Tag: poetry

my weenis is on the table

A poem.

not all femicentric stories of woe
have to include their version of Romeo,
but the fact my fantasy mind upholds
is that every straight male tries to manifest that one
who will get on their hands and knees without
anything needing to be
said or done –
a natural proclivity to procreate

that still will take
generations to satiate.
i won’t be around that late:
when sex is either so criminally problematic
or we’ve all turned into reprobates.
oh wait…

on the news there’s a reprint
about a local school district’s teaching assistant
who got fired for her OnlyFans account.
keeping in mind this is a story involving children,
the real brief was the outlet shared her online pseudonym –
ladies if y’all wondering where yer dads is at,
’cause now the damn media has me thinking:

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no sooner than later

A poem.

it’s 2006,
right after my surgery
lest anyone ever lets me forget;
poor me, poor me, poor me…

i’m staying in a RMCH-like for
horny seniors & teenagers alike,
and right outside my bedroom window
is a double-wide trashcan transients treat like an idol –
big enough to catch a flying fugitive Keanu:

i’m up late at night writing over the phone with a friend
whilst friends of the garbagepeople do their job for them.
bio-waste probably didn’t go in there –
one hopes –
but i can’t imagine it was loaded with lacquerware
when 90% of the co-tenants were lucky enough
to be off of the street themselves –
with library access to a fax machine to sign up for MSP –
to die affordably
and at their own pace within the year.
at least i could say that my mother was there.

now it is the hard, cold future
of 2023:
there is no free parking on the street
of the residential body
where my wife & i look after a furry family familiar
for two weeks.

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milking male monkeys in heat

A poem.

now i’m sitting in the living room of our Airbnb,

beady-eyed bloodshot and tired –
so tired –

but like a wild misimprinted baby
– i just thought i would give it some pets!
whoopsie-daisy! my bad! –
i’m followed constantly and i can’t take it back,
its steps so loud because the built-in surround sound
can’t pick up the reticent tones of
metaphors unrooted-out

and now i’m sitting on the toilet taking a shit

and i’m very weary and it’s very padded
and she cries out that she’s going to bed.

if i say it for attention it works.
people turn and give me the usual looks reserved
primarily for the patently undercooked
and chock it up to all the antidepressants i took

and the weed,
and the booze –
too much drink and i start crying
because by then i have nothing to lose.
“everyone can leave ANYTIME they choose!”

and now i joke about seppuku.

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a kiss before you pee

A poem.

i am simultaneously appalled by all the intimacy i see
on contemporary TV,
and frustrated that none of it actually actively involves me –

other than as a third-party,
being cuckolded by a wife who would rather experience it through a screen
than with the man she swears she loves unconditionally.
“sex is not the be-all, end-all of our propinquity,
darling-dearest honey sweetie”
and the movie’s full of jokes but she says it’s not a comedy.

thirty years ago you didn’t have to show it,
but if you had the chutzpah to imply the male erection,
you would be lucky if your film went wider than a festival selection.
but as if Scorsese doesn’t already argue daily for media preservation,
there go another dozen new shows each week up for investigation
in this problematic modern streaming pervasion.

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Video: prey

A Visual Poem

Produced in 2011 //wd

Transcript:

tell me a story.

tell me a story about a life.
about a life and a death.
a story about a man from within
from within,
where a body becomes a flower
and a tree becomes its prey.

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