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Showing posts from April, 2012

Dreaming on an Old Washing Machine

do you ever wonder
about me honey?

while you're riding
the whispers of
the American wind,

tasting the western dust
with the lust of a long
lean blonde with
sea green eyes
like a gentle siren

Think of the spring
when you were singing...

and then a short
slight brunette
kissed you
clean and
rode you
dirty on the
cold white
metal of a
washing
machine.

Mr.Big Stuff

Mr.Big Stuff

I'd tell you
to shut the Fuck Up

but you
don't have
anything to say



You're my only comfort
in this disease

Not a savior nor a prince

But a symptom I have
grown fond of in
the price of
my sickness.


Your cruelty
will only lead you
to lonely perversions.

And my quiet thirst
for love's pain,
will gild my life in
camera lights.

My Pants...Please.

Now any other day,
any other year that's
been caught in the past,

would have made it
impossible for you
not to read between
those lines on the screen...

But this is the last year
before some kind of end,
and I want to look good
Fuck-
 I want to look GREAT
in my snakeskin pants.

So please be a pal
and give me back
my incredibly
awesome pants.

They're my heart-
My soul and
my only escape
into rock and roll.

Vive La France!

It's just a feeling

It's just a feeling...

what you said

is just a feeling.


I had asked-

curious to be

a perpetual

memory

you did not forget


It's just a feeling

I don't let go;

I take the silk

and wrap my heart

in the declaratory din

of its sinning fate

Real Talk: Look at Me Now.

Folks, I'm not dead-

Be easy on your skeeze, because I'm still here to deliver all your charming literary needs from their boredom without overwhelming them with substance.

The elusive and tickled pink cunt that only really exists in the filthy stratosphere of cyber space is still kicking the dick bucket around - always DTF and never more than a breath away from a terrible decision honeybunny.

But now- I work. All the time. I work with children. Young children. And while you might have bronzed your assumptions that I am an immoral derelict of a pussy gone to reclusive waste, you have never seen me in real life doing real things. I am an excellent real life girl.

I am excellent with children. I deliver them love and they deliver me giggles and innocent mistakes, exemplifying what is worthwhile in humanity. My goodness- it's worth to keep fucking and making little babes just to have them as a reminder of what it was like to be exempt from taste the face of the chronically s…

Itch

Despite the fight

of maternal rights

aroused by the

necessity of

a new found

living-


I want to scratch that old Itch.


It still tickles my tits

to seek the 

destruction of

the mirror's

function

with a smile

and an arm

around a naked waist;

waking up

savoring the flavor

of distaste,

then grinding the soul

into a chemical paste-


ignoring

that itch,

spending all my time

wishing a stranger

would dig his dirty

fingernails 

into it.

Empty Pools

i could fill
the empty pools
you wear for eyes
with the sweetest rain-

but it would dry out
on concrete
while you squinted at the sun,
waiting for darker clouds
to quench your blind sight.

Working Woman

a year ago today
choking on a
pharmaceutical rope
lost in a maze
of false hope,
looking for ways
to escape
the broken slate
slandered by
a sick heart
manifesting
dark arts
of passion,
rotting,
festering
out of fashion

Now the day
is washed away,
compensated
by the wages
of an unexpected
occupation
where children cure
a silent declaration
of a forgotten patient.