Ok, i haven't done this in a while, so it is likely folly, but i am a little drunk, so fuck it.
one at a time
swift and rustled
right by me
i would hold them
(hearts beating too fast to count)
there's something about beingalive
that scares the shit out of me
one at a time
right by me
-----
ok, i will reiterate once more. i hate fucking poetry. unless you are plath, bukowski, cummings, shakespeare, or someone i want to fuck, shut the hell up. my poetry is [across the board] terrible. really dispicable. like someone should nail it up to a cement wall and shoot it until there is nothing but pock marks and little shreds of paper hanging from nails. that would have infinitely more meaning than my pretentious prattle. ish.
it was a bad idea.
where's my wrench?
one at a time
swift and rustled
right by me
i would hold them
(hearts beating too fast to count)
there's something about beingalive
that scares the shit out of me
one at a time
right by me
-----
ok, i will reiterate once more. i hate fucking poetry. unless you are plath, bukowski, cummings, shakespeare, or someone i want to fuck, shut the hell up. my poetry is [across the board] terrible. really dispicable. like someone should nail it up to a cement wall and shoot it until there is nothing but pock marks and little shreds of paper hanging from nails. that would have infinitely more meaning than my pretentious prattle. ish.
it was a bad idea.
where's my wrench?
posted by he who seeks knowledge at 11:44 PM
2 Comments:
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
(i fold)
heavy handed. it is still trying to be something instead of being something. this poem could be half the size. give me fucking, not porn.
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