The Exploding delight in her vacant eyes
Delicate nuances of her shaken lust
The raging torrent of human female need, skull and bone
Days like these I succumb to it all

These days and Her eyes like exploding melons

These days and Her eyes like exploding melons,
these days w/ no rain,
only dry leaded concrete.

These days that I can come backwards into myself
And keep it to myself
Penis and pupils dilated

These days I tap dance drunk on the edge of a machete
Drinking cheap wine from a paper cup
Mastectomized, rolled up
And taught to chew cow tongue

And when caught in front of mirror
Wearing only underwear
Chanting unintelligibly
I run and look for the goat’s head

Warm fresh day

Warm fresh day, been kicking around peyote buttons. Mutation into something far too delicate. Almost wanting to be taken over by something; like some self important, asshole endangered specie.

We had been banging heads for hours and the scabs began to show.

Once inside the sedan she proceeded with a prolific litany of four letter words and sweet verbal abuse. I wanted to anticipate the next attack, so I watched her hands very closely, large, manly, muscular hands. With hair on them. Something strangely erotic about that. I had a hard-on and warm eggs in my pants. My nipples were erect. I wondered aloud to god if I was going to make it out of this alive and why do men have nipples?

The verbal assault continued, alternating between a low drunken murmer and crazed eye-popping shouts.

“When I get you home I’m going to yank down your pants! I’m going to pull your trousers off and shove ‘em down your throat! Whaddya think about that, birthday boy, huh, huh, you want me to rip that winky of yours off and nail it to the wall or what? Hmmmmmm mmmmm, yeah! Ya ya ya ya ya! Bend over and grab your ankles, here comes mister cucumber, bitch!”

It wasn’t my birthday. She punched the accelerator with a swollen foot and let loose a few clouds of nicotine. I felt like a goldfish trapped in a plastic, water filled sandwich baggie.

She asked me if it was okay if we drove dead on right into the heart of the neurotic dirty-bomb sunset. And she asked it like it was white picket fences, fresh cut grass, lollipops and unicorns.

Trouble is, I couldn’t decide which I liked better.

What

What’s up w/ the free links maggie? And the snow-capped blood on the walls?

I’ve been stalking you since the dawn of time, and now here I am

You mangy little prick, I know you

Your mango flavored tongue, I know you

Settling in a jar of formaldehyde fuck me

On top of the dresser
Stabbed and foaming at the mouth at the world beyond my window

It’s dark now.
Now it’s dark

Nightime and I got my shovel
Daytime and I am disheveled


Because I am mangy and angry and dog fed and clothed and time waits for no one. Because there is wine on the walls and formaldehyde on the dresser. Because it is dark and I have been stalking you since the dead dawn of time. Because I try to keepa my prick in my pants too, hang loose hang loose dear sweet flower particle as the earth and it’s rotten bold love axis slowly dwindle take you away. See her arm extended toward you from the bottom of the acid ocean floor, but don’t sweat it.