Your prayers and thoughts
  are not sufficient.
Tweeting and posting self-indulgent
  *******; you are shallow
and your not-so-subtle
  political agenda sickens me.

The President said we should unite,
  despite a year of trying to divide us.
Although, he doesn't need to say much
  because all we've ever masturbated to
is one country for all...
  except for people we don't like.

I am caught in a web where
  each strand is a headline;
where every attempt to be free
  pulls me deeper in; where
the spider is me and you
  and you and me; where
I am eaten by myself.

  I tell myself to not care
-- it never works.

Food for thought, the school
is torn down, McDonald’s
took its

place, and the old man
living in the corner
house

masturbated on his  front
porch until the police
stopped him

is decades dead, I don’t
remember his name

but the poor as horse meat
children who attended
class with me

I see like clean
glass.

1.**

A horizontal fall
from the high-up slide
made for big kids was not
what I expected as I screamed
“Push me down, Haley!”

Unexpected, too, was the destruction of your wounded butterfly days later–
revenge is sweet, yet unsatisfying.
And then you left for six years,
turning up again as hormones
were in full swing
in our freshman year of high school.

2.

you said



"i'll teach you to love,

just draw nearer to me.

draw nearer to me

and i'll make you mine."



as you



laced up your best heels

put on your best face

and applied another coat

of liquid vanity.



as i


made an effort to


concoct a new way to say

"no"


and


ignore the 
rotting

carcasses of

hearts

that strewed the floor.


i'd seen your kind before


"but losing you would be a chore

my darling detritivore"



i said

3.

focus of a new kind sheds a big difference BIG DIFFERENCE upon your face bright yet shadows consume both it and your body like a prophecy. since when did that happen? so what if it never did? so you came to your senses; perhaps that was it. perhaps the realization of “you sure do know how to pick ‘em” broke you and now you’re left with a twelve-and-one-half-inch phallus in your big box of board games. we hardly speak anymore. i am now your temptress, detritivore and you’ll never escape never escape the howls of agony and desire releasing themselves from your joints your muscles your heart aches for fresh meat and you get it, **** you. you get it daily for viewing pleasure. dear heavens speak of shabby apartments and televisions that don’t work. they never knew how to comfort me; so why should they now? falling down the stairs into the pitch black night irreversible womb child conceived on camera and carried to term on God’s watch. do you remember pushing me down that slide in the second grade? it’s your turn.

4.

Unexpected, too, was the destruction of my wounded memory
of an innocent girl from second grade
now in chains and leather,
used and watched and seen and lusted over and masturbated over,
but for a hefty sum.

And I still see second grade Haley
and we still talk
and we share the occasional cigarette
and we tell of our conquests.
But I am no savior–

5.

Feeling vibrations in my palm is finding decaying matter on the forest floor to eat–
the words they carry are a substitute for nutrition.
The nearest bounty of corn is a thousand miles away,
for God places us here and our placement is the source of life’s cruelty.
And second-grade Victor would happily take a beating
for gas money; desperate detritivore–
feast on decaying matter, get your fill
and one day substance of corn will fill your stomach
and you will hibernate indefinitely.

I remember my old street. (North Overlook)
The people there never changed, like a television with the **** broken off.

I remember my boxer, Brutus. I would let him lick the inside of my mouth to freak out the other kids.

I remember eating honey suckles in the back yard. I also ate a whole bottle of Tums in the medicine cabinet. (I thought it was candy)
I once drank a whole bottle of nail polish remover, but I puked it back up.

I remember having a jungle gym and a swimming pool. My sister and I swam naked in it once.

I remember when we touched each other’s private parts in a fort we built in the closet. She made me smell my fingers afterwards. My nose crinkled upward and I thought it was gross.

I remember when my mother came home crying one day because the hair stylist cut her hair too short and she looked like a “****.”

I remember spending mornings at grandma’s house. I would watch The Price Is Right and Days of Our Lives. She would fall asleep and I would clean the wax out from her ears with a paintbrush. I remember enjoying it.

I remember my first ****** nose (I used a whole roll of toilet paper). I could taste the blood running down the back of my throat.

I remember all the other ****** noses and calling mom from the nurse’s office

I remember Mr. Iles (3rd grade) screaming at his class for being idiots. He drove a motorcycle to school everyday.

I remember doing times tables in his class. I was always terrible at math and thought I was stupid. We watched the twin towers fall on television. I didn’t know what was happening so I continued to doodle on my times tables.

I remember in middle school being the only one at my lunch table wearing yellow.  My friends became gothic. I didn’t know what that was, but I knew I was different.

I remember my first art class in high school, thinking I was better than everyone, and I was.

I remember the first time I masturbated. I don’t remember how many times I did it that day but my **** hurt for a while and I walked funny.

I remember my mother trying to teach me about God. I never told her that I didn’t believe in him. I’ve always felt guilty.

I remember my first girlfriend. We dated for 7 months. My friends hated her, and I stopped talking to them. I remember hating them for it.

I remember the first time we had *** it was **** ***. I didn’t use a ****** and my **** was covered in ****.
She was great at *******. She once ****** me off in the backseat of her grandma’s car while her grandma drove. I forgot about the time she threw up on me.

I remember she loved Disney and nicknamed my ***** “Captain Hook” because it curves to the left.

I remember the day she found out she had ******, she told me over the phone. I cried because it was my fault. In high school health class, they didn’t teach us that if you have a cold sore and eat a girl out, they could get ******.

I remember when she broke up with me and went back to her ugly ex-boyfriend (now ex-ex-boyfriend). I cried again. Her friends stopped talking to me.

I remember it was on my birthday. (Friday the 13th)

I remember the threats over texts to leave her alone. I told everyone at school she had ******.

I remember eating lunch alone. (A lot)

I remember shutting myself in my room and not eating.

I remember when I tried to **** myself with a steak knife in the kitchen. I didn’t do it right. My mother asked me what happed, so I lied and told her it was an accident. I don’t think she believed me. We still don’t talk about it but I still have the scar.

I remember making art. (A lot)
I did nothing but art (That’s all I had.)

I remember making friends in my art class and how my teacher would dress like a Jedi.

I remember meeting Bobby, and Brandon, and Tyler.

I remember thinking that art had saved my life.

I remember the first time I smoked ****. It was in the parking lot of a Best Buy with Brendan and Kristiana. I didn’t feel “high” and we ate cupcakes after that.

I remember drinking a beer for the first time and hating the taste.

I remember, “It’s an acquired taste.”

I remember, “Drink it, *****!”

I remember the first time I got drunk. It was at my brother’s house and I almost fell asleep with my head on the toilet. He carried me to the couch, emptied a bowl of pretzels and set in under my face. The smell had me dry heaving all night.

I don’t remember the first party I went to.

I remember my mother worrying if I would make it home those nights.

I remember making friends with people from Sayler Park They were in a band with my brother, but liked me more. I felt bad for him, but I was drunk. I went to other parties they had. There were always sweaty teenagers and *****.

I remember the guy who ****** on everyone in the mosh pit. The support beam broke under us that night and the floor almost caved in.

I remember ******* in the front yard. It rained so we were mud sliding in puddles.

I remember the two girls making out in the bathtub naked. Bobby took a video of them on his phone.

I remember when he tried to get this girl to sleep with me. Her name was Lauren Luckey and it was her birthday. She found out I went to art school and had me draw smiley faces on her and her friends’ *******. She started kissing me over the sink (her hair got caught in the garbage disposal.) She bit my neck and broke skin. It was 6 in the morning.

I remember she took me up to the bathroom and we had ***. I remember her taking off my boxers with her teeth. Bobby tossed me a ****** but I lost it. Curtis (he owned the house) came in and ****** anyways. He told me I had a cute ***. When he was done, he left the bathroom door open. There was a line waiting to come in that watched the two of us **** on the eggshell colored floor.

I remember waking up the next day and finding out she was engaged.

I remember the first time I had a pizza from Dewey’s and fell in love.

I remember when I started smoking. My mother gave me **** for it. I always complained when she smoked (I used to break her cigarettes.)

I remember the summer my grandmother died.

I remember staying the night at her house the day before.

I remember when my mother called everyone into the room. I remember, “It’s almost time.”
My family crowded around her.
One of my uncles fainting while the other vomited in the corner.

I remember my mother crying. I remember crying.

I remember “Amazing Grace”

I remember when time froze.
July 11th, 2013, at 1:26 p.m.

I remember my uncle walking over to her, pressing his hand against her mouth trying to feel her breathe. His brain wouldn’t let him accept that she died. I remember him looking up at me like a lost boy, looking for an answer. (I didn’t have one.)

I remember my mother told me she was with God now.

I remember.

this poem will be the last time i write about
the way you kissed me in your car last winter.
after this, I will never again admit
that I’ve masturbated thinking about you
for the past ten months.
it feels stupid now to say,
but when you drove for six hours
to surprise me at my show
I thought it was the start of a second chance.
I thought we were, finally, on the same page.
I don’t know why you did it
if you were going to kiss someone else on
new years eve, anyway.


it’s true that I was barely happy when we were together
so it’s hard to explain why, exactly,
I sobbed and heaved and dragged my sorry body
through a new year’s morning without you.
it’s true that the animal itching under my skin
has never known how to stop wanting.
it doesn’t care about all those bad dates you took me on
or how much I cried on the drives home,
it only cares about the feeling of your hands on my skin
and the soft fact of your mouth –
even though you never really listened to me,
even though I don’t think we’ve ever had
a single honest conversation.


i’ll probably be cursing you out for months
no matter how long you kiss someone else’s lips,
and i’ll just have to figure that out on my own.
i’m not sure what will happen when I can speak to you again.
when I can stand in front of you and look you in the eyes,
who knows what this mouth will say?
it knows too much
about the soft place on your neck
where you like to be kissed.
it knows too much about what it feels like
to have my back pressed against your bedroom wall.
it knows too much about the fact
that you only ever half-wanted me:
never quite enough to make me feel like i was seen,
never quite enough to know me.

I used to think about her
When I masturbated in
The shower.
She was my girlfriends
Best friend
She was petite
With the fattest ***
I've ever seen
On a 100 lb. white girl.
And when my girlfriend left me
The white girl called a few days later.
She came over one night
And I undressed her
And she had these long cutting scars
Climbing up horizontally
On the side of each thigh.
And as I looked down at my naked self,
There were cigarette burns and a stab wound, and the time I made a cross on my knee with a broken ashtray.
It was beautiful.
Two scarred humans
Lying in bed
Making love.
That night she licked the disgusting stab wound
On my shoulder
Then asked
"Can I cut you, baby?"
"Sure" I said.
I am always fascinated by the numbness
Alcohol produces.
And she hacked away at me.
Then she carved a heart into my arm
And I carved one into her thigh
But hers didn't scab up as well as mine.
Then we fell asleep drunk
In each others arms.
Blood and love and *** and loneliness
All mixed up in the bed.
I used to ******* to her in the shower
Before all of that happened.
Maybe that's what made it so hard
When she left me.

The height of her heels
    Shrunk with every passing year.
Each "December", torn away from the calender
   Was a buzz saw, sometimes taking a sixteenth of an inch,
   And during winters that seemed particularly cold to her bones
   Nearly a quarter of an inch would be devoured by time's steady march.

At 18 her heels were confident, tall, strong,
   Proud pillars supporting the pantheon,
   Complete with Houdini-zippers and unnecessary birthstone buttons.
The Uncomfortable beds
   Of the comfort class.

At 26 her friends whispered,
   With martini breath,
   That they could swear that she had shrunk.
One suggested that she had simply adopted a new hairstyle.
After all, who has time to daily consort with the curling iron
   And still make the 6:47?
Good friends make for the worst critics.

At 41, on certain nights,
   Like when the Jove's had their annual tree-trimming party,
   Believable sources say she could still be be seen
   With 1/4 inch tree-trunks beneath her feet.
There were no buttons or zippers any longer,
   To announce her presence as made her across linoleum deserts
   Towards the desserts.
Her footprint was further softened
   By the Doctor-demanded cushion,
   Which eased the weathering toll of
   Each.
   Next.
   Step.
Everyone at the part paid words to her image:
   "Such soft skin."
   "Eyes that look truer blue after each blink."
   "Pilates or Yoga?  I have to know you secret."
But none of the husband saw her on their eyelids
    As they masturbated in the shower that night.

At 70 her wrinkled dignified carriers
   Were most at home in slippers.
She rarely removed them,
   'Cept when she let her toes soak like veteran driftwood
   In a well deserved baby warm tub.
For some reason the "News" insisted on covering award ceremonies
   And she would always feel a sharp
   Pain ping-pong between her heel and toenails
   As she watched the young actresses climb each step towards the podium.
She would still go out, now and then,
   But nobody noted the style or color that her feet were wrapped in.
   Why would they?
For the record:
   Plain, black, flats.
   Appropriately

She died at 82
   And although the casket was closed,
   It can be taken on good authority
   That this regal eagle of a woman
   Was buried barefoot.

I like to think that she is flexing her feet
   Somewhere eternal,
   Just to see how the sand feels
   Between her toes

the best vanishing techniques
done w/ mirrors
or so I have been told
set to spare the glance
of any foe so bold
to rescue all the monkeys
in the vast mountains of China
there are few wild
undercover panda bears
we are headed for a strange future
where all events are known
whose contours undiscovered
reckon towards the fact
every so often the world pauses
& rare blossom is shown/sewn
then quickly extinguished
this age is at an end
& yet
maybe it's just me
my day in sunlight
burning in the grass
eating little purple flowers of springtime
my cat searching for aphids & robins
squirrel assaulted by sparrows in humidity
I am annoyed w/ everything
manic w/ guilt
last night I drank 4 beers and masturbated
not in that order
smoked 3 cigarettes--not much there
days but still--I feel so guilty
I am so lazy I can hardly make myself

A buddy of mine
Hes gotten into some real bad ways
You'd never know it by looking at him
He seems nice
Put together
Smells like Irish Spring
Packs his own lunch
Keeps a girlfriend around enough to call her a girlfriend

We grew up together
He taught me about a lot of things
In my innocence and subsequently
My stupidity
His views were always skewed
But they were pure
He just said what he thought
We consummated our friendship by ramming our bikes into each others shins
Until someone bled

Eventually, like most people
He took on a nasty habit
Of regurgitating other peoples opinions

The girlfriend that he keeps around
He got drunk on new years
And passed out on the couch
And woke up in such a rage
That he smashed most of the furniture in his apartment
And bit her on the hand

He never told anyone what he was so mad about
He just pleaded with the cops not to take him to jail again
Last time he was there he was so hammered
That he masturbated in the corner of the holding cell
While screaming about fascist pigs
I think the cops were relieved when she didn't press charges

He also thought that she was ******* her brother at one point
He was completely convinced by a few misinterpreted words
And cried so much at work that they had to send him home
Turns out it was completely fabricated  

Like his mother
He feeds into baseless paranoia
It's eating away at his brain like a fungus
Branching out into sticky webs and toadstools
Choking off the few emerald vines of sanity he has left
Until the ends turn brittle and snap like matchsticks

I feel bad that I ignore most of his texts and calls
But I don't think that friends should try to use you
The way that a panicked airline crash survivor attempts to use their seat cushion
When they're navigating flaming wreckage
In the middle of the ocean

That said
Sometimes I still see the person I used to know
His doll eyes soften and the cataracts of self conviction clear
And it's like watching someone crawl out of a bomb shelter
And see the sun for the first time in years

But then
Half a fifth of liquor is missing
And he's ranting nonsensically
Peeling the paint with his breath
And I do my best to laugh along until I can slip out the door

On my way home
With the windows down and the sunroof open
With the cool air rushing around me
I usually realize how I could have been dealt the same hand he was
And I stare up at the hole punched stars
Until the car drifts onto the gravel covered shoulder
And the rumble strip makes my tires groan

Little has been made
Of the hurtling calendar.
Countless days masturbated
Into oblivion.
I'm supposed to
Have my life together,

Like all my accomplished
Peers who are doing
Well for themselves,
Bachelor degrees and
Promising careers,
Absolutely deserving
Of envious applause

From a coddled child
Who has yet to evolve into
A fully functional adult.


(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith

I'm so happy-
I've masturbated until I can't feel
and that's okay.
My hair is brittle;
the water's iron and so are you-
your love's a mess.
God is angry
because he doesn't have to exist
to be real.

Hipsters ruined liking Wes Anderson-
Bill Hicks was brilliant
and everyone is an intellectual.
Your ideas aren't yours-
your words are mine
and mine are yours.
Writing to be antidepressed,
because singing is for the shore,
for your shore.

Let's pick each other's psychology,
like we're removing clothes
or missing ads,
and get lost in each other's darkness,
because, "I love you,
I suppose.
I suppose."

86 years 55 days
The website told me
This is how long
I can expect to exist

I am a pauper
Among the wealth of the Universe
Handed a dollar of existence

55 years 46 days
The website told me
Is how much
I have left

8 hours per day
40 hours per week
2,080 hours per year
I sell my existence
Exchange it really
For American currency

16 years 119 days
My dollar is taxed by sleep
And I forget that bit of existence

Let’s itemize my spending
So we can make a proper budget

I’ll spend 6.39% of my dollar worrying about pointless ****
4% going to and from the place I sell myself
2.11% envying
1.98% hating
1.21% pouting
Or yelling at the dog
0.99% generally getting worked up about nothing
0.63% filling out forms and paying bills and whatever
0.37% talking about the weather
0.13% riding in elevators
Though this can sometimes be bundled with weather
For nice discount

Oh, what else?

How about the times preening in the mirror
Or wondering if my shirt is untucked
Or if people can tell I just masturbated?
God only knows the time spent
Attempting the rock hard, rippling abs of my dreams
And waiting in line
Cursing the old lady paying with a check
And a dozen coupons

What I’m saying
Really
Is how much of time’s currency needs to be spent
Walking, running, skipping, jumping and stomping in a circle?
Crowing angrily about how much I don’t care for this
Or for that
About what and who are wrong with America
With television
With music
With kids these days
Moaning about the left and the right
About the ******* Imperial measurement system
About crying babies on airplanes
And people who think a billboard threatening eternal torture
Is God’s will

How long
Really
Before I realize
Who, in the ****, gives
A running, skipping, jumping ****
And two *****
In change
That caring about that ****
Is for suckers
Who spend their lives
On get happy quick schemes
And opinions you can set your watch to
Solid citizens
Who get their money’s worth
Out of their vocal cords

When
When
When
Will I see the question
Instead of being put to the question
And the question is and always will be this:
When did I exist with you?
How many hours will I put away
For a rainy day
Walking, running, skipping, jumping and stomping in puddles with you?
When did I play and touch and love and kiss and feel
You?
What was my time spent
Being
Existing
Living
With you?

When it’s all said
When it’s all done
And I look at the blackness
With my pockets pulled inside out
Shrugging my shoulders
And falling to my knees
How much
Of this precious little currency
Will I have spent
On you?
And how much
Will I have squandered?

How much time will I have spent working
And squawking about the thisses and the thats
About the hims and the hers
About usses and thems
Cowering
A trembling little animal
Clawing for scraps at shadows
Hording dust and mold
All the while
Hurling solid gold
To the dark

When that’s it
And this is the end
What can be more to my life
To my existence
Than you?

Girl from wherever,
You appeared with a coffee in hand,
At my table
So we talked,
and we walked.

My friends were infatuated,
Their pupils dilated
I’m sure one even masturbated,
to a dirtier, devious you, locked in his mind
But you were too pure for me to.

Your eyes were big and brown,
Big and brown, I could see in your house
Through those big brown window-eyes
I saw love, pain, sadness, and reflections
Of a time that you longed for.

Your skin was soft with a suntan,
But it wasn’t a suntan,
it was a piece of perfect toast,
it was wheat bread,
smooth and a light dark.

One night we talked,
You on the floor, me on the couch
We danced, we sang and we laughed,
But you were leaving the next day,
I had nothing to say, but thank you.

You told me you were the perfect match
For me, a man of Pisces,
“I don’t believe in that,” I said,
But really, I think there is something to it,
We decided we would be perfectly matched.

Oh, but you were leaving the next day,
And I went to sleep, with you in my arms
You were a girl from wherever, my norwegian wood,
I was a pisces that was too clever, but you understood,
Goodbye girl from wherever, my norwegian wood.

I think back to that day, those days,
And I wonder what you’re doing,
Ha, funny thing,
I don’t remember your name,
but you’re my norwegian wood.

i saw a man waiting for a rat
to come out of its hole
so he could eat it

the snow was menacing but i
did not notice i passed by
no avalache ever came

standing naked on a small ledge
thinking waiting to drop hard
i masturbated and left

Say what I say and mean what I mean this stream of consciousness thing is quite a release and I know it's not a diary but it's fun to let others spy on me even if only one or two or three will ever see what I'm writing it's still exciting to be open and share because I was closed off from people for the majority of my life and it had to do with self-esteem but now that I don't care what others may think this whole experience is quite liberating so let me become even more  openly free and dare to share something that has been bothering me and that is the fact that so many asshats have mocked and teased and called me gay or alluded to it by what they say and it's been happening my whole life and even in this rehab stay the homophobia is in play and yes I'm effeminate in so many ways but here's the real secret, oh my gosh, I'm not gay! but part of me wants to just pretend that I am to make it uncomfortable but it wouldn't be fair of me because I'm comfortable in my sexuality and that would be retaliatory and just as inflammatory but beyond all of that I really don't get it why people are so upset about how others do hit it can't we just live and let live why do we label each other by whatever preference that we discover to help us feel closer to love because isn't that what human beings are wired  to do so come on I implore you all who are stuck in your hatred to tell a coworker about who you thought of the last time you masturbated and then I'll ask you again if it's any of your business

"Linda this is your victim so you have to inflict the first wound" said Rusty.  Responding to Rusty's words Linda picked up the nail gun.  "Linda you don't have to do this" pleaded the man.  "I have kids that I provide for.  My name is Timothy Yates.  I have a wife" said Timothy.
Linda silenced Timothy with a swift kick to
his testicles.  "Look Rusty it actually think we care about it's pathetic little life" said Linda.  Placing the muzzle of the nail gun on Timothy's foot Linda pulled the trigger.  Firing a hard sharp nail into Timothy's foot blood squirted into the air.
"AAAARRRGGGHHH LINDA PLEASE STOP!" screamed Timothy.  Timothy's screams and begging for his life only made Linda even more hornier and excited.   Linda walked over to Rusty and kissed him on the mouth and slipped her tongue in his mouth.
"Its your turn baby" said Linda.  Linda gave the nail gun to Rusty then stepped back and shoved her hands in her pants.  Walking over to Timothy, Rusty began to beat Timothy in the face with the nail gun.
The more Rusty beat Timothy in the face with the nail gun the harder Linda masturbated.
Placing the nail gun back on the push cart Rusty grabbed the jar filled with acid.
"Timothy you're in a world of hurt" said Rusty.  Pouring some acid slowly on Timothy's other foot Rusty smiled as the smell of burning flesh crept into his nostrils.
"AAAARRGGHHH MR. LOCKLEAR PLEASE DON'T **** ME SIR. I BEG YOU PLEASE DON'T **** ME" screamed Timothy.  Looking back at Linda, Rusty was thrilled to see Linda getting off on her victim's agony.
High on the smell of burning flesh Rusty floated over to Linda.  Pulling Linda's hand out of her pants Rusty ****** and licked her juices off her fingers.  "How do I taste?" asked Linda.  "As sweet as honey.  It's your turn again" said Rusty.
Grabbing the scalpel off the push cart Linda slashed Timothy's left thigh.  Like water from a water hose blood sprayed through the air.  "W,W,WWhy are the two of you doing this to me?" asked Timothy.  "Because it's fun Timothy and people like you make me sick" said Linda.
Walking over to Linda, Rusty took the scalpel out of Linda's hand and cut Timothy' s throat.  Seeing Rusty take another man's life made Linda ***** all over again.  "You have to find the next victim" said Linda as she turned toward her husband.  
"I already got one picked out.  She's a pill popping ****** *****" said Rusty.  Getting down on her knees Linda unfasten Rusty's pants.  She pulled out out his ***** ***** and placed it in her mouth.  She ****** and ****** for what felt like an hour.  Filling her mouth with ***** Linda happily swallowed the huge load.
"C'mon it's time to get rid of the body" said Rusty.  Rusty could hardly get the words out of his mouth cause he just finished an ******.  "Linda baby go get the chainsaw.  We have to get rid the body" said Rusty.  
Rusty began to unshackle Timothy's lifeless body.  Walking back into the darkness Linda brought back the chainsaw.  Timothy's body hit the floor making a loud thud.
Rusty cranked up the chainsaw and dismantled Timothy's body.  Linda ran back up stairs and brought large black trash bags back down to Rusty.  "I'll get rid of these body parts.  You stay here and clean up" said Rusty.  
"Ok" replied Linda.  Rusty went and put the trash bags with Timothy's remains onto the back of his black Ram truck.  Rusty drove throughout the city of Green Haven and dumped Timothy's body parts in dumpsters on the north side, east side, west side, and south side, of Green Haven.
When Rusty returned home the smell of bleach, Pine Sol, and other cleaning products greeted him at the door.  "Linda I'm back" yelled Rusty as he walked through the front door.  "Come down to the basement Rusty.  Well this was the best Sunday I ever had" yelled Linda from the basement.
The next morning the rays of the sun came peeking in through the bedroom window of Rusty and Linda Locklear.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

Expatriots await the nights in Kuwait
where the dingoes and dominoes and salamanders bait
the ladies in purple to their eminent doom
of sleazies and stabbings and babies in womb.
Don't get me wrong,
I enjoy a good time, if friends are around and we got a dime
or two
and a fire for the masses and we're shaking our *****
as if we are actually aware of the outcomes of our actions.
I know we haven't the slightest clue
what a Jesus Christ is, or if it hides under our beds at night
or if it was a Jew.
What's written in books can be written by crooks,
because literacy and knowledge are ******* beautiful
but can give one more confidence than the world has to share,
and the whole theory of Relative Pride falls to pieces when one has more self-efficacy than ability
and the children with their sweet little ideas and purity are not humble but fall victim to humility.
So what's in a name?
Letters, vowels, consonants and connotations
traffic tickets, family vacations
****** and protests (though not necessarily related)
teenage boys and ***** minds and those who have masturbated.
But who hasn't?
Those without names, or faces
or honesty or hands
probably have their members ******* in steel-spiked rubber bands.
I'll see you again in retox dehibilitation
and we can converse and create
while under the crutch of sedation.

And so I'll like your selfie,
and I may send you an encouraging message.

Digitalized and marginalized
you exist upon a screen.
To me and my solipsist mind,
all that is real is all that is before me.

All that is after me is fiction,
something I, and millions of other poets may attempt to write,
but realness is lost.

It can be compared to trying to relay a first hand experience to another,
it is impossible to do completely.
I can tell you that the trees swayed nonchalantly and that the water was crisp and welcoming but you will never know what it was like to be on the lake that day.

If Jesus Christ himself were to tell me change my ways...

Put the music on repeat,
put the *** in the pipe,
pull the covers over your chest,
put your tongue inside my mouth,
and wake up,
I will do the same.

The thought of you,
the idea of you,
the digital image of you and everything you've said to me excite different parts of my body.
All these things excite my mind.
Your words excite the blood vessels in my cheeks and your body excites my groin.
I drink a tall glass of water,
I ******* thinking of you,
and I fall asleep hoping to dream of you.

I dream of you putting your tongue in my mouth.
My body excites in my slumber,
and though I only kiss you in my dreams,
I ******* in my shower.

I'm a mountain man dreaming of the desert,
and you're a Midwest girl dreaming of the ocean.

I want to feel your legs around my neck,
your hands held in mine,
and your tongue in my mouth and around my ****.

I want this of her and her and him and her and you but I cannot have it.
So I've masturbated 3 times today and if the son of God told me to change my ways I might need to ******* twice, thrice more.

Diogenes masturbated
In the public square

A citizen of the world
He did not care

About material things

Morality implies
A return
To the simplicity of nature

He thought

His philosophy
Similar to
The wisdom
That Lao Tzu taught

And if I lived in his time
I'd ******* with him
We'd both feel fine

“have you masturbated yet”
no i haven’t
“do you even know how to”
yes i understand the mechanics of it
you put a couple of fingers in and
wiggle them around

“why haven’t you masturbated yet”
i lied when i told you that there was
a short answer to this
either answer involves yelling
and screaming so loud
that a fire blossoms
in the middle of my chest
and my voice cracks
and people can hear me on the
other side of the restaurant

this is not a quiet answer
it is not a quick one
it is the pull of a trigger
right into who i am
and it is a cruel
slash at my insecurity

have you ever heard of
****** autonomy
or maybe personal space
questions that
a grown man
an elderly man
should never ask a teenager
let alone a transgender teenager

and the age gap
42 years
a year younger than my mother
doesn’t make this a friendly thing
it makes you a pervert

(but i will answer this again
so more people than you
can look at me like i am
even more of a freak
than they originally thought

i do not *******
because looking at myself naked
even before getting into the shower
when i brush my teeth
and my ******* swing
like twin pendulums
over the basin of the sink
i want to cut it all off

and no
at this point
i do not care if i bleed to death
i have been bleeding for years
since that first person asked me
if i was a girl or a boy

and no
you do not understand
because you were not born
in the wrong body
you have the hanging anatomy
between your hairy thighs
and the biologically male on
your birth certificate
as proof of that

there are no
scars on your arms
or on your chest

parts of you are not going to
be cut off
and scooped out
so people will see you as
and address you as
male

so do not pretend that
you understand
because you do not
and you do not try to)

Youth was masturbated away
to cheap candy and commercials
and their time ended quickly

Bicycles and pavement
and the unpredictable spills
scabs and limps
and flesh on the track

Children fought like their ancestors
throwing fists and sticks
and crying when
they lost
their virginity to pain

Bee stings and bright shoes
and slamming doors behind
dropping food on the floor
and never hesitating to
pick it up and eat it

Stomach aches
and bad dreams
it must be awful to be a child
to only remember anger

Cross legged and thumb wrestling
name calling and falling
and car rides home

Their eyes in the clouds
wishing they were grown up
and the parents look down
with a contradiction they’ve
thrown up