Big Black Cock

So far, I have been pretty
squeaky clean,
I just show
the top of the
breast
but not the
tea-cup saucer
nipple, not the whole
areola

I wouldn't ever
talk about fucking
or sucking or
screwing or
doing

I wouldn't
even get in the
neighborhood
of hair-pulling
or chains or
whips or dips
or candle-wax

But today, I'm
going all the way
to the big, and I
mean BIG,

(big black cock)

not even a real one -
just a latex ten
or eleven incher
that will live for
ten thousand years;
a perfect plastic penis

made out of words.

Less Art

Less

there's an app
that scans through
all the art in the world
and remakes it
into smaller and
more refined images,
more color, more pop,
less stuff, less lines
-
for mugs, postage stamps
kleenex, wrapping paper
tissues paper, toilet paper.

Simple

Simple

Grilled Cheese
on wheat

Cheddar
Butter

Bread
Iron

Fire
Crust

-

scrap the blade
on the edges

like skates
on fresh ice

-

Tapper
Fade

Twelve
Dollars

Cream
Shave

Blue
Gel

-

switch the scissors
slicing, snipping

small talk and
large breasts

-

Sheets
Sweat

Music
Money

Fingers
Flesh

Sliding
Simple

Words, Icebergs

When was a daffodil
just a daffodil
and not some symbol
for something unseen;

the muzzle of a gun
or the space between
her thighs, the nose
between her eyes, I know

that there is something
waiting for all of us
just beyond the center lines,
beyond the stems but

then, again, flowers will
wilt, wasting away and
March to May, we come
sprung again, undone again -

What if words weren't
mutilated minstrels, masquerading
in the Carnival twilight, as if to
parade in some rhythmic repetition,

some humdrum drum hummed,
hung beside the floats and the fat
females in baby-blu bikini bottoms -
(every time you are read, you dance)

you dance along, you dance the song,
beaten and opened and broken and
battered, the bass and the rhythm
had come here to scatter? to shatter!

there's nothing left?
there's nothing left!
there is nothing left,
so write, right - write.