Posts Tagged ‘bloodwords’

Funeral for a living friend

Saturday, 1 March 2008

Well, at least you realize you’re in prison.

most people never realize the depth and breadth of the bars, just the crumbs
dancing around their pigeon-post souls.

it’s better not to hate them. like doctors say: first, do no harm.

how quickly electron philosophies dissolve
when you remember someone you loved is a locked door
that never saw you standing outside.

pain reaches for knives floating in whiskey bottles and bullets in the ash of cigars.

when you think you’re a bit better, then disgust hits, you really only feel as good as plastic fangs in the mouth of an idiot and have to start all over again, hating everything they care about because now it sickens you.

and this isn’t even the job, this is just a spork of the madness of feeling too much in one corner of your cell. the hell of the job and bills and sickness and stepping around white puddles of slavery also await.

life is brutal. ask the butterflies nailed to the card. ask the lord. ask anyone.

You will escape it all Now or Now + a few hours.

we’ll wait together like smooth stones in a scummy pond for our day in the sun,
watching death eat the gulping fish.

For 100 dollars you can come in my mouth

Monday, 7 January 2008

For 100 dollars you can come in my mouth

Fury at wet socks
in a cheap vinegar room
the struggle for light in Mexico that night after all-day
west-east flight through frightened pussyless skies,
the plan to get laid
laid months in advance.

the first whore a dud adding to my
misery in the deafening bar, but now upstairs again with this one, blonde,
naked ass curved long like the view in a peephole,
pear breasts, body glorious but fading,
as she finished undressing I made her say it again
because I really didn’t understand.

Her English was good, the last item on the menu, better,
“For 100 dollars, no condom blowjob and you can come in my mouth.”

money laid down, again,
she tricked me as I tried to squirt her while lying on my back,
missing the mystery sweet spot that makes the hot white blast,
instead it poured out like angry white ants.

She grazed the softening tower with her lips, short blonde hair tickling my crotch like teasing rain.

I had fucked and failed again,
wanting to fill her with the years lost
from both of our lives, blah blah blah,
there was no time for sentiment
it was over so fast,
already forgotten by one of us forever.