"shimmied" poems
If I could
pinpoint the
exact moment
your breath
touched mine
washed me over
in ocean waves
sea creatures glowing
in delightful recognition
as the seedlings
of connection
shimmied into our being
and, dancing within me
in its own lifeforce
your mind a living,
breathing animal
your heart, purring
and whirring its sacred forces
into my molecular structures
your soul throbbing
in mitochondric pulsing
(*oh what
a delicious vibration
of ribosomes*)
Between us, we hold
the true treasures
close, in frothy
tenderness
a purity of the expanse
of our universe,
swathed in prismatic color
colors that shift,
these fresh hues
for which there are no name
they are lucid and fine-woven
as silk histories
yet deep as earthcore
your eyes, voice
are forever burned
into my own
every day scriptures
that rock my shattered parts
into wholeness
and,
like ancient magic,
I conjure forth
the holy gospel
rising from our bones
every second of
every minute
as our deepest fires
our most secret filth
our murky corners
our darkest hours
we weave into light
brilliant and lustrous
multi-layered in the richest
folds of the earth
and as you place me
upon the shores
of your garland-graced
throne
Now I'm alive in a new
kind of light
and
all I can do
is love
and love
and love
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
I was dancing at a dance club
Two stepping all about
When my thumb, it found a belt loop
And I couldn't get it out
I shifted and I wiggled
I ****** my hips out front in time
I bent over and I shimmied
I was twerking on the line
Now, I ain't no Miley Cyrus
You can believe me now or not
I wasn't up there twerking
It's because my thumb was caught
I sashayed and I moseyed
And others got up too
My thumb was still encumbered
What the hell was I to do?
I was twerking like a mad man
Not knowing how, or why
But the pain in my one digit
Just made me want to die
Maybe now I know the reason
Miley Cyrus did her dance
She wasn't up there being slutty
She had her thumb stuck in her pants
Now, I'm through with twerking
And there's is one thing that you'll find
That unlike young Miley Cyrus
You don't want to watch me from behind!!!
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
*come with me
to the ****** motel
it could be so tender
as **** as hell
we can kiss awhile
i'd lick you sweet
and then bend you over
and cut your feet
*** honey
you can't walk anymore
no matter darling
i'm a blood **** *****
**** me daddy
soon i'll be dead
i want it in the mouth
crush my head
not so soon
my sweet little ******
first lose some blood
to get you all woozy
stand on the toilet
a rope around you neck
on tippy toes
you'll soon be a wreck
i'd love to shoot you
want it in the ***
in the intestine
the bullet will pass
ooow honey yes
let me spread wide
then shoot me through
is that how i died
no baby
that was just for fun
i cumed in your ***
my **** was the gun
oh **** me soon
you begged and you cried
i need it my love
so your hands i tied
i ****** you and ****** you
ready to ***
i yanked your head back
and you licked up my ****
are you ready sweet girl
you lifted your head
my **** in your ***
a dagger of dread
i slit your throat
ever so slow
you ****** and you shimmied
and the blood did flow
you got on top
your **** in my face
i drank from your throat
you bled out with grace
i loved you so
and called your name
you fell over dead
but who's to blame
oh my darling
you wanted to go
black emerald death
an ******** show
pretty dead girl
im still kissing you
but i have to leave
boo hoo hoo*
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Shoppin wiv Albert.
I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.
He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
My child said today,
“You’d be rich if it wasn’t for me”
and she then smiled that goofy smile
adding, “Why did you have me then? I’m so expensive. ”
And when she later shimmied like a long lean cat
on a thin fence, I replied, “This is why I had you.”
And when she then made up her own word, bestfuzzer, to
describe a friend, I said, “This is why I had you.”
And as she curled into my belly on the bed
nuzzled my neck, and blew holes in my hair,
I whispered, “This is why I had you.”
She has forced me to reinvent myself
to plumb the deep waters of my reserve
my sanity, my will to live even
and bring up one more shining fish
one more favor, one more drive across town
one more strange meal at 2 am
And in cleaning away the thick of leaves, dirt, and grass
from my grandparents’ headstones
I become them, their bones my bones
Their struggle my struggle
How much we could have saved in not having children
would nevertheless have impoverished us in other ways.
We are driven by dumb unseen forces
as ancient as soil to create our children –
accident, intent, it doesn’t matter
so I pay homage to my grandparents - tired, frightened immigrants
barely out of childhood, with the stench of their parents
on fire singing their nostrils
Why did they persist?
What drove my grandmother to marry a man she’d never even met?
to bear his children, to suffer his beatings?
This is why I had you
Because I was lonely
*Because I was *****
Because through you I sewed myself back together
Because you are my destiny
And when my child asks why I had her
I breathe milk and honey into her mouth
jostle the stars until they ****** like wind chimes
pulling the continents back together again.
And when she asks me,
I can only offer up the scoop of my palms and
the ticking of blood in my wrists as reasons.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
.
I saw her walking down the path,
then leaning on this tree
I wondered if she just might like
to be up here with me
I said, “come on, it’s nice up here”
She said, “I like the ground”
I yelled, “the view is very clear,
I can see for miles around”
She said, *“but here the grass is green,
the flowers at my eye
I could not see these wondrous things
from up there in the sky”*
“This tree is old, this branch is strong,
it easily holds the weight
I’ve been up here an hour or so
I’m sure that it won’t break”
*“Oh that’s not it, my climbing friend,
that is not it at all
I do not think that branch is weak
and both of us would fall”*
“Then what, if you will tell me please
keeps you so far below
For where I’m at, this highest peak
provides a perfect show”
*“I just prefer the feeling of
the earth beneath my feet
The fragrance of the summer breeze
upon my face so sweet”*
“But way up here the sky is blue,
like nothing that you’ve seen
The valley and the mountain side,
as if comes from a dream"
*“Well, I’ll not climb this tree with you
and if a friend you be
Then you will slip down from that branch
and come down here with me”*
I shimmied down the mighty oak
and staring in her eyes
I saw a view I’d never seen
on any morning skies
She said, *“I’m glad you didn’t fall
from up there way above"*
That’s when I thought, oh yes I did,
for I just fell in love
I found her to be beautiful
much more than any sights
And truth be known, I’m glad I’m down
for I’m afraid of heights
(But don't tell her)
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
Solar flares, deep space chambermaid stabbing her
molten mop in contempt.
There are so many squares that field her space,
sifted afire.
Tearing out rays of her hair to be, and be
beautiful...to see her strands descending lit, the
stress level of an unforgettable goddess.
She yearns head-over-heels, burns out her core
with blinding reason.
Not once was she afforded a mirror to know her
space.
Wiry stick figures subsist under her--fatalistically
emotive.
Summed up, as water broken, transparent as the
life seen through.
What pagan rite has shimmied out her soul, what
serpent slid her warmth sane?
Do not site dawn or dusk, mistake her outer life
for an inner one!
Do not presume the burden of her focal point, her
light hangs overhead swaying interrogation.
Caught perfectly for Platonic cave or other...
in utero, her light a stillborn beauty--as alive as
ever once away from her.
She's up, burning...console her, her blood is boiling--
she wants to be accounted for, to outgrow that coo.
Only to surprise once and for all a stone's underbelly.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower
from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power
cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness
saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression
and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions
imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?
opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right
shanky gone unscrupulous
shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls
stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor
as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion
a crime of passion
we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives
jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times
but we were alive
while others were not
fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points
disjointed
in Freudian
ointments
self anointed
as god
standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog
how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention
i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her
but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way
my f--king way
stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds
who am i?
but the guy
who spaced
hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries
disappointingly
underwhelmed
still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film
disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV
as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock
to shelter
my anxiety or not
gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways
the way
of sheep
sleeping
soundly
in decay
blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day
be
real
one
day
one
day
1
d
a
y
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
I followed her over the countryside,
I followed her near and far,
She said that she had to live her life
Alone, as a shooting star.
‘The world began when I came to be
Will be gone,’ she began to shout,
‘When I leave my trail, a silvery tail
And the Moon and the stars go out.’
‘But what about love,’ I called to her
As she shimmied by in the breeze,
Her eyes were fixed on the future as
I settled down on my knees.
‘I haven’t got time for love,’ she said
‘It fades, and swallows my life,
There’s more to living what I’ve been given
Than being somebody’s wife.’
‘The world out there is a lonely place
When you wander its wilds alone,
You’ll need somebody to hold your hand
In the dark, when you’re on your own.’
‘I don’t need someone to tie me down
I shall steer my course for me,
No man shall tug at my either hand
Or change my trajectory.’
‘My heart is full of my love for you,’
I said, but she didn’t care,
She laughed, and hurried away to find
What life had in store for her.
I caught a sight of her now and then
As she lived her life to the full,
With greedy lips at the brimming cup
As she drained the life from her soul.
The years were cruel as she partied on,
Her hair became iron grey,
Her skin was losing that youthful bloom
With the drugs that she took each day,
The money lenders were out in force
So she had to swallow her pride,
And sell herself when she had to pay,
But then she shrivelled inside.
She landed up on my doorstep only
Once, and I thought she’d fall,
She looked so ill that my heart went out
But my skin began to crawl,
‘So what became of the shooting star?’
I said - She began to pout,
Then tears welled up at her eyelids as
Her Moon and her stars went out.
David Lewis Paget
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
I should have known better than to rest on a stereo-type,
my eagerly awaited Latin lover tore into the night!
I didn't like the head stand he performed on my rib cage,
Nor the slurping grunts as he ****** his **** as if he were onstage.
He flipped me like a burger and rasped me with his hands,
I closed my eyes, counted to ten, and remembered some good bands!
He said ''you like it baby?'' as he shimmied up the sheet,
I cowered in anticipation as he manoeuvred his great big feet.
Ladies, be careful what you wish for, it might one day come true.
Steer clear of stereo typing you could end up black and blue.
I'll just warn you, in a friendly way, his name was Henriques Stud,
Next time it's Roger Rabbit and not my Latin dud!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
I didnt lose anything the day that you kissed my red lips,
told me that you liked them swollen this color instead of painted it.
I didn’t lose anything when you kissed down my neck and across my collar bone and all the way down into my soul.
I don’t think I lost anything the day we kicked off our socks and shoes and shimmied out of our jeans
When we crawled under the covers and into each others hearts,
whispering words that I can still feel againt my skin long after your touch has faded.
Christmas lights casting shadows that I chased across your jaw
Legs tangled and fingers twined,
we were more laughter and love
patience and passion
imperfection and beauty than I had ever felt in myself alone.
I don’t think I lost anything;
some part of myself that my mother was always telling me to protect.
I think I may have even grown.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
I met my uncle Albert
down at asda, in aisle three;
he got there in his mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed sainsburys,
tesco liddle n the spar,
but not one o' them flogged caviar
truffles or foie Gras.
He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
He shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 12:04 PM UTC
open seed;
her busted fetus of death's frail womb
and moisture drops soil's dehydrated tongue,
a quiet resignation, understanding,
is some triumph on the other side
where the picket fence, traitor,
glances in whatever direction he
hears noise.
&
we exchange our horoscopes
with our eyebrows,
and the mini universes beneath them,
circular and budding
as medicines and poisons.
&&
you are not shimmied away
by the sand's magnetic force
nor stand with planted soles
on stone foundation.
you are lured
by wind's woe of distance.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
It was just like Christmas,
A sunny star - far in the corner of the sky
Hiding as a small child, curled in a ball all tucked up and warm.
The hills were decorated with evergreen eyelashes
and the pounding red screen of eyelids.
It was just like a schoolgirl's daydream
to fling open the car door and grasp your sunny face like the jaws of life,
- you know I'd been growing out my nails ? -
to feel your porcelain skin beating - to rub the delicate china scenes
under my fingertips, and feel the silk robes of time gone by.
Some things are breakable.
I didn't know you were one.
I was young when I conjured you up,
when I mixed equal parts bone-running shivers,
and raised eyebrows.
I shimmied across my living room
and out of my nightgown,
like flipping a switch, I lit up your eyes.
You got me lipstick for Christmas that year.
I wrapped up tired metaphors, and said - I wish I could stay.
Sometimes I lie.
We started out as a quiet superstition, but I forgot to water our roots.
I wanted to give you goosebumps, but I forgot they leave scars,
and tiny webs married to my villainous fingertips.
You were angry - red like your tie
And I hid as a small child growing younger through the years:
The curious case of an anemic soul hiding in the curios cabinet -
you'll have seen it in theaters.
Too bad we weren't a cactus.
there are too many tricks I know.
I didn't realize the voice in my head could talk back.
Like I said,
I was young.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds. I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass. I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me. My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie. The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you bestbe going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds. I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass. I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me. My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie. The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you best be going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of Lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
There's an old abandoned bridge
between Yosemite and here.
Take the Lathrop exit where-
(or don't, it's your life after all)
-we throttled to jump off it
when our buddy flashed excitement, a boyish daydream, and we decided.
Our clothing
soon was hanging
on a long forgotten railroad track
(Sitting naked on a maple board-
Probably from the Civil War.
Dropping rocks to test the height,
Water black with no rapport)
He giggled like a giddy child
trying not
to give us flak,
(For being such a bunch of scaredy cats)
Moonbeams on our skin, and also iPhone torches, and the headlights of the Jeep.
And did he jump? yes!
From a stand with only his two feet supported by a 2 by 4?? yes!
He flipped behind his head!
A backflip with a midway twist.
(Or maybe I half-remember,
It was just a normal flip)
I swear, man, it was amazing.
Off the wooden railing,
Pale and falling towards the water,
which,
(by the way)
was as black as the apocalypse.
Splashing ghostly underwater,
Then shimmied up the concrete pillar,
Called out to the crescent moon,
And gave a thirty foot salute,
plunging towards the blackened river.
Laughing, swimming,
He called up to us, quivering,
(And said),
"Alright, you're next."
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:59 AM UTC
A
raindrop
plunged towards
the hot pavement
and sizzled as it
splattered
A
raindrop
shimmied its way
down the smooth
side of a glass
window
A
raindrop
melted in the
kiss of two
lips
A
raindrop
saddled the fuzzy
back of one merry
little bumble
bee
A
raindrop
made a quivering
ripple as it plopped
into a muddy
puddle
A
teardrop
sneaked out and
made its escape
in the ensuing
melee
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 12:13 PM UTC
i knew you would forget my name
if i didn't write it for you every day
for you to see.
so i found the bridge your car whizzes under
every day to work
and sprayed it in blue
with toadstools and fireworks
pretty girls and tampons
was it enough to wipe the yellow from your mind?
i knew you would forget my name
if i didn't write it down every day
for you to see.
so i shimmied up the sky and hung a banner
of azure eyes and white, white teeth
and waited.
but next week i saw it
floating down the river
with two empty cans of chewing tobacco
and a lemonade carton.
i knew you would forget my name
if i didn't write it
big enough
so i held my breath
with my head on the tracks
and waited for the rumbling to stop
by chance i relived that scene
in the cosmic cloister where i'm still waiting
saw that my head was smeared for a mile
trying to spell out
Hello!
but the trail was an unripe cantaloupe
i turned away
and wept
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
i often think about the people that go hit by meteorites
how space shrapnel invited itself into their homes
took its' shoes off and shimmied into the floor
asteroid junk, hold me closer
tell them they're not alone
that one day they'll burst, or be swept
all just soot in the end
this dust, this sand
can fill up a city
i can be that city
how likely is it to be struck by lightning?
and will i be the lucky one
tell me, will it shake the truths out of me
will it burn my hair like it did when someone got too close and their cigarette got even closer
the way it sizzled and made the air hard to breathe
will my veins line up with the electric as if i were part of something greater than a body of earth?
in times like these i hear the word aha!
Geronimo calling from the light-bulb, brazenly jumping to enlightenment
a tiny revolution starting in every little thing that can line up with the other
a thousand circuits jump starting and brashly telling me to
step out of the dark
i could use a little time
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
There was a time when my mind was high
and I walked within thoughts that I
gathered close to me but You don’t care
about that do you?
I had to dance upon a sticky floor
while watching who walked through the door
and bare myself as the unholy *****
all the while caring for nothing but
asking for what you might do
As if you worried about what I bared
or offered your help like I cared
You watched me with your jaundiced eye
and ignored the tears I cried
Pretending it was just the glitter as you breathed
“Hallelujah”
Like so many nights that had gone before
as I lay down upon the ***** floor
you watched me as I broke myself
like all the other nights that you knew me
Escorted to you for a private dance
your wandering hands lacked romance
the ineffectual touch of eternity
and lack of tip eventually set me free
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Sterile white cast a sharp sillhouette
Againt burgundy--
That swam with shadowy velvet
And creamy blurs of silk
Each so like a soft brush stroke
Save for that sterile white
In its clean geometry;
And the carpet installed short and durable
By hopeful design it would last
Through years of dance-worthy occasions
Ballroom turf bled into my hiding place
Stippling my palms pink
As my weight shifted
And I leaned into the wafting scents
Of ladies' perfumes and catered delicacies
Every time the table cloth rippled
Out of fear or respect from passerby
Even shimmied with the clinking of glasses
Above the dull congratulatory murmur of guests
Later they would all be drunk
And murmur would turn to ruckus
But then, only indistinguishable voices
Too they were far away, drifting almost
Enough
I imagined nothing but that white
Sterile still, pure
And matrimonially sweet
The tiny bride and groom testifying from atop
But a plan was already in motion
To hide and wait;
The waiting was done
So young, as I was
Finding nothing so sacred I couldn't soil it
Found the oppurtunity to touch my tongue to it
That white, I wouldn't say sterile
But oh so sweet.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC
we will be martyrs
we will feel the earth
&let; the wind push us back in ecstacy
it will be beautiful
&fate; will let us alone for a while
let it go &rest; easy
until the next time tragedy strikes
it was the back &forth; that took us
&we; ran,
ran fast
from the duties we were opposed to
we cried in spite of ourselves
because the world feeds off of
the misery of the peoples
we laughed in spite of it all
because sometimes satire
is the only way we can process the scars we carry
the leaves shimmied on the trees
&we; couldn't help but believe it was all for us:
Nature is our Dancing Girl
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
once when I was about 13, an old man wanted
to **** my **** & once he was on his knees,
I punched him in the head & ****** him
in the throat; where we were in the park
[satyrs & nymphs wandered & frolicked
freely through the flowering thicket];
I push him down on his face in the dirt
& **** him in the *** I thought the guy
was in pain the way
his face ******* up, but he seemed
to be enjoying it & thanking me, wandered off
into the bushes; I'm thinking, ***
[everyone knows about the suburban dads
in vans congregating in High School parking lots;
car seats in the back, dad on his knees
or getting his hemorrhoids shimmied;
of course I didn't get a block before
some corner **** was there waiting
for any random passerby to bang her;
the old [pen pals & diaries] combine to form
the electronic social media [incorporating
personals, classifieds & bulletin boards]
where pedophiles can comfortably troll for witless
kids; how the **** does a budding adolescent
get ****** into a blind ****** situation unless
the kid's got pure **** for brains
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC