Sick W/ Wisdom

That wheezing old man is SICK with wisdom:
He makes out with gOD whatself and the pair of them
appear
to be sharing the worlds’ most peculiar gum(hard to
swallow
but built to linger) and their tongues could crush
children
(and sometimes they do) but they’d rather splash
between them
the bizarre juices of the worlds they’ve contrived
almost togetherlike
in this fashion of stupid rituals not only thought-up
but carried-out
and there is certainly passion but not kissing
passion, NO!:
One might get the impression that these two haven’t
figured out yet
just quite what they’ve done but they know that it is
good
so they’ll pass it back and forth until finally
one of them gets the flavor.

---

St. Satan

St. Satan of Japan
Iroquois-Chinese-Gingerbread Man
Three times lucky pennies
piercings by the ton
Time to shed that monobrow
and shy your proteins out.

Lips that fall upon the tongue
and hands that bathe the prick
And girls who leave their pants undone
when searching for the dick...

St. Satan comes to sling his shit
to all the boys from class
He shows ‘em where to find the clit
but fucks ‘em in the ass.

---

We Howl Like Moths

Like the weight of the world turned against itself
As it spins through space tryin’ to sniff itself,
Our time is wound, statickinetic, and yearning
And our facial ticks tick-tick-tick the noise away
Or nearer,

Like clocks we are paced and monotonous and
wear time on our faces like some clever badge
that states nothing but our uselessness,
and like orgasmic toes-turned-fists-clutching-sheets,
we strike where we lay and turn over in our juices
and feel happy in our bodies ‘cause our bodies
give us glimpses of escape

from time-to-time(a networked, numbered, reflective
surface)

We’re all composed of a little cum(I am a sticky white
mess)
And arrived here through a pussy(opposite of
spelunking)
And we’ve all set our own internal rhythms to die by
So shall we thump or shall we tick?

I am pink and wet as a puppy’s dick(a baby boy)
And I’ll grow old to your rhythms in reverse.

---

ImpermaNENtlyRegardingtheMyth

I imagine when you think too much
in the ways that you do
that there’s not much left to be thought of
that hasn’t been heard a million
and a half dozen times
before they bombed the turquoise night
without painting up the flag
or giving any thought to the repercussions
of such an impermanent desire...

I imagine (permeable as it may seem)
your blouse holds little to the weight of passion
and if I’m to be wading I assure you
I’d rather be swimming
and also assure you that though I
capitalize “I”, I will always keep “you” as
informal and uninformed as possible...

I suppose (though I’m not guessing)
there’s a moral to every story
in which the main character is never happy
with the size of her breasts,
but I’m not sure if that’s the case
with this one - her tits may be small
but she’s got balls
and there ain’t a fascist this side of
northwest porter county
who’d dare try to cum in her rag...

I swear a lot and am told I shouldn’t
but am usually told so by those
that would tell anyone to be more humble
even after a suicide...

I hold contempt and it doesn’t seem so heavy...

I swear I keep thinkin’ that there’s something
to be said for never breathing a goddamned word
about life, love, breathingbreedingspeaking
or eating again,
but can’t for the life of me think
of anything to not talk about...

I’m pretty sure that talk is boring...
aholethroughmyhead...
but I feel little enlightened
for my recent trepanation...

touch seems better but I’m a slut
and anyway I wouldn’t know my (w)hole
from an ass in the ground...

vibrations will carry you much further
than sound or faces or even nipples
but the trick is in being receptive...

I’m too electrical to carry your burden
but I’ll loan you mine if you can spare it...