three jars of chocolate sauce

george clooney is not coming to visit me tonite

but i recreate my arrival using a broom, two shopping bags,
a dildo and a large akubra hat.

george clooney is not coming to visit me tonite

so i take down the tinsel and the streamers and

put my nakedness back in the bottom of the wardrobe and

i slip into a kind of nothingness that long ago forgot its name.

george clooney is not coming to visit me tonite

so i argue with myself over the pills or the blade

knowing that i'll wake up in the morning and i go to the kitchen

for a spoon to eat the three jars of chocolate sauce that

i was saving for his penis.

george clooney is not coming to visit me tonite

so i go outside and howl at the moon who is not listening,
and my mind boils like a kettle, and my belly aches with the
longing of the unconceived (the unasked) and i undo the hope
that this could ever end.

george clooney is not coming to visit me tonite.

stud boy

what are you playing at stud boy?

looking at me with those small, dark eyes

and that tall, spiky hair of yours.

just what are you getting at?

what's the story, stud boy?

standing there so slick and shiny and

spouting the anarchy that matches

the patches on your army pants.

and what are the studs

about anyway?

okay stud boy

put your ego where your

zip is, and your hand on

this stud, stud boy.

not so brave with the lights out

are you stud boy?

didn't know that your stud cuffs

could cut the skin when they're

tight around the bed post,

did you stud boy?

chin up stud boy.

chin up so I can tighten
your collar.
don't worry, it's real leather,
only the best for you, stud boy.

where did you go stud boy?
now all ive got left is
dud boy.
so long stud boy.

night blind

in the liquid time and space
that it takes to eat an apple
he has made her cum twice.
night blind,
she is learning to resist -
climbing the heights
beneath his mouth
until gravity means nothing.

and then he cums, under

an upside down moon
in a foreign country.
night blind,
his frail male ego
is released into the ether
of inner lives and
secret moments.

waiting for the wild horses

they touch lips and hear a symphony.

red

in a quiet night light
or in a tempest/
with a sense that
isn't literal/
when you're addicted to
the adrenalin of panic/
you witness mishaps
and disturbing practices
that are wicked
and vicious/ so
you find good reasons
for bad blood/
hide in the red/
which is the dark/
in which you feel
the infinite.