1
Sue me, I guess, kill me, hate me,
mess me up,
Have your say, judge me as you see
fit,
I have no excuses: I’m a
goddamned man!
Kingdoms of love forbid me enter,
And yet your posterior surely
calls out
Like what gods employ to wake the
dead—
A loaf of bread to feel at
home—life’s goal to
Kiss that spot only offered to the
chosen,
Such gifts to die for, no less
than soft words
Hanging pink upon your tongue. I
can’t help it,
My body goes into convulsions when
you walk
Amid averages, hair wrapped on
your head,
Nature’s own style improving the
pavement.
2
Since your beauty exceeds what’s
necessary,
How ‘bout I try to make you
explode?
If that’s not too much to ask, I
mean, let’s talk,
Kick off a briefly glorious
orgasmic moment
Always to be there, nostalgia’s
muse, ruses
Like the kind that get you hot at
night, wet
All alone, eyes rolled back,
tinglings, all those
Knife-wound ticklings already
well-rehearsed,
Sworn to secrecy, fingers feel for
it, drum,
Hit the spot: a flick, a strum to
make the juice
Mill run as from a punctured
orange, fatly ripe,
Aimed at my face, targeting my
tongue—mercy
Needs no awakening in a bottom like yours.
3
Say it: you believe you’re
beautiful, hot.
Have you considered what it means
to be beautiful?
It’s not having the most delicious
bellybutton,
Kissable and loveable and
lickable, it doesn’t
Always mean happy loins (had my
fate’s
Love struck a different year,
perhaps my own
Agonies might be quelled while
your pink
Kindnesses dole charity in
succumbing
Sweetly to quake-making machinery,
hung
Hopes hard as stone as you
crisscross the yard
Mimicking goddesses of old when we
all felt
A trembling, a shuddering,
our knees buckling,
Now dizzy as you pass, so just
beyond reach).
4
Somehow tonight I restrain myself,
I cope, I
Hold myself back because the face
you look into
Isn't the one I’m looking out of,
the body’s mask
Keen for fragrances, sweet aroma
of an ass’s
Angel, endless pleasure protected
by layers
Layered in style, fitted to the
felicities of spirit—
Am I a machine? Programmed? De-?
Pre-?
Klieg lights shine, I whine to
stay amid the wall
Shadows, unseen as electric
pulses, working
Hobo of non-deeds, a gelded breed
Hollywood-
Made from clay whose origins can
be traced
As far back as your last lover’s
face, stirring
Nirvana’s fingertips wetted by an
apparition.
5
See, naturally, I shouldn’t be
willing
Hell’s fantasies, puckered
genitals at my lip;
Imagination as self-abuse! The
tongue’s
Karma-tip plunging cavities,
wiggling round,
Ain’t exactly a crime, is it? So
human, this
Lazy surrender: I’m at your mercy!
Please
Annihilate me! Make me thy commode!
Kill me, drain me in a pool of
steaming
Sex beneath your feet, soaked by
dripdrip
Hammers of joy, ready to drop, to
be
Martyred for the sharpening of
each nerve
Aimed like an arrow, to make
another
Negligible peace with the needle’s
eye.
6
Say that beauty is why, merely to
love it,
(Hey, isn’t ugly sad? But where’s
the fix?)
Indeed, learning it to become it,
to rise up
Krypto-godly, absorbing colors,
sounds, feelings
Advancing nonstop. Nomad orgies
seed
Languorous pauses on pillows of
misfit lust
As your toes get kissed, my
lashes learn
Karaoke as incendiary perfumes,
lovemusks
Sail like scarves mimic the wind
flipping
Hair from your eyes; goddess
carved of sun!
Madness seizes, too sensual our
senses—
Amateur mystics who failed to look
away,
Noosed by the heartbreak-lovely of
an ass.
7
Shall I spread your wings, lick
your exit hole?
How about while also doing that,
right there?
If greenlighted, I’d work thee to
a shudder.
Knot of muscle, life’s door an
inch away: nectar
Amended with sweat, shit, piss,
soup-salt
Ladled for inhalation; molecules on
the tongue,
Along the lips, the breath of your
seat. Zat o-
Kay? But why should I not think of
having it,
Shagging it, who cares how it
makes your jeans
Hug more style than another’s
loss, less
Made for that next phase, that
next stage of
Animal-games played as angels: I
close my eyes,
Nearer now to those indecencies
I'm blind for.
8
So much in life to let go its
merry way, its
Heyday never to come, never to
plumb
Itself against the crooked wall,
always uprightly
Keeping to the proper stance, the
appropriate
Angle of approach. How nice to set
my eyes
Languidly to glancing for deep yet
brief trances
As you make your way from place to
place.
Knowledge is nothing without the
fluids!
Some days all my hours are given
to dreams
Heaven-aimed in a dense forest of
animals
Mapping the treetops with song,
your beautiful
Ass as hot as two brown buns from the oven
Nicely proffered on a blanket of wet moss.
Nicely proffered on a blanket of wet moss.
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