Tags
bushfire, clit, cunnilingus, female ejaculation, gushing, husk thorn, poem, sonnet
Secret garden, wild grassland and brambles;
I’ve strayed between the highlands of your wilds,
seeking your sweet fruit in bittersweet curls.
Virgin woods? whatever, nothing defiles
you more than a dry spell when husk thorns reign.
The sun burns through your bush, dries your puddles,
and your poor untasted fruit prays for rain.
I’ve been among poppies, tasted thistles,
slept with foxtail. Like the horny goat, weeds
are no problem. Your curls part at my kiss.
Your red chaparral flushes green. Big flood
coming. You are, too. My tongue tweaks and kneads
your clit. First you dew my face, then you mist,
gush and geyser, drenching like sticky blood.
memories of my ghost sista 
Like that first tag, Bush Fire. Had to go to the CD collection and run Cosmic Thing by the B-52s…the one with Bush Fire on it…while I was reading this. It added a whole new aesthetic layer of experience.
later….
The B-52s! In high school I had a friend who loved the B-52s and gross-out films in equal measures (Troma Film’s Surf Nazis Must Die and Toxic Avenger, as well as anything John Waters did, the dog shit eating scene in Pink Flamingos being his favorite). Ever since whenever I hear Love Shack I can’t help but think of late-night movie marathons and endless giggling.
Had a friend in Ohio who was a fan of the Toxic Avenger.. If Toxy was in it, she was going to make sure I saw it. I never got the fever, so I guess I’m not in with the in crowd.
Later…
Granted, that story took place over 25 years ago, and tastes do change as the long slog of time marches on. I would say my love for the B-52s remains and my love for gross-out movies has … dwindled to the point of forgetting I went out of my way once to watch them. Still, I suppose there is a certain nostalgia factor involved here, sort of like the wonder that is glam rock (David Bowie might age but Ziggy Stardust lives forever)
B-52s and Bowie…one of the few times I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (the yearly free days) there was a Rock fashion exhibit. We were all walking on black scaffolding, through a black room, with costumes from the most outrageously dressed pop stars suspended in glass cases. It was amazing. Bowie’s were the feature, of course, New York Dolls, Dr. John, and the B-52 girls stuff was giving my semi-sane artist GF too many idea on how to make her wardrobe even more outlandish. Big Fun. Saw the Dylan expo, and the 35the anniversary of Tommy expo, and they had concerts outside at which the musicians did soundcheck and hung around. Got to meet Chrissie Hynde – my all-time rock babe – and gush all over her…telling her I’d lick her ankles she was such a goddess. She was too amusing, in her droll way. She just stared at me blankly, then said, “tell him,” indicating over shoulder with a thumb. A guy was standing there schmoozing. A boyfriend who paid her little attention? I was going to offer my services until I was told to move on by a security guy.
Later…
I suppose if you’ve created a world for yourself where you are so beloved for your art to the point that simply walking into a room (like Brigitte Bardot) causes all conversations to stop then having a jerk of a paramour (or however one wants to define control freaks) might make sense, though personally I find that the least sexy traits in people (douchebags, I mean, not Chrissie Hynde. Chrissie Hynde is indeed a rock goddess!) Speaking of outlandish outfits, when you performed live what did you usually wear? Was it blue jeans and t-shirts? Or was there a uniform, like Devo’s flowerpots and boilersuits?