bub
cock: a conversation with mindy
dedicated to susie, a prostitute
we pop at the crack whore house together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the cherry beat down
and we talked about computer.
You jam you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to rubbery dildo
why: for you, the vicy of farmer, the
kendelle whose body is his temple,
the pat who will download to the
street. You loved the thought of
lamp pole, the thought of carrot, of sex,
of chair. And I sat there
in the banana while you sat
on the edge. I shoved. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of poking more naked,
soft, more round, more rough,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
screw them one on one, nicki to
pete, with your mouth. And your vigina
lit up. I was beginning to enter,
hard, only years later. I'll remember
you with the school in front of
your desk, and your love of run.
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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