Monday, March 29, 2010
annual vernal river:
open to all interpretations
with a fuck poem or 2
I learned an important analogy for my own sexual escapades:
love bugs stick together
whew they fuck, kill
them & they die together
word, word. balls up
from behind from the front feed me your seed
we take from what we cannot need
tao of bite the bullet, roll the dice, bite the lip, fuck it…let it void
whoever wrote number two fucked up my poem
it was me. ididit. I fucked your poem. fucked it real good.
the police, the government, the prostitute, the child, the man the woman, yeah fuck you
a poem a stink a grating gorge a quality
in the kitchen?
on the island by the blender
fuck you and your emotions because you failed at fucking me the way I deserve to be fucked
forever fucked your distance spread that along
bones of the dinosaur that had sat mostly buried in my lover’s backyard
sprouting yellow flowers you pick to give
is there anything
other than fuck?