Thursday, October 3, 2013

Sex Dog Landslide Because You're a Drunk And It All Starts Off Okay But Gets Bad Then

Cosmos face cosmos astral skin taught and
stretched across my everything that I can
see for lightyears of held breath lives of literally
everything that blankets me and my
do-you-get-it gasping every

Do you get it

Skin buzz water on hands grow numbing
creep to full organ feeling
overload who's humming who
is singing His name because
"what else could this be" right?

Jumpstart clit maybe car battery sex to
vagina-tit-face-tongue hand hold
sleeping bliss-out I'm so happy I'm
so uncontrollably
freaking out guys I
am on a drug? I
must have seen a face his face his
forest his kingdom in rocks and streets in
our monuments to him which are his
monuments to him because
he moves us with
fine threads and subtle hand
gestures and lifting and occasionally
dashing her or him to a wall or a
catastrophe or a meal or a
embarrassing mountain lion incident
while on vacation with some camera around
your neck in the Alps and
Deus Ex Fuck poetry chapbook on the plane home with
some missing hand or a bloody stump or pissed pants or
too many small liquor bottles in coat pockets and
making an ass out of yourself and thinking this is
some smoking-cigarettes situation like the plane is in
1969 and it's okay again to sexually harass the attendants and
grab her ham with your fucking asshole pincer and your leering
fuck-rapist grin like you own her gender and her sex and
there's some welcome doormat to her temple and her
sisterhood and you have this right and you
have some fucking carte blanche you

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