the insanity of love
i fuck them.
they love me.
i fuck others.
they love me too.
i shove my cock
into their mouths.
they suck. they fuck.
they love me more.
my wandering eyes
my uncircumcised
unprotected
unparticular penis
they still love.
i bring them bittersweet candies
of excuse and explanation
to feed their denial.
they eat and love them.
i sing to them,
read poetry,
arousing vaginal goosebumps
and rain.
they love that.
they buy me pizza
and value menu
double cheeseburgers
to fill my belly.
i fill them
with my hard, pulsating body.
they love it.
i gluttonously guzzle
gallons of grand marnier
until i am a fool.
i place my soul in their laps
crying convulsively
in a drunken stupor
and moved with compassion
for the wounded, weeping beast,
they love yet more.
they rub my spinning head
to soothe the vomitous monster
that rages in my stomach...
all for love.
i spew venomous words
and hurtful truths
til they finally leave.
then i am left alone..
and then i love them.
the genius of the crowd by Bukowski
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day
and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace
those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love
beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average
but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect
like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock
their finest art
too little
when i was younger, i would frequent a local karaoke bar. single and lonely, drunk and stoned, i would write on napkins or the backs of karaoke request slips. anything i could find really. i wrote daily, almost hourly.
10 years or so, a wife and 2 kids later, who has the fucking time? i'm excited to have discovered this app. hoping that too little will no longer be a fault.
what if
what wouldve happened
had i told you the truth
had i poured the slimy
tainted spew that was me
onto your lap
could you have loved me
you
a mystery to me
your body
only tasted in my dreams
what if
i'd given more
would you have wanted less
i often think back
to the few moments we shared
empty kisses
love never made
what if
i'd been weak
in your eyes
or was i
my broken heart
a fermenting berry
dipped in rancid chocolate
you never even considered
the delicacy of our stew
what if
dwindling hopes
fall from their eyes
in vain they try
to lick my heart
they cant get past my tonsils
remorseless
i refuse their offerings
like god told cain
thats not what i want
bodies known
possessed
discarded
i walk away
their eyes pleading
bleeding
not that i didnt care
just didnt care enough
the goo of unfamiliar cunt
fruit unsatisfying
eyes coated in liquor
words inspired by liquor
the stew of nocturnal magic
the band aids of the lonely