

To the door of your chapel
virgins came round
hymens and foreskins
clustered the ground.

Will you pass by again?
Near the cohiba field
where we lit up the night
and drank till we reeled?

Then crashed on a bench
near the big house of stars
I cried while you slept
you woke feeling starved

The bench is long gone
The house is torn down
I still walk there often
though you're not around.

Don't know where you are
but I'm sure that you'll be
pursuing and loving
a woman or three.

You're destined to find
what it is that you seek;
keep following rainbows
near the loneliest creeks.

They'll lead you to places
you know you belong,
where your life will be written
and told in a song.

Nuns **** monks
tumble in blood trickling ******
geriatric hymens pierced by withered shafts.

Prometheus unbound
makes a pet of his tormentor
they go hunting.

Parasites
feeding on poets and madman
burst like leeches
pinched mid-draught.

Terrorists
removed from solitary
into the sun
roundly embraced
by maimed survivors of their carnage.

The firing squad squint down their barrels
leaving the flowers
where they are.

Gacy's children
Starkweather's heirs,
met at the gas chamber
are kissed
by every man, woman and child
who lost someone
to their slaughter.

Cerberus weeps
abandons his post for the fields
chases three squirrels
tennis *****
catches none.

He sleeps now
on pillows of sativa
bay laurel
and spathe.

Let me tell you Clinton Billy, I will never stop dropping my L.S.D.,
'cause it took me off ol' Green River ***** that made my skin pasty
Save your happy thoughts for a theater show as smiles cannot make
hymens pop, jet rockets propulse in vacuous space or midgets grow
A prayer of Mexican midgets goes like, Dios make me 7% stinking
taller so I won't need to, no more in stinkin' Tijuana pig-****, waller