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It’s all good/ It’s all praise
RUMI
quote unquote
16 Saturday Dec 2017
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zed
16 Saturday Dec 2017
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Z. Like the Weegies say, “yoo’re feckin’ zed.”
Which is true. I am obnoxious, bratty.
All these chemicals. Havoc in my head.
Scrimshaw. Cuts. Cairn. Marker. What we bury
when we bury ourselves. This doesn’t work
well. You say that I’m better, like Delphi.
Visions that I don’t get. Let the gods smirk
when my name comes up. I shall have your thigh
around my hips, wrecking you. Even Pan
wept. For all my faults you let me bury
myself in you. No regrets. Just more praise.
Just. You are all. Just. We want a human
that we can call our own. And I, banshee,
death in the last name, wail: love born of haze.
quote unquote
15 Friday Dec 2017
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Kindness is an even distribution of dust.
Let me be finally without you,
As after a fire, I will be out,
Naturally, breathing, be kind
To myself, wrap my body up
In somebody else’s skin, untouched.
May Wong, from A Bad Girl’s Book of Animals
night seed
15 Friday Dec 2017
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fill the sky, jaguar's toothed song, night seed, poem, Poetry, pony-bird, sky scars, sonnet, the sky, what you need
Empire. Incubus. Lust. The sky came through
and the window stood open. You were not
here, no. You were there; like how the crow flew.
Like the crow caught. Like how the sky was caught
at the foot of my bed. It squawked, rustled,
beat wings as I wrapped my arms around air.
Sky loves us all; but who loves its muscled
grace? When was the last time that you were bare
naked before it? Can you name its scars?
Can you name its need? Sky, love, pony-bird.
You’re still a lost empire. You’re still night seed.
My bed is wide. I swear by the jaguar’s
toothed song that I know why you have hungered.
Love, I know how to satisfy your need.
gospel
14 Thursday Dec 2017
I like you best with your face dripping cum.
It’s my form of prayer to you. A godhead
splitting your ass, ruining your rectum
until I roll you over on the bed
and you taste your own tart-funk on my cock
as it fills your throat. There’s nothing soothing
about prayer, just the sudden thrill and shock
when I pull out, my orgasm drenching
your cheeks, nose, eyelashes. If seminal
solutions are sacred then my temple
is your ass. Piercing it is like glory,
something sacred and cum proof of faithful
worship. Balls deep in you is like gospel.
Heathen, once more you and I are holy.
hothouse
13 Wednesday Dec 2017
Tags
comeuppance, drench the floor, erotic poetry, hothouse, poem, RUIN, sonnet, spanking
Spankings seem cruel. But when you bend to bare
yourself to me with your ink—one word stamped
in black, “RUIN,” above your derriere—
when you drape yourself on my knee, thighs clamped
tight with tension; then, yes, this will be cruel.
So rough. So sudden. That first splitting stroke.
You know that I find whining sobs shameful;
only kids caterwaul. Drench the floor, soak
your thighs, if you must, but keep count of each
welted slash left upon your upturned ass.
Correction’s hothouse. Discipline’s garden.
Pain blooms as divine comeuppance; this bleach-
in-the-eyes pain, add a-touch-of-teargas —
that’s why you’re here, you and your prayer: RUIN.
quote unquote
08 Friday Dec 2017
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anti-hero, emily wilson, feminism will always get us through, greek stories, I never wanted to read the odyssey, liar, murderer, Odysseus
Tell me about a complicated man.
Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost
when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy,
and where he went, and who he met, the pain
he suffered in the storms at sea, and how
he worked to save his life and bring his men
back home. He failed to keep them safe; poor fools,
they ate the Sun God’s cattle, and the god
kept them from home. Now goddess, child of Zeus,
tell the old story for our modern times.
Find the beginning …
first stanza of Emily Wilson’s translation of ‘The Odyssey’ (2018)
bene faction
08 Friday Dec 2017
Tags
benefaction, curious strangers, erotic poetry, fuck-friends, sonnet, urchin's greed, waif's weed
We are unnerved by pleasure; it frightens
us when it comes. It comes. I call. I’m out
side your door. I come with waif’s weed, urchin’s
greed. I hunger the way that the devout
hunger for a balm to their holy mess.
Call us a holy fuck. Blunts shared between
two: alms, bene-faction. To kiss. To bless.
To claim. I’ve driven far. I want obscene
things. I want to ruin you. Now re-frame;
I meet you at the door, children on their
way to school. We smile. We are familiars.
Familiar is good. It’s still the same blessed flame,
chaotic nerves, fire. I will take either:
as fuck-friends or as curious strangers.
quote unquote
04 Monday Dec 2017
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1970s fashion, quote unquote, Spanish quote of the day, toupee, translations are fun, words are fun
Tu peluquín se parece a mi coño en los 70./ Your toupee looks like my pussy in the 70s.
ruin us
04 Monday Dec 2017
Tags
erotic poetry, once more but with gore, ruin us, scabs, sonnet, sour me, troubled soul, troubled water
“Once more, but with gore.” For two weeks after
I kept my shirt on, changed the bandages,
daubed the stains. “Abuse me,” we say. “Yes, sir,”
we say. I’m more than besmirched. My glasses,
knocked all ahoo, cracked. My scabs, when I stretched,
peeled. “Sour me,” is more than a dare. “Ruin
us,” gets used a lot. Love, what is far-fetched
that one day I’ll just burn? What bursts molten
cannot be put right as it flows, as it flames.
What you demand just now leaves me distraught.
You know better. But this ends with my squeals,
shouts, pleading to the gods. The healer claims,
“troubled water, troubled soul.” But it’s not
soul that your nails cut, just flesh and flesh heals.
