Monthly Archives: August 2012


I love a man who writes me poetry because I’m narcissistic and I believe in God because of this.
I wish I could hold on long enough to the woman I’ll never know tomorrow yesterday.

The future impairs people because of technology.
It is modernization that makes us feel old.

Right now I’m gargling air in my mouth missing the feel of a penis.
Swirls and swirls of tongue bathe on a suede wand.  There is something calm about oral sex.

There is something about letting it all hang out:  neurosis, guts and breasts.
A freedom like taking control of your blog and skipping the rhyming of poetry.


He’s twenty-six.
But acts like an old dog who can’t learn new tricks.
He worries himself to heart disease.
But lives rent-free.

He had a woman he loves so much.
He became in debt with the relation of death.
His potential is accumulative vast.
What does he know of it?


Muscle Anthem

I like this pain.
It may be because it’s how I unfold on stage.
The body I use as fame
With it’s million indignant strains.
It proves productive with an aim
Too shameless to tame.

Can I last another day?
Without my muscles showcasing
Peeling it’s tightness from the skin without dismay.
It’s just like a form of power foreplay.
Yet, while others do it for a score
I twist within gracefully as a French braid.

I live for this pain.
This stress. It’s my private jet.
It’s all I can relate to.
When I’m upset. Or when
I force the threat of extreme stimulus,
Building upon the term: Giant sets.

Can I survive another night?
Restless with inflammation
Spasms unpredictable like a maniac’s conversation.
Teething me into an orchestration
I hadn’t ever begun to fathom.
I’m now gladden by it’s rambunctious anthem.