Saturday, April 08, 2006


Raping the locks of glittergates
made not of gold but snowflakes
the walls I found there were
a perfectly stormy gray,
on an evening's fold

the children dressed as angels
and the angels dressed as children
and everyone but I with hair
they daily trimmed,
took to hiding keys.

And, I fucked a boy so sweet
that the milk of mine flowed
not from me, but from my soul.

Today my cousin, whom I
know her name and face, at least,
is getting married; I'm invited.

This has troubled me deeply
till today I thought, why
bringest sadness
to such joy?

For as we should know,
there truly is joy in joy
even between softly warring sweets
in bloodlines dispersed.

But I felt useless, as the chairs
were put away, and the bubbles
that we blew from the heads of
the plastic bride and groom
just weren't doing it for me anymore.

I stood around, and when I sat
I stared at these two girls,
one whom I realized was way too young
but I wanted to think she reminded me
of a character in my upcoming novel.

The other had black hair
she had curled like a doll's
and a dress like one too,
a paper doll.

I couldn't tell how old she was,
was she older than me?
Younger? Were those her children,
or her brother and sister?

I kept conversations going with
those cousins who weren't getting married
but only in my head did I rape the locks
as I did that night before.

Two cities over the air smelled as manure.
And the boy I stole for my picture
looked surprisingly like a girl,
and my armpits smelled
like melted butter,
while the thing on my neck
was probably cancer.

The girl who checked me out
said have an awesome day
taking the receipt I said,
you too, but later I
thought about my sweater
and her laying next to me
in the crowd of women and girls
that filled my room
I was naked and she was soft
and firm
she destroyed my anxiety
with excited words
and her tan skin
was her largest organ
and so soft and firm,
muscles underneath
her largest organ,
I was rode by a doe.

Only later did I realize
that my cousin had left my life
as their car drove away on the dirt
and that I hadn't been there
because she wanted me to,
but because I had to be.

The dismal day I had envisioned
slipped into a ping pong game
in the rain,
ham and cheese sandwiches,
in the rain,
well, really it was pizza.

Drum solos, green fields,
green hills awaiting Wal-marts
drum solos in detergent heavy air
garages where I felt if they had been mine,
my garages, I could of really had a band
and I felt connected, for a while,
to a family who laughed
at all my jokes
and was just as awkward as I
and I think, just as
sometimes awfully shy.


c said...

milk = cum

you speak spanish

you said...

c, no, I don't speak Spanish, or French. Oui can still talk in Esperanto though, right? Actually I don't know Esperanto, just English and a microscopic not worth mentioning amount of German and an even smaller quantum amount of Japanese. Is that what you wanted me to break down and tell you? Good!

And thanks for checking out my poem, I sit here refreshing the page endlessly(almost). Well, I mean, thanks, honestly.

c said...

i thought you did
there's a poem out there by someone called otero
who makes a whole poem with the world milk in it and it's all about cum b/c in spanish the word milk often substitutes the word cum
you know

also the word dust polvo substitutes the word cum
so he makes a parody of the phrase
dust to dust

maybe i'll look it up translate it you know in my bad english and then you can kind of see what i mean

sometimes people read but don't comment because we don't always know what to say even if if well we feel but can't articulate how much we like a certain thing and also we don't want to sound stalkish and fanish and all those ish which make people feel pathetic
but i've got no problems with that so i'll comment just so you absolutely know people are looking in you know despite you putting a cam on their face which is kind of off putting but sexy



c said...

also if there's anything specific you know you'd like me to talk about to you about you about your stuff i'll be happy to mess all over it

i'm all inarticulate and messy so i'll just inarticulate all over it in my messy way

you said...

anything you want to say and any way, is fine with me ~

btw maybe we should write a poem that's all about milk but we use the word 'cum' instead, reverse it for a time.


the cow squirted her cum into the bucket
i yanked it out of her with my hands,
stroking, choking, yoking

the cum would feed the kids
the women and men
it would bake their pies
and cream their yogurt

we all had cum on our lips
just like the stupid ads for jizz

the baby's cum was in the fridge
we had to keep it cold
and then make it warm

but my baby was sleeping,
and my teenage son's room
smelled like milk

the house was otherwise empty
and i started to think back
about being fat
and allergic to cum,
it'd make me bloated and sick,
it gave me gas
and effervescence.

adjoun said...


CAUTIVOS said...

beutyfull blog