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Poems

no good words to say

I don’t have have any good words to say.

I looked at her, in those broad checked pants, each ass cheek like a pumpkin, smiling through those buddy holly glasses with eyebrows drawn on like check marks, and thought, you are too old and too fat to be as easily deceived and deceiving as you are.

Last night something not quite like nightmares and more like anger kept me from lustful dreams and I wrote my lover cause love doesn’t die even when the dick doesn’t harden, and I told him I loved him still, told him in the form of a country song, and hoped it relieved him the from the life of a father with three children.

I am sitting here watching other people fuck, and hoping to have someone suck all my worries from between my legs when I move and find myself all wet with longing, dripping seeds of life.

Last night I heard a girl read her poetry, and she wept through it for the pain of her life, and I almost died feeling her dying, so I still believe in poetry, though what it is doing I cannot say, as I still believe in Christ when he does nothing.

I don’t have have any good words to say.


nope

In the middle of the blowjob from the whey faced fellow I hardly know
He stops in frustration and demands,
“am I doing something wrong?”
I want to say:
It isn’t all about you.
I want to say, you’ll like sex better when you like yourself
When you stop having expectations.

And because it is not wrong to have no personality,
And because it is not wrong to have no real conversational skills,
Because it is not, strictly speaking, wrong to expect good sex
and orgasms from everyone you meet,
To tell someone that your finger has been up your ass all night, aching with desire,
To not understand that some people tire
To be disappointed by reality
I say
“Nope."
 
how hard, my little children

When you said you wanted to shoot yourself, I understood cause
I have been you too.
I mean the feeling of fighting to live that rolls up nearly every saturday afternoon.
And it’s not that I want to die, not that I want to die, but that I want to live,
and if I can’t do that, then anything that gets me away from these grey walls
and this grey life is fine, anything even unto the bullet

Even unto the bullet because the people are grey
Even unto the bullet because all they say is echoes of shit
and nonsense, grey sand rolling out of exhausted mouths,
even unto the bullet because when I wake from my depression and
put on my clothes and my shiny white hat,
when I determine to get on with it,
everywhere I look for joy I just find people in more despair than I ever knew
And the whole world is a mad house, the whole world is a madhouse,
not that madhouse you hoped for, not that alice and wonderland door
where you shrink and you grow when you pass through it
but a drab tea party, and there’s a queen of parts, and a queen of parts and a duchesss of bullshit and no heart
and all the white rabbits are gone.
The mirrors are not shining, and you hope for a bite of the mushroom and all you get is gloom and meth..

I hit up the men on grindr, I hit up the men on grindr, and all I find here is motherfuckers sadder than I’ll ever be.

On the edge between last night in this morning, on the back of an elf,
I went to the silver castle, all her walls were high and her gate was shut and I could not get in, I could not get in, four towers on each side looked down on me
and from a tower the priestess cried:

“How hard it is, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God!
How hard it is, Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God!”
You might better be a motherfucking camel, than a rich man in fine sandals
To enter the kingdom of God, to enter the kingdom of God.”

And she said as she opened the gate,
Unless you become as small as little child, you cannot come in here,
Unless you are smaller than this cardboard boy you cannot ride in there.”

I am small, I am getting smaller every day
I am nothing, I am dust, just like you say

Even unto the bullet
Even unto the bullet
Even unto the bullet
Ah, put the bullet away
The smallness to the door of the kingdom is coming every day
 
I hope to make them more and more different and not be stuck in the same thing, but you never know what's going to happen : P
 
the sea

One day when you get out
Youre gonna wanna fuck
But instead youre gonna cry
And i
Will say, how thin you are, how thin.
Thin as the line between the sky and the sea we are looking over
And how grey and worn by things you should not have been
Grey as the water and grey as the sand
Grey brown like the grass growing on the land
Then how warm you’ll be, how warm you’ll be
And I will open in every day, and lay myself down for you that day
And you will thrust deep into me
And spill your seed
A flood
The sea
 
The sea hut

Part One

When I write in the morning, I think of you here, coming naked
up out of the water, washing
the lack of freedom off own your brown body,
the waves are behind you, and I am before you,
like the brown earth recounting nothing
but that I am home. I heal you in the dark room of the hut by the sea,
our bodies come together lke crabs or like the crashing of waves.
Even now, like the battering of waves I feel the club of your cock
in my ass,
I taste the salt water, as I sit here,
I taste your seed in my mouth

2.
Here, I am not afraid.
The endless water has the power to wash away all sins
All the stupid men who have been in my life.
You comment that they wash away the feel of chains and cuffs,
the feeling of the dungeon and in my stupidity I say, that’s in the past,
you were never in a dungeon, never chained up like some medieval prisoner,
and you say, every prison is a medieval prison and all captivity’s a chain

The sky is black and heavy and the rain come down on both our naked bodies.
There’s no cold in this endless summer rain. It melts into the skin.
There is never too much heat. This will not leave steam
there is no cold, there is no cold.
There is… just enough cold.

I cannot resist the beauty of your body half hidden in shadow
glinting with the rain..
I cannot resist the heat and softness of you
You say, “All softness is gone. I am nothing but hard.”
I touch you,
you are hard where you need to be
But soft enough for me.

3.

why go inside when, amongst the black clouds and the hot rain
I can fuck you by the sea hut?
When I can press you more than you’ve been pressed between
God’s hard wet sand and this cock he gave me?
Why should we only be wet by the water when we can be wet with sweat,
when you can glisten like a galaxy, a beautiful vision,
all covered in the slick heat of my jism?

The dark of rain slows to give way to the dark of night

We are half seen in the half life of the fire now made
“A moment! One moment!” you shut the door, wondering if it’ll lock
I try to take you seriously, but keep sucking your cock
You moan and I marvel that it could fit my mouth so,
Gather the ancient strength you almost lost and murmur sacred names
“Baw Beese, mishigami, shagwa,”
Ancient names like spells, remember a native past,
You struggle, shudder, strangle,
Come in my mouth at last.
 
the sea hut


ii

it was in the time of year when the night is warmer than the day, and the moon rises and stays up till seven in the morning far larger than the sun, a quarter size to its dime if money matters, and I’m told it does, white as a virgin in the pale blue and purple sky. Here is the time when the black shadows of the trees look purple and then brown, then purple again, and the frost refused to come.
At the sea hut there is the sound of seagulls which cannot quite be called crying. They are simply stating that they are,
outside the sea hut gulls stand in piles like clouds on the sand, and now and again do a little march then sit down next to each other.
Here is an everlasting beach and out onto grey water there is nothing but sky on the horizon, a trick of the bend of the earth. We fled far as we could from out prisons, exhausted but desperate, we traveled until the last of them could not be seen and then
when the earth had turned, knowing we could never burn what had been done from our minds, we settled for not being able to see and sat down by the waters


And, at last, when we sat down we did not hang out heads or pull harps from poplars, and we did not sing the songs of Babalon, for we have never been there. We have been to Chicago and Detroit, and even to South Bend, to Dowagiac, Grand Rapids, and then, guilt trips, drug trips, trips of no return, so by mystery we sing in new tongues we’d never learned before now, when the sun, like a beaten piece of gold on string, slowly sings as it’s pulled into the blackened east and makes another day.

You don’t say a word in the sea hut
There is just the eating of grilled fish in the sea hut, and isn’t that enough?
There are just nuts and berries and you say, I don’t want to go back and I say, well then go forward and you say even going forward is a type of going back.

Seagulls and fish guts offer the best philosophy in the sea hut

There is no discussion of this nor does there need to be.
There is only me, and you with only your necklace of stone and bones
and the water beading on the hills of your brown ass as you swim up and out of water
Remember when you were younger, fatter, browner, before strung out gay white boys told you to be paler and drop those thirty pounds? How round and firm you were then, that’s how you were when I had you in the dark that night so long ago.
You have me in the dark this night, with the light of fire and the seagulls courteously gone, our bodies are red and gold and writhing like serpents as we fuck on the sand, and in the water, come and come again in the blackness of the hut by the sea,
in your cry of orgasm is all the grief and joy you share with me, exhausted
and limp, but not cock limp, we lay together
Already saying without words that we will move in the morning from this sea hut.
 
It's not a sea hut night, but it's still a pretty good one. Have a wonderful weekend, and may there be many sea huts in your future.
 
the sea hut

ii

it was in the time of year when the night is warmer than the day, and the moon rises and stays up till seven in the morning far larger than the sun, a quarter size to its dime if money matters, and I’m told it does, white as a virgin in the pale blue and purple sky. Here is the time when the black shadows of the trees look purple and then brown, then purple again, and the frost refused to come.
At the sea hut there is the sound of seagulls which cannot quite be called crying. They are simply stating that they are,
outside the sea hut gulls stand in piles like clouds on the sand, and now and again do a little march then sit down next to each other.
Here is an everlasting beach and out onto grey water there is nothing but sky on the horizon, a trick of the bend of the earth. We fled far as we could from out prisons, exhausted but desperate, we traveled until the last of them could not be seen and then
when the earth had turned, knowing we could never burn what had been done from our minds, we settled for not being able to see and sat down by the waters


And, at last, when we sat down we did not hang out heads or pull harps from poplars, and we did not sing the songs of Babalon, for we have never been there. We have been to Chicago and Detroit, and even to South Bend, to Dowagiac, Grand Rapids, and then, guilt trips, drug trips, trips of no return, so by mystery we sing in new tongues we’d never learned before now, when the sun, like a beaten piece of gold on string, slowly sings as it’s pulled into the blackened east and makes another day.

You don’t say a word in the sea hut
There is just the eating of grilled fish in the sea hut, and isn’t that enough?
There are just nuts and berries and you say, I don’t want to go back and I say, well then go forward and you say even going forward is a type of going back.

Seagulls and fish guts offer the best philosophy in the sea hut

There is no discussion of this nor does there need to be.
There is only me, and you with only your necklace of stone and bones
and the water beading on the hills of your brown ass as you swim up and out of water
Remember when you were younger, fatter, browner, before strung out gay white boys told you to be paler and drop those thirty pounds? How round and firm you were then, that’s how you were when I had you in the dark that night so long ago.
You have me in the dark this night, with the light of fire and the seagulls courteously gone, our bodies are red and gold and writhing like serpents as we fuck on the sand, and in the water, come and come again in the blackness of the hut by the sea,
in your cry of orgasm is all the grief and joy you share with me, exhausted
and limp, but not cock limp, we lay together
Already saying without words that we will move in the morning from this sea hut.
 
You are too young
And I am certainly too old
You are that golden color,
fine in limbs,
you’ve still got the sun in your eyes and the unearned warmth
of youth.
still smell like bread and breath and that cologne all the boys
are wearing.
Your penis rises to attention whenever the sergeant runs
into the room
You haven’t learned about knees that are sore or bellies fallen,
about we who were pretty just like you,
who just sitting around watching TV,
have gone crazy or got HIV,
were once young and free and sexy before the jailhouse and the needle
and the spoon and the needle
the foil with its burning sizzling treat
 
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