i
don't go out of my way to read poetry, and i don't get the urge to write
poetry often. it inevitably gets thrown out or otherwise deleted along
with everything else - when that irresistible urge to destroy returns.
for some reason, these pooems of mine have stuck in my memory, possibly
because most of them are fairly short. none are remotely recent. i've
included them to give some ideas about my contradictions, although i
think some of them give a misleading impression about what interests me
now. without further ado: muses of my undoing ubiquitous, omnipotent ~ fuck me he loves me he shits flowers i lay back his trusting eyes don't comprehend ~ sleeping cringing daylight creeps daily nightmare begins we dress in mourning clothes long hard day's journey we are wasted television vegetables sun staggers in hopeless sky ~ ufos my mind caved in on itself ~ quixotic two lovers in a faraway land ~
/p>
they compel me
i careen toward them
they're all i see
palms sweat
jaws ache
skin of my teeth is breaking
at last i let go and fall
into the infinite soothing sea
of hot hard foaming dicks
smiles sunshine and brightness
he adores me
legs open and say
scrape your heart
against my cunt
he lays it at my feet
over hostile land
unwanted
wind whines in weary trees
unconsolably
soon painted, sculpted, sketched
unreadable
blurs dreams into drugs
undeciphered
masters of communication
unreachable
stumbles, and passes out
uncaring
then exploded into space
i can't get the pieces back
and even if i did
they'd be as flat as the world
i want to get off
dream beneath a sparkled sky
wrapped snug in enchantment's coverlet
ravished by love's sorcery