007 Challenge

[lubricant]

6

Metropolis

Here are some Asian coins, all of them with
a hole in the middle, like
a bullet would make

on entry. Let us
center the poem about this weird event.
No casino

would possibly accept such damaged goods.
I forget. Who is dancing tonight?
I should have guessed—Maria.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Sumo

Meet your kami. We do not share heya. My needs
are simpler. I do not shake
the world by walking it; still, you will not move
me from this circle. Carry the whole salt shaker
if it makes you feel
better.

Don't you know
it is me under your feet,
over your head,
dropping needles
into your thinning hair?
Even yokozuna need to sleep
and where better
than under this dark bower
on sepia leaves?

 

[lubricant]

7

Tachistoscope

I try not to blink or rub my drying eyes,
for that would mean I'd miss
her small, quick image flicked
on and off this fickle board
like a dry fly laid for a cutthroat trout.

It's a game. I lunge like a sonovabitch
at a bit of leg, a smile, some curled red hair
wound into nymph.
It isn't lure, but it sure

gets me to strike, you betcha. Later, more calmly,
I arrange her captured photographs
in my personal album. They're like stamps,
small little squares of light
from an exotic country
I will never get to visit,

or a puzzle with some missing piece—
where I never can complete the outside edge.

 

[sweepthefloor]

1-Professional

Half hard cock makes me lawless
Long labor
Everything is long

Long showers
Long neck
Long loving me

Lengthy semen-ester

You laying me
Laying something bare

Dick function
Or dysfunction

Getting long angry
Or frustrated

Blame it on me and pull my fucking hair
Try and rape me with a

Limp dick.

Till I take the half hard cock
And make it unbreakable

Till it chokes my throat

Till I find the rhythm
Your beat.

And I always find it furious
And get a huge sticky load

Cause you ain’t never going to bed
Till I swallow the sordid seed

I was your professional.

 

[sweepthefloor]

2-Fake

I have fake plastic pearls that wrap my neck. They are peeling and chipped and cheap like me. They are big like the salty load that spills into my mouth. I drink the life of his sea, willingly.
He is the ocean.
I won't drown if I keep swallowing.

 

[sweepthefloor]

3-Steam

Kerosene runs out around two-o-clock in the morning.
It is a sickening smell.
The lungs don't like it.
Fuck it is cold and wool is itchy.
It is scratch the skin off worthy of a prickle.
Inflammation turns the skin red
So we wear our clothes inside out.

And steam under the blankets.

 

[sweepthefloor]

4-Jack

The Jack in the Box puts coins into slots.
He sees half naked ladies.
No talking-just looking and jacking--
and words written on index cards.

Come on- and dirty the window man quick.

It is a DNA fish tank for the lonely man folk.

I will just sit here, smoke a ciggy-
Looking pretty.

 

[sweepthefloor]

5-Tinder

Tinder touchwood spunk amazes me.
The kindle- I don't touch the flame.
He does.
I just watch and get curious
When creamy goodness turns to filth
I giggle and cry inside
A little- every time.

 

[sweepthefloor]

6-Moet

If there were not whores, I would not know how to whore bath.
That would make camping uncomfortable.
So they call me baby girl-
There is a child on the playground for adults.

We can drink Moet out of paper cups all night.

And all the wenches love me.

 

[sweepthefloor]

7- Advice

Now here's a bit of advice:
If ya ain't got no tits
And ya ain't got no ass
Ya ninety pound wet thing
Ya better put that hair in braids girl
And wear some ankle socks with lace.

Damn sexy shame, Daddy.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Big in Japan

When Freedy croons "do
you want me now" of course
I nod, "yes, yes
yes." Even only big
in Japan is bigger than
Wichita, but he still mumbled
and shuffled until hours later
on stage he pulled the breath
from our lungs then released us,
balloon bouquets to the ceiling,
between songs.

Over breakfast, he is lightly
present. His apartment betrays
little of what makes him happy
and what doesn't. The only thing
is the windows
and the view of Tompkins Square Park
because he still
watches.

 

[sweepthefloor]

1

And I wrote them all before-

I give stellar blow-jobs/
Some stand up oral-ist
And not the poetic kind-

kneel down oral-ist.
curled up oral-ist
viva voce

What microphone am I whispering into-
With this suck?

What cock is receiving it-
And what eyes are reading it.

And I fuck like a wet watermelon
Cause not every man wants
A porn starlet-

Ooh--Ahh and fuck me harder please, Daddy.
Don’t slips from my lips-

I got better things to do with my mouth.

 

[sweepthefloor]

2.

His voice is everywhere-
That deep flawed voice
Something else is cracked

And it is me.

 

[sweepthefloor]

3.

The mean to me is like a benign tumor
It has to be cut out quickly
In an emergent surgical fashion

Before it turns metastatic-
On a dime like a flat bed.

And it hurts red betadine dreams.

The anesthesia man is not on call.

 

[sweepthefloor]

4.

She wears a beat blue dress-
It is beat black blue like her insides.

And it does not matter how much
Money she makes now-

The same dingy- once white brassiere
Will always be dirty gray.

 

[sweepthefloor]

5.

The anesthesia man is not on call-
And the cat litter box smells like shit.

The instant coffee sucks-
And there is no such thing as invisible rapists.

The words ran away from me-
And I got nothing but yesterday’s broom.

The perception of rejection hurts-
And I got a beehive out back to beat with a bat.

 

[sweepthefloor]

6

Ripping off the skirt I never wore-
And shredding it with a box cutter.

Giving blow jobs
To brass door knobs

-and there is no ejaculate.

Myself ran away again
And I am not looking for her.

 

[sweepthefloor]

7.

I have nothing to say
And silence means yes.

I struggle, get tired and struggle again.

In the end he figures I like it-
And then it is not a game anymore.

It is not a game anymore.

 

[lubricant]

1

Her New Photograph

gathers hair like firelight,
where curls are flames
that twist and flick my consciousness

as if I am ignited, burning
my helpless way toward cinder.
Everything seems tinged

with yellow, the way my coward heart
can only lay down poems
humbly, as if offering

my own entrails for divination.
She, as sibyl, scratches at my remains,
discards a charred bone

here and there, pokes
that last gibbet of flesh that is not ash.
I revel

in her final touch. The only touch,
imagined touch,
I will ever, never breathe.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

1

It was brushed last
night before bed
swept free
of debris yet
there is the smell
of weekend neglect.
. . . . .Blame it on demons
. . . . .met over Motown
. . . . .happy hour
where I repaired
buckled and bolted
together, unsomber
unsober, publicly
disassociated from the white
kite string that pulls me
that hangs shiny as spit
over lips I keep open
. . . . .--a baby bird
. . . . .eager to feed.

 

[PoetGuy]

001

.....

 

[hmmnmm]

#1

Guardian angel working behind
slumber party scenes, absorbs
atmospheric rays the attendee
rolling meadow shapes exude, the scent
of cove willows in summer by nature, emit,
like bunny breath smelling of carrot juice.

Secreted snake eye, furtive
clasp, one exultant moment
all it took for the precious album
emblem to wear hot bullet coagulate
splat daubed smack center; fresh etch
work the design was not (sculptor utensil
dulled hours prior). Snotty tadpole
tails flew and spattered like tapioca
pimples spatter when emotions twist on torpid
dimes, and dreamers reek polyurethane.

 

[hmmnmm]

#2

flaxen braids
soggy splays,
bathing, shine the budded
gaggle; market grape
assortment, clues
to hearts brimming
generosity and though
statuesque, seer must
wonder: it would be no surprise
to witness motion, movements
thirsty, itches
inch return
to the watery home

as the afloat
perimeter drake,
wanting to dream of decoy heaven
and wearing the neck ring
curse, tries to hold shut his bill, as
the hen nature chained him to
has taken up huffiness,
plain eye checks out those
decadent market
grapes; worst fear
that he’s already missed
witnessing her first taste.

 

[hmmnmm]

#3

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[hmmnmm]

#4

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