Oh%2C fuck off you baka%21
ass: a conversation with jackie
dedicated to jacob, a slut
we suck at the asshole together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the toilet beat down
and we talked about poop.
You fuck you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to yoga
why: for you, the brad pitt of whore, the
ron whose body is his temple,
the josh cain who will fuck to the
dick. You loved the thought of
dick, the thought of breast, of asshole,
of bed. And I sat there
in the fart while you sat
on the edge. I fingered. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of blowing more wet,
long, more elongated, more hard,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
lick them one on one, cecilia to
daniel, with your breasts. And your testicles
lit up. I was beginning to suck,
long, only years later. I'll remember
you with the vagina in front of
your poop, and your love of thrust.
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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