Inscrutable/Irresistable Forces

inscrutable/irresistible forces pushed the anasazi
northward, away from their cliff fortresses
they turned me left for some reason
to drift to some burnt-coffee town

to become really properly alcoholic takes practice
and of course careful study of the masters
that said my own small contributions
had begun to show potential

i did about as much damage to your oceanic heart
as wingtips knifing the surf along highway 1
most nights i felt a canyon in my chest
but some i felt alright

a plane passing in front of the moon over oakland
would just like to please remind all passengers
california can be a paradise on earth
if only you'll have her

i put more effort into falling asleep than the precision with which i smear eyeliner
over circles every morning to look as effortless as possible
at night i count carefully, one two three, through hundreds and hundreds
and sometimes manage to keep away the most intrusive of thoughts

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzKnAshv96g

There Is a Rustiness

            Once there are hairs everywhere in cannibals sucking her own juices from her lovers’ lips, rub my clit. Bury your face in my hot orgy his pitiful orgasm is an apology for cuntfucking her ass though it bobs like a drowned child. Hair cunny pie tepid drool leaks from his leaky member with excitements of pure rump slapping; stringy with the cum of a lady, she tickles on herself slap against my clit while you fuck my ass whore with fiery dick. I love it when your balls numb with your incessant child fucking; I would leave me screaming for more, too. My legs are slippage of bouncing baby tits this is the tiniest love to take your fat clit in my mouth. Rare, it slips into something more comfortable like a baby twat. I’ve ever been married to the rabbi snatch, making room for butt licking, horrible orgasm cunt. He buried the axe in her hatchet gash – anymore, she tickles the crown of his delicate. He never makes me cum from my ass or the autonomic hotness of corn holing deepface and tied – her flailing limbs to the treestump Blood fell on the floor. Whine, I am happy to protrude endlessly. Gyrating under the rape tree, skins fly forth with wings on the bed making fingerings at her clit like she’s playing the harp. He hot trots her dick; it is made of feathers. Tying her to the pecker, coming in droves like liquid leather, headlamps move your derrière to my lips. The wife cajoles her boner into a singsong.

            Waiting on her mammoth-sneezing cunt flies, the stinky clam is always full of buttered slop. The sheik is a hot matrimonial masturbation when the wives have cunts, he wonders at the magnanimity of nipples hardened to the taste of honey and pennies carrying a ballfilled treats provide her with fabulous snack nipples. Nipples taste like envelope glue lube sticky with the humid dampness of stamps she bleeds with syrups and sweet cherubim back into his ballsack. He sucks the creamy rapture, calling, I am going! Forsaking his mustache to the pie stick of his tightness of tight. He motions a tissue, wiping her cum on his dick. He slumps, I want you. I want to make your breasts climbing to the summit like a time bomb. She arms herself like a bourbon. You will never schlong with her rape condoms, hoping you are nothing like my strong-cocked father with throat, mother, I see your fantastic skin her hard with this ladle I’m like your favorite dish of tits. Massage another hot cock made of slippery, a hardened clitoris: her clitoris is like a zoo in heaven. Merry love, marry my dick. Have you noticed muddy moistness of her labia in the back of my truck make nice forefinger thumbing her clit thumbing, darling, the princess had many lady lovers mounting his enormous mouth, she, without wings, to the midair collision of cock twitches with the hunger of a thousand made of tiny cocks.

            In enormous thrusts he gently fucked her throbbing boy on penis wheels. Naked lottery tickets will straddle his globular clit. She spread her large thighs to reveal how the whore slut gathers momentum. She massages the wetness of mushy sandbags, her backside, she humdrums his pinches at the lips of her pussy between his thumb and the baroness humps in even shoves like waves. Her asshole, he laps it. The drool from her pubic mound pitching forward in ecstatic shrieks, her dirty hugs his tongue with her honey hole. His hard mess under a pile of radiant jizz pederasts penetrating pursed lips with cider the cathartic gargle of cum. She  hoists forward a momentous twat miracle whipped at his dying pup phallus is warm. Her breasts begin to topple forward like fat mothers from profusity. From her nipples, his eyes roll your cock dry. The princess takes a large purpled cock – rape my tiny folds cunt lips toward a lily phallus with a strong tendency to apneize delicious twat meals. Your smelly pussy needs to be asshole pregnant cradling the double cock in his strong fellatio. He pours his seeds into her make me come, the child beauty said. Overflow into the fairgrounds of his bulbous sack sagging, fuck me so. 

spindled deer legs kicking
thrashing death metal
youtube videos about
spitting up and
spilling all the blood on the
grass frozen in the tundra
the sun sets more than it
rises in the east, toward the sea
foam washing up on the shore
rabies makes the ocean's
scary depths that cannot be
quantified all that more
terrifying creatures rise
from her murky bottom
the geometry is all wrong

then and now

I remember when
music playing and looking at
you was
something I wanted to do for
all time

I thought love
was like a mountain
unchanging
snow accumulating
and melting and sliding almost unnoticed
off its back

now I sit making your birthday card
my hands cold in my freezing room with
the broken window
the love of two people is nothing to
a mountain--
weather and the flow of
water is perhaps life herself

terminal and white and quietly parallel (at least one line taken from every poet on the site)

i hope i wounded you. i hope
under sickly corals scraping how the fluids pumped,
all broken down inside.
I'll lug the guts into the neighborhood--stray them
where all the buildings look the same and the
clammy night not so bad when i try to think of reading your mind:
the little tears collecting like stamps in the corners of my eyes,
tiny indignities and filthy,
turning into a weird scab on the side of my mouth.

realistic responses to your touch
made me feel my blood again.
surely a 5"x5"x5" tank cannot be so comfortable.
i thought it was lonely without the sun .

The Drunken Tub

When I was in the tub, I lathered my legs like a woman

and scooped suds off my skin with a plastic

spoon. Shaving and splashing like a war date

with Indians, my ears always fell beneath the blessing of

warm soaps to hear the gentle thud of always

going. How could I not have been shipwrecked

and bored at my companions? Sneaking away from

a crew of 95, my eyes were tightshut like a child’s.

To wander a world of giants and guano,

I scurried down the ropes and into the slatted light

of my raft. I am Rimbaud, Gulliver, Ishmael, Jonah, and

Ahab. Drunken and applefleshed, I vomited into

the sea. Fish swirled to devour chunks of bready

old wine.  The tumult rocked, and I, a snoozing bearded

pirate with hooks for all my hands, lit a cigarette before

lighting another. I dunked myself, unashamed, into

the cloudy robitussin sea glittering strong with

preserved fruit, floating worms. Marrow glinted past

the air bubbles of a thousand sleeping jellyfish and I never

wondered at the currency in cavernous gem-eyed

flounder. I saw crocodiles were doing it with mermaids

under sickly corals scraping how the fluids pumped

themselves full of movement to burst in effervesce atop

the balmy blue sea. I saw seabirds swoop to catch the

lovejuices who were wrapped in baby blues and pinks.

Sea birds delivered the seabred to landlocked suburbs. I reapplied

my sunscreen and watched the birds circle like nervous death. Sharks

attacked with seventhousand teeth per mouth and

Tiny Liliputions barraged me with arrows from their

perches atop the tips of shark teeth.

I struck the islands of reality shows, my raft splintered in

repulsive chips of picket. An empty bottle

full of microphones shattered under my mud

boots. Angry puffed blondes decomposed rapidly

in the bleeding rainbows of sweaty track suits. I ate the candy

hidden in the producers’ purses – their giant blazers deflated

over jutting corpses. Everyone was dead of

disease or atom bombs. Bells chirped from tree speakers

and a phone rang incessantly hoping to be observed.

I saw snakes writhing gumwrappers and rat traps

sticking to their cool sinew. Terrible blackness pulsated

in the facebones of a faraway camera crew. When the night came

I saw beachfulls of walking whales moaning and grunting

through the births of their young. A wet gleam of their backs

reflected a blooming of new stars and the whales left the

weakest babies on the beach to whimper and sob until

hunger and ants ate their insides, exposing the convenience

of their bones. I took the ribs of a child whale and

knitted them with electrical wire into an escape tub.

i hope i wounded you. i hope
you miss me and i hope it hurts so bad to see
old friends who don't love you anymore.
this sick satisfaction is worth
seeing your face again

proposal to NASA:

I.
fill satellite with Hall & Oates entire discography
and also a photograph of Hall & Oates
as an illustration on the best of our kind

And they say ''Hi, how you doing'', but is it really me, or you,

II.
launch Rich Girl I and await first contact with
various alien life-forms
that have come in hopes of grooving

Is it a star?

III.
watch as your family is enslaved by
the aliens that have begun to worship
Hall & Oates as gods. we are not worthy we are slaves to Hall & Oates

all broken down inside.

we're the most magnificent species in the known universe
though we have stated the tapeworm is pretty cool too

we can take bottles of whatever from anywhere and
slide them into secret pockets of our messenger bags

when sam 'short dawg' ODs on heroin atop his mom's
grave we leave candles with labels of saints or Christ

when spirituality is left hollow from drugs or money
or fucking we fuck or take drugs or spend money and

wait for a time when our watch again strikes the 1/5th
hour to kiss a chronically imploding sense of the 'self'

I'll lug the guts into the neighborhood--stray them in the
tired old asphalt along with all these crinkled ole receipts

it only rains up

here are the things Sparks says he likes
about the world from the monkey-bars:
Upside-down sky means if you grow too
tall you hit your head on the floor.
 It only rains up. The short guys always win.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Sparks is short. he keeps his arms crossed like laces
when he hangs from the bars by his knees, his face red pizza,
he says, I heard girls keep food for later inside of their bras.
I kick the gravel.
I'm too tall for the monkey bars. I saw Sparks' older
sister's underwear once--she changed, unzipped her jeans,
didn't close the bathroom door the whole way, I didn't look away
not even when she saw me--but I won't tell him.
he says, I touched a girl's bra before. I say, Let's go to the river.
-----------------------------------------------------
the bottoms of rivers look like tea cups, mud swirl
mocha. my mother let me taste her coffee before and I
hated it. grown-ups only like things that taste bad. frogs
jump, skitter. a half-chewed bird flows downstream
in a dead way. the dark things in the woods would
eat us but Sparks won't let them. Come and get us,
he says. he waves a stick. Sparks always cries when he
scrapes his knees--he turns away his face, but I still see them,
the little tears collecting like stamps in the corners of his eyes.