again, and again, and again, and again,
when will i ever be free of you?
every month, rain or shine, loved or lost,
at the crest of the moon, the curtains descend
and life is pointless.
it’s just one day. i tell myself.
it’s always just a day.
soon the waters will run red, the storm will break,
ones will start multiplying out of the thick
resounding zero again. wait.
wait for what? wait for this bitch to slowly creep up on me again?
defying reason? maybe by ovulation she’ll have found me
some nice thug to push me around a little.
no, breathe in the zero. she’s dead. feel my brain in my cranium.
where it belongs. it’s refreshing.
my pussy has gotten me into more trouble even, i think,
than my big mouth. i mean it. she just takes over.
life is great and everybody looks so cute,
and the next thing you know there’s some
depressed person in my living room trying to tell me what to do.
but then, i already have her for that.
one of them will have to go.
why cock? (aka stroker)
(yes, sister Nellie, women have cock too!)
with feeling, tension, reception
and the right frequency
it’s like a bouncy ball hits the floor and
then we go up way, way above the cloud line.
somebody told me you can slip through
and pop up in other worlds there.
strange, but it happens.
it’s like if you had a neon uterus, ovaries, and pussy
inside you, lighting you up from within
like a big lamp. only it’s animated and it can dance.
sometimes she’s all curled up, sleeping cozy. dim.
something arouses her, like a sound, or touch
and she coos, stirring. green and yellow and rose.
sometimes my pussy fills my whole body.
pulsing in my belly, she puffs out bright colors
which travel outwards in every direction
showering out the top of my head and
flowing back around to push the backs
of my knees forward as i walk
and out my feet into the sidewalk.
San Francisco, CA
August 27, 2007