Posts Tagged ‘Fiction’


 

Then there’s pussy
There has always been pussy I suppose
Pussy to me is twenty times faster than dial-up
I majored in pussy in college with a minor in spanish but now I’m going back for a MBA
Pussy may be one of the most valuable skills in the 21st century
Without pussy the american economy will collapse
Free pussy was basically the democrats stealing the conservative agenda
That horrible sucking sound
Pussy basically represents the problem with capitalism
Do you want me to send you pussy as an attachment or in the body?
I think what I hear you saying is you’re willing to compromise
It’s supply and demand when you think about it
The reason it takes so long is security
But I think even with that el Niño thing that pussy is getting warmer
One solution is to bring pussy with you when you travel so as not to exhaust the local supply
Another solution is to pump it from other states
Splitting pussy does have the advantage of creating additional senate seats
The privatization of pussy is said to be more efficient but lacks government oversight
Pussy in its own right is an ideal and nothing more
You have the pussy and the pussied as well as the pussifier though according to Aristotle pussy is a state of grace
I wish you could see yourself
The theme of pussy in young adult literature is controversial
The exchange of pussy is really just Keynesian macroeconomics in micro sheep’s clothing
But our disagreement does not change the fundamental idea of pussy as a core value
Our goal should be the spread of pussy in all corners of the world
Pussy isn’t free and as soon as the French admit it the sooner we can get on with things
A pussy tariff will not work
Pussy needs to be chosen not imposed but we can give both financial and moral aid to support those in need of it
And pussy is a bi-partisan issue so the only thing we really need to worry about is a presidential veto
But the important thing to remember is how pussy will affect our children and our children’s children
Thank you
**********
Just hours
Just hours before he kills her
a security camera at a convenience store
captures them both, the uncle and his thirteen year old niece—
he comes in first, doesn’t hold the door for her
and she follows him, arms crossed.
they go off camera for a minute
and we see other people in the store
including the clerk standing next to a phone
then they come to the counter
he’s buying a coffee
and she stands next to him
not looking at anything—
she’s been missing for a few days already
we don’t know if he’s had sex with her
we don’t know how she feels about it
but we know later that another thirteen year old girl
one he’s been fucking since she was nine
will finally turn him in
after he does what he does
but right now we watch him pay for the coffee
and leave
his niece not saying anything to anybody
her arms still crossed
as if she’s cold
following him out the door

 

 

Do Say A Few Nice Things About People’s Homes When You Visit

 

The place is new,

built from the ground up,

big wide rooms, newly painted

a few pictures freshly hung.

There’s no stray hair in the bathroom

or scuff marks on the linoleum.

 

I stand awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot,

following from room to room,

the beer bottle in my hand

quickly emptied

now starting to sweat.

 

Look, the closet, she says,

and we walk in,

clothes tumbling off hangers

and piling on the floor.

 

All this space, she says

and I still don’t have enough room.

 

I smile and nod, I try to think of something nice to say.

 

And this, she tells me, will be the baby’s room.

She sighs. Eventually, she tells me.

 

Soon, I tell her, to say something helpful.

 

Please she says, a baby is the least I’ll get out of that sonofabitch.

You don’t know what it’s like, she says, turning to look at me.

Living with him.

 

Come downstairs, she says with a wide smile,

I’ll show you the holes he punched in the basement walls.

 

 

Not to Be Happy Is Not Just a Misfortune, It Is a Failure

 

Smile,

the man

on the subway tells me.

Pretty girl like you,

what you got

not

to be

smiling about?

 

It’s the least

you can do, he tells me,

For the rest of us.

 

 

 


 

 

Germilenna

The phobia the tiniest
Reduced from sweat and red
Our foreseen passion
With your hair in a ponytail
Let it fall our bodies moist
Together’s moisture frozen soon forever
The days fall away
Like your hair
we become the
Germs of our love
Microscopic in a petri dish
Growing into
Something scientific that
Laboratories will
Study with ah
All over the world
on the cover
Of the dish “Germilenna
A virus dangerous to mankind
Keep frozen under lock and key”
Germilenna will become the
New ecstasy by the Power of Ten both
Microscopic and telescopic
Best snorted at night
In The Library A Lot
She is having an affair in
The library bathroom
With Martyrs, geniuses
And autobiographers
And audio book readers
Expecting me to believe her
“I am writing a biography
Of you the life of the damned”
She said

 

 

COWGIRL

 

“He had a dick

like a horse,”

she said, speaking

of her last lover. “It

was way too big.”

 

“I thought the bigger the

better?” I said.

 

“Well,” she

sighed, “up to

a point,

but yours is

much better, much more

suitable.”

 

“Great,” I said. “What

luck.”

 

We were lying

in bed, naked

without blankets.

 

“Let’s change

the subject,

ok?”

 

But she didn’t

seem to hear me. Her body

was there

but her mind was

somewhere else.

 

Probably

at the fucking

rodeo.

 

 

AFTER TOO MANY BLOODY MARYS

 

The cut

on my dick

is in the shape

of a cross.

 

My girlfriend

has devout

teeth

 

white

strong

clean

 

but not

without guilt.

 

 

 


$20 Words

——————-

Anaxaphilia

may result

in

acokoinonia

&

allorgasmia

but

will not

adversely affect

ophelimity


ottoman

 

40ish

in levi’s 511’s

sit on ottoman

mash down its face

let it dry munch my ass

until i’m superior again

 

across room

young tan man sits indian-style on floor

slowly cuts out ominous letters

from tinfoil sheet

will eventually form words:

HAPPY B-DAY

 

next to him

conjugal birthday cake

naps on my bed

pulsates under slime-green frosting

reese’s pieces encrust its borders

breathes thru peanut butter slits

 

since 40

i no longer blow out candles

my cake blows out mine

 

ottoman’s fuzz

pricks my ass cheeks thru levi’s 511’s

i resolve this by trimming it

slather cushion with barbasol cream

shave off fur with gillette disposable razor

then sit on it to test out

rub my balls back-&-forth

against smooth undulating surface

 

for 1st time

ottoman refuses to dry munch

begins TICKING instead

i tear open pillow

pull out innards

comprised of terrible clock mechanisms

 

i’m appalled by annoying sound

only to notice my birthday cake

nasty & dripping

watching me

i then scoop out its entrails

find more TICKING

 

i step back

to impassive image of young tan man

still cutting out tinfoil letters

as if set on perpetual replay

 

 


untitled

In the heroine minute

There is no solace.

In the acid hour

There is only a handful

Of shrieking image.

In the sober day there is

Nothing to salvage,

Only an aching for

An infinite end,

But there is only a

Beginning in the

Marijuana mile.

From university to ruin,

From here to the

Ecstasy second,

Shriveling.

 

 

Delay the smack thought.

In the moment of waiting,

Lean on a shadow,

Withering.

 

Perceive the hunger action.

In the damning abyss,

Resent the auspice.

 

Contrive in silence.

Endure the corpse-field dawn.