her legs remained open, with the candy whore smile, says come one come all,
and her pretty gypsy ass makes marks on evening
she knows nothing but nothing but, the remains of the day
wrappers on the floor, the darkest tone to the voice of someone who was once embodied
she likes that guy that always visits, but doesn't say much to his waiting face. just a goodnight. fresh, glows like yesterday. he does.

dirty eyes

they call it this affective storm, and i think, what a pretty name for the broken dishes and spirits
yes, he is a manly man; cigarette in right hand left hand may or may not be enclosed partial open partial consideration for the time spent with the manic phase
who was going to deliver his dirty eyes from evil, it was too late for existence, the cathedral became nothing the older he became summer camps and the fucking sluts he knew that killed her. i am the jealous type. when he doesn't put his mouth on my mouth or his dick inside me, and i fall back. i was never moving forward.

guy on guy

look, david, i am like any other girl from a midwestern town who enjoys a little
guy on guy action.
i mean, it started when i saw my old roomie giving his bf a bj, and from there...a video, a magazine
besides, i like the extra cum shot. who doesn't, really?

wink and a nod

she got her shit right, tight, tits lifted, eyebrows waxed, fun fucking something of a woman
still looking for her man, her man, her man, the one who left her for the thinner version of
her, and she waited around for a spell, to figure out what else she needed to do
to be someone else for you, not just you, for everyone, really. in the end, opening her legs just wouldn't be enough, instead, instead she figured you could get that stuff, from some other bitch on the block, on the corner, sitting next to you on the bus, there is always another bitch waiting to rise up, pussy out, legs obtuse angle, mind completely closed, eyes shut, eyes shut, she'll be at home with your kids while you fuck that slut. a wink and a nod, case closed.

monster

jet black jet lagged, staring straight into the guts of another sure fire
sure thing, baby girl, take take take his hand, you know he can't do it without
you but you forgot you under a pill or a bottle of pills or the search for the anything but mundane but modernity spewed it from its open pores open smile, allow the not so symbolic to tackle you through another silly day needs a credit score of 680 or above to move mountains
your walk, tighter the jeans wetter the pussy holier the grail, mister just make sure you know the drill, mister make sure you know how to get a bitch off before you put yourself in front of the gun, before you take the bullet, before you become the monster

time

i am trying, daddy, to be this woman, to get it, to get it
to wear it well
when you stop omitting and i stop staring, and the focus is filled with hands and lies
and you are moving with me and tearing at my delicate bewilderment and my exit strategy
force of movement force of mediocrity or veil of denial or veil of the undercover agent of semantics
my antics claw at your mother board the way you try so hard not to reveal
my antics are eating at time and progression fuck time i tell you
only a funny little theory that kills us

inner demon

shit, daddy, the inner demon has me on all fours, is about to enter
not slowly, methodically, but wants to pound the shit out of me, and
i am not high enough for this. i asked if he wanted dinner, or wanted to smoke a bowl, or do a line, or
watch some reality television, but he isn't interested
he is, gun out, ready to shoot, ready to be the mother fucking man, while i spread my legs, wider, wider
ass up
back arched
like that good little girl you tell me i am...the inner demon doesn't back down, doesn't back off, just wants to empty into me, while i cry, delight or fright, or somewhere in the middle of a cathartic cum attack
inner demon fucks me, and doesn't say sorry. doesn't know how. his apathy. my adoration. gets a text, and moves along. leaves me in a puddle, half off the bed.

it just is

oh, you know that girl found her love somewhere in some republican, gun totin' state, with a man who had down home written all over his bearded face. she waited days to instant message and give her a call and save her life because she is pretty fucking close to the end of her high. and there are many explainable things in the universe, breeze through lives of the mediocre and exceptional (despite the unwillingness of the universe to make the distinction), or death to even care. that girl found a home in a willing participant, and not a house, or even a bar drug child hope optimistic belief in humanity. maybe just a voice a word a sentence a dismissal of time a love of energy. care and don't in the same fleeting moment. that girl has trouble with glory. interrupt the does not follow, does not follow, but just is. and then. it just is.

naked

baby runs naked through the cold ass room.
while i talk to my man on the phone. i can't help but laugh at my son's red little ass, which looks very similar to his fathers.
i haven't eaten in days. some bread, some candy, and i am delightfully empty.
telling my man i love him, baby thinks i am talking to him, so i kill two birds with this one loving stone
start to think about love as a birth. start to think of commitment as a child. start to think of you as him.
start to admire the overlapping emotions, start to embrace the universe, start to bend at the knees.
put some clothes on that fucking kid. but, he'll tell me when he's ready.

thanking him

he is screaming at me. running through the house. has thrown a total of three dishes.
says i have no respect, says i write about shit he can't handle. not about him. us. love. fucking. asks who the fuck i am.
no one. he answers. must have been rhetorical. nothing without him. bought me a house. the clothes i am wearing. look hot because he made me that way. hair done because of him, makeup perfect because of him. nice boots. not so short anymore. you have split ends and your skin looks like shit, bitch. i made you.
he stops to pray. midday.
angry that i am laughing. through the prayer, meant to hide the anger of the afternoon. finishes. calls me an atheist whore. i like it. months to follow use it to entertain friends. you should have pride in your woman, should keep her close, should not allow this behavior, and i look down at the toes of my hot boots. months to follow they end up at the salvation army. probably bought by a sixteen year old to impress some other man. four hundred dollars down to three.
i was hoping he would hit me. i was hoping he would admit to the facade. he throws his fist back and calls me unable to be trained. untrainable. maniacal laughter. happens weekly. i kiss him through the verbal attack. loved you once. gotta go. kill me or let me leave. settles on the latter. i thank him.
feel bad about thanking him.

conversation between girls

she said she didn't quite expect me to have that swagger, she didn't expect me to be so hard, and i said i didn't expect her to be so soft. relative to my hard. she let me straighten her hair. i commented that her hair, it was cut like mine, but what i meant to say was, wow, wow, girl, you have something inside of you. not sure what to do with it.
not sure it means much of anything. she said when she heard about me, heard i was educated and shit, and thought i would be more...and she couldn't think of the word. i couldn't give her the word, either, but said education was nothing but a...and i couldn't think of the word. maybe i should have been more. i kept straightening, though i knew i had been done for ten minutes. she said, you have a little hood in you, right? but maybe because i didn't, i didn't know what that meant. i shrugged my shoulders, told her, i have some issues, maybe. have some things i don't so much talk about. and she giggled, and i thought, i had not heard a real giggle in awhile. a giggle from a girl that was softer than i had imagined. i asked why she didn't have custody of her kids. she said she never wanted it. never meant to be a mother. floated around, and i got it. she let her lips come close to mine. i said, not like that, princess. don't let the swagger fool you. she said maybe you are a liar. and i said, i never said i wasn't a liar.

demise

i like to see your life unfold a little, pretty, pretty smile,
don't you know, i know a girl who sucked your man's dick, and i know you don't know about that shit
i get off just a touch watching your hands thrown in the air, sign of break down, call a truce with the universe, but bitch, he just isn't listening. probably doesn't care much, is busy helping you compartmentalize with astrology and putting you and everyone else in categories so you know where you fucking belong. someone's got to tell your ass something, right? can't just move along on your own. i like those stories about your parents and the reasons you are the way you are and the way you will end up, because of their influence, but they only see your ass on holidays now, anyway. time heals shit, baby. or suppresses it. wear that mantra or it will get old. hearts don't break, they conform. you are the life of the party, and your man, he's a piece of
shit. and perfection is a uniform that fits too tight, right? white teeth. smooth skin. demise.

that house

while she was trying to get an apartment and maybe do some things on her own someone told her her credit ain't shit, and they said it like that, and she guessed maybe that meant she had bad credit, but either way, what she did have was enough money in her pocket to take the bus to her boyfriend's house. her boyfriend's house was actually his grandma's house, but his grandma was half dead and delirious and still babysat his children while they fucked and smoked and occasionally snorted shit his buddies brought over. during this time, she thought that employment may not be a viable option because she was so high that she figured death might feel better than nine to five any damn way. she backed off, backed down, he asked his buddy if he thought his girl was hot, and she thought, "are they talking about me? me?" and they were, or were not. either way, there were two girls in the room, and one was gonna get it. hard. probably in the ass, too. and both girls at one time were his girl now, and that thought was only partially confusing. her boyfriend had three kids, although she did not understand why they were still beating smiling blowing kisses at her when her eyes moved through the crack in the door that wouldn't close all the way. cops kicked it in. he was wanted everywhere. she was jealous he was wanted anywhere. traffic moved in and out. she pondered some shit. he asked what's the look on her face for. luckily, she had no idea.

voicemail

now i hate the sound of your voicemail.
i hate that it represents anger and loss and all that keeps me hidden in a basement, addicted.
i hate that you are different than montana and different from resorts and and different from the man who would stay.
i hate three weeks until close.
i hate that i cannot control those thoughts in your head, or the thoughts in your stomach and the thoughts in your regret.
i hate that your explanations are not good enough and that you have your dick somewhere else. for a momentary lapse in judgement or a lifetime manipulation.
you shy away. please come home.
passion is nothing but hours that feel like minutes.

i will write for you forever
i will write for you forever
from a shitty computer a broken notepad filled with numbers and nuance
oh, fuck your fear and my past and the last thing you said to me before you hung up your prepaid fucking phone
i love you, doll.
i love you, you fucking fool
from some mediocre living space surrounded by mumbles of intercourse
illicit discourse
on a couch
on a stool
on the floor by the window with the television on
i will write for you
forever

living

who knows anything about the lover
who wanders
pointlessly
an armchair philosopher
ponders the existence of god, of god, of something we know nothing about
yet continue to discuss at dinner parties and walks around the river
all i really know are your eyes. attention seeking in front of the camera to
show everyone what a good time you had, living

open

proximity can't fuck with muse
it only hurts the physical
only hurts a little
don't even tell me where your home is
unless i open my legs
and it's there

ish

i want you now-ish.
don't let me offend your peace of mind or your gentle demeanour
with a piece of ass
i'm just giving you the scoop, the news, that i am showing time
with a foot to the nuts, and my carpet burnt knees
that i won't wait, waiting is for the weak, and the high
ish

delivery II

i don't like the waiting, the surprises, the pent up deliverance of heartfelt hands
sliding over ribs hips kisses over eyes that have only just now seen your uninterrupted face
the trite question that follows the is it real is it real is it real enough to sustain us longer than this moment
i am not tired of your poeticizing i am tired of your lack of proximity
and you can only hold me with words for so long before the craving crosses oceans

delivers

i'm not saying i want much from you
you can leave the notebook laptop black table at the door
take off your shoes and your pants and your words
walk in silent like a stupid girl laughing about the things she has done and is about to do
walk in silent
out of pity and empathy and reason alone
to dictate your non stop talk and unrested? soul?

i don't know you, baby.
maybe you think i'm too crass and cathartic
we are sensitive lovers
dying in a timely manner

but the smell of you
arrives
unleashes

delivers.

politics

he told me i only had a few minutes to change his mind
i don't function well under or not under pressure
i only operate in fallacies
i grabbed his dick and he laughed
i don't think that is what he had in mind
sometimes when we discuss politics things get heated