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LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

all of a sudden passion suddenly

Anger slams into my throat
crushing my wind pipe

the tension writhes
popping tendons
as teeth grind dust
that sticks my words like glue

all that's left is to swing
with every fucking ounce
of hate I can draw breath

only through mouth-breathing
filling the body with oxgen
pacing-twitches
the floor strikes my feet

grounding me
and I don't swing
for once I don't
 
Drove out to Muscatel cct
thinking about words
what they say, what they don't

How and why
you know the shit I'm saying
the same cliche'd page
in the overwrought book
bounced off lines of prose
of poetry and the shit in between
those salty thoughts that dry you out
wring the moisture right from you

I wonder now looking up
If I'm overstating the obvious
giving examples to the lines and thoughts
for no other reason than clarity

of expression
of voice
of tangential
sequences that run
parallell to the edges of circles....

Now I don't know what the fuck that means
but it sounds clever so it must
must be poetry
because with enough ambiguity
dancing on the meaning of little stones
you can create a larger stone
thrown to create ripples in a pond

stones though
tgey ain't so clever
see stones they sink

sink to the bottom and drown
on the strength of their own ability
while we applaud the ripples in the fabric
of time left
in the bobbing of a leaf

Anyway
Just some over long thoughts that amount to the
same old shit
said in the same old way
striving to be heard in the din
of their own
over long
over wrought
unedited
crazy
 
One shotted my best mate a few weeks back
shattered his jaw
the way a shark rips through
bones and sinew
instinct
training
shit he swang first

Granted there was a woman involved
always is
I felt his face collapse under my fist
the shatter of his cheek

felt it more times than the educated
have come across poems they discard
with that intellectual
high art sneer

watched him thud
concussively to the floor
his kids called the ambulance

He rang me to apologise
my jaw hurts
quivering
at what I didn't realise I missed
till it was given back
 
I hadn't heard from him for a while,
he used to volunteer at the thrift shop.
He was so beautiful! What did he call himself?
Ahh yes 'a transgender illusionist'.

He never wore chicks clothes on a normal day,
save for trying on frocks at the store.
Ones that would work well for his shows.
He had enormous talent, singing and dancing.

I could see his professional life was growing.
Not a doubt he would become famous,
I get those feelings quite a lot
Enough to know when I am getting it right.

He said he needed to take a break,
From volunteering at the shop,
As his life was getting so busy with shows.
He said when it all calmed could he come back?

Someone so beautiful what would I say?!
Sadly he was plagued with depression.
He was gay and longed for a mate,
the inevitable tall, tanned and muscled.

A person who would enfold him in their arms,
love him and keep him protected.
I had a feeling this person was imminent,
was about to enter his life, making it complete.

It had been a while and one Saturday I thought
Damn, give him a call and see when he'll be back.
I got so busy at work that day, I just hadn't the chance.
That was the night he tied up a rope and hanged himself.
 
always been kicking dirt
on the outsides
moved
moved again
another place to settle
the ford-fairlane mobile home
potting mix pillows
engines hum to lull us to sleep

skulking through 4am light
looking for a garden hose to shower under
in minus two degrees c
washing clothes in the river by hand

laughter
derision at the homeless
I with the scabbed knees
perpetually bleeding knuckles
rage is easier
to burn up for fuel
it blazes out
leaving us hollow
the heat is delicious
 
Ouroboros

Life’s a bitch, then you die.

A claim to lay false if there is one.
Been there, done that. Can’t.

Childhood a short affair.
Confused, sparse images for recall.
No roots, no anchor, flitting.

Searching for someone, something.
Never knowing what, really.
No reference, no model, dreaming.
Searching for someone, something.

Wide and far, travel, move.
Play here and there,
With her, with him, no matter.
Wrong person. Who is the right one?
Is there one for that matter?

Emotions surface, unbidden.
Strange, unrecognized,
Mistaken for what they are not.
Yearning for enlightenment.

Yet another beginning.
What’s one more to the drifter?
New vistas discovered.

Great loss, the last link gone.
Final refuge, change is done.

Life’s a bitch, then you die.
 
These scar riddled hands
once again
hold a child

always they feel too
big
too thick
too clumsy


more pitbull than man
I sit vigil
listen to her stirring
watch the door
as the growl of wheels
trundle past

as fucked as this world is
I promise
to die before you

For Halia
Now 19 hours old
 
I'm codeine binging
from the places where dreams
go to die
the house walls crawl with
filth lit firmament

little effigies line the walls
rows of derelict cast offs
re-moulded to be the play things
of mushroom binges

illuminating the darkness we try to hide
in the light
stains filter through
no matter how many showers
no matter the
whisperings at confessional
about the sins we think we wouldn't really do

holding hands skipping
down the ring-a-ring a-rosie
chanting about posies
falling down

past the purveyors of morality
to hide in plain sight
the Chtulu's of H.P Lovecraft
boring as bat shit until
you really think about it...
when you stare yourself in the eye
and see
where and what
you
don't
know what sanity looks like
and one day

the centre of that little universe
will extinguish
it won't be some cosmic bang that resounds for millennia
it'll simply fade
into the obscurity
of a name
tht says you were once here
 
laid out
chest open
sliced down the middle
bleeding out in words that flow down
forming puddles
for you to splosh around in
like a child after a storm
nothing much left
except a mess to be wiped away
with the flag of my surrender
and the trail of your footprints

it doesn't feel like poetry now
 
Happy NY

The dentist's apprentice, lamenting her interest
directing her most vexing hue.
Corrective distressing, while never impressing
was always intended for you.
 
has anyone thought what we are teaching our kids
about men and women
about shame and acceptance
about quitting because shit gets real
gets hard real quick

about their feelings, about others feelings
about wanting to make the self so
unapproachable as to scare off the world

what is and isn't woman's work,
what a misogynistic kick in the clitoris for a woman

(yes that line is tell, but it has to be said, because misogynist behaviour is blind, ingrained and insidious)

I heard my step father tell my ten year old daughter this
on Christmas day
and fuck if we didn't nearly come to blows

I made my daughter stop doing the dishes
asked my son to do them instead
because they need to learn what equal is

it may seem over the top
but those comments perpetuate cycles of women
growing up scared
and indoctrinated
and fuck that
my daughter deserves better than Donald Trump
as a world leader
deserves better than rolling over and accepting the rape of her mind
before someone touches her body
 
Stomach churning
in anger and grief
with no way to fight
demons out of my reach
or the nausea

heart and limbs ache
tense and ready for war
but my weapons are poorly made
for the battles you face

still, I would stand at your side
flimsy sword in hand
to show that you don't have to be
or bleed
alone
 
Would it matter
if I spelled it all out
wrote verses about the ache
that keeps me company
familiarity breeding contempt
for my stupidity

You say it's good for the soul
but it feels like a hole I keep digging
to bury the same shit
in a mass grave of what
the fuck
am I doing?
 
Woke up to snow falling
in the dark
waiting for dawn
watch it drift down
in the street lamp glow
and I see you
biggest kid I ever knew
chasing flakes with your tongue
calling me to come out
and play
 
A close family friend was killed in an accident this weekend. His family kept a rabbit hutch and so when my daughter was around 3 he allowed her to call a bunny hers. We were out at the farm about 6 weeks later and they served fried rabbit which my girl ate with gusto.

Then she asked for her bunny. He looked at me. I said, "You didn't." He took her out to the hutch and asked her which was hers since he couldn't recognize it. She promptly chose another 3 week old. This is the inspiration for the AS that follows:

Gordon's Sentence

How I wish you could live again like the eternal, baby bunnies.
 
I wonder if ideologies are nothing more than insanity
made rational


still it's less than a late apology
explaining nothing about
feelings in a non existant reality
where it hurts more
than blades
burns more than flamess
and aint as simple as gone

it's still here
lonely-crushed inside a
eulogy not read for fear that it will be real again
like wraiths that shake the foundation of belief

nothing escapes the idiosyncrasies
of a stray dog who found a place to eat
be warm feel something more
than lost
it's gone again

I want to curl tail to nose
and dream
 
Once was a poem
penned with intention
clever turns of phrase
inked on a worthy page
canvas for thought
to capture a mind
a heart

Time takes its toll
on fragile paper
unprotected
words fade
rendered by age
to meaningless stains
crumpled and tossed
in the bin
 
Good sex and flowers

Good sex and flowers, with
Valentine’s day approaching,
it’s what we all seek, although
some might add chocolate, red
wine and/or single malt.
Yet all too soon fourteen is
fifteen, and these too are
past their best before date.
 
Well-oiled but with what?

Michael Flynn's no longer in
His discussions with the Russians
muddied the road for the Tangerine Toad.
May was keen and offered the Queen,
Abe Shinzo didn't know the arm wrestling scenario.
Justine, Trudeau not The Beeb, just looked like an awkward dweeb.
What's next for this wrecking crew? Andy Puzder, so, who knew?
Conway shills for ‘Vanka’s line and Spicer thinks that that’s just fine.
Vlad is Donald’s bestest pal, soon we’ll see the rationale
When good reporters start to die no need to ask the question “why?”
The Russians do it all the time so Donald thinks it must be fine.
Environment and public arts are targeted by Donald’s darts.
No cupid he it’s plain to see just a walking disaster in 3-D.​
 
An Empty Shelf Too High

Where now do I put
this anger
I don't want to carry
this ache
I don't want to feel
this hope
that crumbled in my hands
this love
that can't find its way home

all the remnants left behind
that can't be contained
like ashes in an urn
simply inscribed
with your name
 
Never To Forget

Wild carnal desires

Claiming you and marking you

Always remembered
 
Tanka

Long after midnight
you knocked softly at my door.
How moonlight shone on
your magnificent shoulders!

Later, the nightingale's song—
as contented as my sighs.
 
Snapping backs together like a chiropractor.
We align; wine, dine and spine me.
I am flush now, complete.
Make me blush, repeat:
SOS ASAP LOV me;
no more words, complete me.
 
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