"whorey" poems
they danced in a dream
of bending shadows
face down
begging ***
all hungry back door paradise
ankles strapped on a foot worn floor
paint faced in whorey nights
with pin needle eyes
beded
blood crimson neon's
cut curtains
like kissing claws
so their bodies wouldn't forget
dark pleasures lightening
and biting tantra tantrums
they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy
breathing the others inhalations
foot sniffing ballet arch
in fastened Japanese melting red slippers
gazing upwards rectums prayer
solar eyed insurrection
finger by finger
clutching wrists like the grave
for bloods salty cove
an injured landscape
a dire pink desert
like bogs hold bones
a rave for a slave
covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets
soft on the feet
x rated amputee costume
made of blood and spit
look mommy no arms
a bellied tattoo
of hennaed homunculi
burning Candomblé Jejé, skull
black eyed beauty hissing
while accordion throated
rip tie tighten
another notch please
a dizzy *******
down silver fluted gullet
in a steamed up bath house
party of blotted sockets
*** kitten
kissed dead girls thighs
tremulous and stretched
a shimmering serum
like wide tubular channels
as pontoon edges slit
through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl
who thrills
her head a veiled Jehovah
saliva wagging tongue ****
a stuttering ****** dance
a hula hot momma in rubble
slapping hot lipped kisses
over starved darkness
along telegraphs avenue
melting eyes like butter
a globed pudding spill
******* drool drops of gold
and black river gladiators
slaughter lies
with every long stroke
between cascading squeals
paraphilias mausoleum
like tumbling eels
a scapegoat pulp fiction
chiseled in cement
******* rips
drip drip drip
babbling **** bubbles
**** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun
fire spats soil cherry clover
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC
a pretty face and she’s little waisted
a pretty place and a little wasted
tumble and tip into submission
stumble and slip into position
set all sweating systems to go
as emotions among other things grow
I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive
that’s just the way the story goes
when we remove our whorey clothes
and get right down unto the bone
the nitty gritty, the solid as stone
I want to get down to the heart of you
I want to feel every last part of you
I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive
I will not deceive, please believe
I will not deceive, you best believe
as long as we can receive and relieve
as long as we interweave every eve
darling I would never, could never leave
I will not deceive, I will not deceive
I’ll love you like you won’t believe
you’re the merchant and I’m the thieve
I’ve got a trick slid up inside this sleeve
trust me darling, I will not deceive
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 5:40 PM UTC
Why must we read 500 pages
to get the moral Of the story.
Keeping it abbreviated is
Not the worry
You write and write
Until we are wick and rory
But if it is over now or then
it will still have it's same glory.
Stop this addness or
we will never finish
until we are forty!
two seconds and done,
might seem a little whorey
But do it again and
we will just skip to the end.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
A rich old lady came to tea
Her face was full of apathy
I asked her if she fancied me
But she was barely listening.
It seems her husband lets her down
He doesn't dig her disco sound.
He makes her pay for every round
While his career is fizzling.
She said so sorry to be rude
But she could not abide our food.
I asked to see her in the ****
But I don't think she heard me.
She showed me photos of her daughter
While my dad went out and bought her
Several crates of special water
She said ours was *****
Her hands were like old withered claws
No wonder she fell off her horse
I told her she should get divorced
But she just plain ignored me.
She said that she would love to stay
But she had business in L.A.
She'd change her outfit on the way
To something chic but whorey.
As she left she kissed my nose
She said I was an English Rose
I offered to take off my clothes
But she was on the porch now
She left behind her walking stick
Her attitude got on my wick
I hope our muffins made her sick
so she dies a lets me think
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
I wanna write
but I don't have a good story
I could depict something nice
or something quite gory
such as a mouse squeaking in strife
cause his wife is quite whorey
She was caught with the three blind mice
her only retort, a sob story
unfortunately he didn't believe her lie
and stained her fur a sticky wild-cherry
just beat her until she died
he gave her no time to say sorry
now he sits alone and cries
his breathing getting steep
no one can ask why
after this, he'll never squeak.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC