Wednesday, December 30, 2009

gemma

The traces of red polish on her fingernails could be blood.
Perhaps is.
Her uneven nails travel slowly along the seam of her
thick black smock, snatching at and removing loose threads.
She blinks, once, then twice,
The smell of tequila floats from her mouth
the smell of cigarettes from her hair.

Monday, December 28, 2009

You can see in his swimming and wet eyes
the booze has taken hold. He does not slur his words
he does not tip his head vigorously or without cause
but behind his pupils, or rather, within them, ringed with
grey green color, something has switched.
You touch lightly his left shoulder with your right hand
let it rest there, casually, as a friend. He keeps on
with a story about a story, a story about writing a story
for a class or for fun, his lips large and fast moving
lit jumpily by the fireplace in the corner.
Mostly men lounge on the velvet benches
a chandelier is draped with ribbons and false cobwebs
and clothespins. The bar glows with lights under its counter,
the bartendress floating quickly between
patrons and the booze shelves behind her
a smile set neatly on her round face, a white
towel tucked into the back pocket of her black, tight jeans.
You move your hand toward his neck, pressure increased,
and you sip from the cold short drink in your left hand.
The liquor has released you too,
your shoulders relax, your knees are nice, your smile
easy.
HA! you lean toward him, close enough
to feel his breath but close enough to just listen.
The booze digs down at your gut, opens up,
warms you.
I mean what you want right now, what you've wanted all day is the pressure of someone's mouth against yours, maybe teeth tapping accidentaly and out of need and excitement. What you want is his hand on the back of your neck.
You sat in front of your computer and masturbated for one whole hour. then you slept. then you cried. then you watched tv, then you masturbated again. life is good. life is good. so you want right now. You want his need for you.
you drink more booze. you pour liquor into your mouth.
you sit back and you wait,
exposing your breast to the stars
and asking for something to come along and take it.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

just, being friends

Hey I woke up with you on my mind
I had this dream i think your dick was in my mouth
at the end of it, not entirley hard, but not entirely soft.
My heart was jumping hard and i woke up with
a boner, sweating facedown with a pillow on my head and one
tucked under my right arm, my right leg pulled up
so the knee almost touched my right elbow the left leg
stiff straight.
my shirt was gone, and my right sock too, but
my underwear was on, tight because of the boner.
My head, the inside of it, the brain part was stiff
and stringy,
or rather my thoughts were coming at me
hard and fast three or four at a time,
but i blamed the whiskey, god it must've been 7 am when i woke up
but it was like 11:43, and before i moved, before i took even
my first waking breath i could feel the pull of last nights
drugs and booze right at the base of my skull at the top of my
last vertabrae, i could feel it squeezing and pulling
then opening up and blooming fully, reaching long
spiky fingers
across my whole skull and pointing itself
at the backs of my eyes.
this day, i thought, this day will be just a hangover
i breathed, and my weight pushed my
dick into the bed, and i rolled my hips around.
Yeah. but I woke with you on my mind,
and my stringy stiff many thoughts swarmed, they gathered into
one big ball of worry, one great big greek chorus of anxiety.
more specifically my thoughts
turned into a hard strong storm with cold sharp rain
and i was laying there in a field, a soft pink thing of flesh
on wet slick grass
trying not to think of you, trying not to have a boner for you
but also relishing that at least in sleep i could touch your not
quite hard dick to my mouth. then it rained, then it poured
and lightening struck and I tossed myself out of bed
into the world, shocking my eyes open, the light on suddenly
my body carrying me to the kitchen for water and to the bathroom
to brush my teeth and wet my head and wash the mascara from my eyes
my body in all its dehydration exhaustian and pain
swiped you out of my mind, cleared the storm of my thoughts
and all i could do was boil an egg and try to brew coffee with thick
lazy fingers.

Sometimes jerking off makes me sad

1,
I woke wrapped in black sheets
my phone pressed into the palm of my hand
under my belly.
A line of dried drool sticky on my cheek
a cool spot of spit on the black pillowcase.
The light all grey and blue, the sounds of cars
driving on the wetted street, quickly.

2.
(some text missing)

3.
12 eggs boil in a large silver pot
on the stove. Two have cracked
bespoiling the roiling water with nets
of the ghosts of their insides.

4.
I did not dream of you just now.
Instead I slept like a rock. but maybe not a rock
i think i slept more like a piece of wood
an old one that has been water damaged
but is dried out now, and jagged, with
cobwebs on one end, and the chips of
grey paint. Like a piece of wood
that was maybe part of a piece of a deck
on an old house in Freeport Long Island.

5.
The coffee machine sounds like rain.
and indigestion.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Dreamz

You wore a sequin dress
kind of see through,
made of brown lace and green iridescent sequins
like what a child imagines fish scales as,
and your earring were soft
yellow gold hoops, hand hewn.
we all sat
at a long wood table
lit with candles down the middle
like the one i have in my house.
You were thinner than you are.
And maybe younger.
You were the way I
imagine you when we are not together.
You were your perfume.
The room opened up behind you,
expanded, as you floated from guest to guest
leaning on this shoulder here
laughing at that joke there
and each person you touched
each person you breathed on
became better.
no, really, it sounds, silly
it does, and i can't be more specific
but they became better.
Their hair shined more.
Their smiles eased
Their hands became soft
lovely creatures
their breath was golden
and the candles did not flicker when they laughed.
You got on the stage and your dress
became black gauze, your hair lengthened then
and turned the color of coffee and heavy cream, sweet.
we all turned to watch you
all at once, in unison
easily together.
You sang then.
You sang like billie holiday
that thin scratchy voice , and
the woman next to me shed a single tear
that slid down her face slowly and
it was a pearl.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Sitting on a bench by the bar
facing a pool table covered over
with a reindeer themed table cloth
and crammed full of large platters
of store bought sandwiches, deli meats
assorted dressings, most notably
a half used open jar of mayonaise.
a man, a drunker man of about 40 years old
dances with his shirt pulled up
and pants pulled down exposing his whole rear to the food.
He shakes his naked ass, and the lower part of his gut
dust is 90% made of humans,
he dusts the food.
Another man with a long wizard beard
wearing black gym shorts white socks pulled up
and a christmas tshirt swings by and blesses
the food with his hand moving it in a cross shape
then a star shape
then whistling through two fingers.
He snatches a dry boring sugar cookie and pops it in
his mouth.
A black man of about 35 with a large backpack and
crappy headphones pops his head around a pillar
smiling he says
Hey Larry
You say
I'm not Larry
He looks at you weird, as if you're lying
I'm not, I promise
He looks like he thought he would make out with you, with Larry
his eyes slacken
he turns to the food, grabs a turkey club wrap
and stalks off, half bent from the weight of his bag.
The whiskey you have cools you and warms you.
Your hand is icey, outside it was raining before you came in,
with cold air that made your breath white.
You sit close next to your friend
knees touching and thighs too. You shift your weight so
even more leg touches, he does not move away, he sips his drink
he dries the edges of his mustache
he points at the semi nude guy dancing near the food
He says something too low to hear under the christmas music.
The whiskey has got you by the backs of the eyelids
you half smile at your friend. you put your hand on his knee
briefly, you hop up quickly and gather a cocktail napkin full
of bad storebought bulk cookies. one filled with red jam
one flakey but not dry enough one covered in hard
holiday sprinkles. Your friend takes a bite of each.
You scan the bar for the black man, chewing dryly on
the jam filled cookie. You want, you think, you want
warmness, company, and sex. That man will do
Your friend can not.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Faggots

8. My computer makes that sound
it makes when someone on a hook up website
has sent you a message.
She perks up "is it sexy?"
"no" i say
just so she won't come and look
at the picture of the man who's written to me.
"I'm going to join right now" she says
"Isn't that weird that I'm joining"
"No" i say, my computer chimes again
"is it sexy?" she says
"no" i say, it usually isnt.

7. "Drag queen" she says
"hooker" i say

6. She puts a pot of water on the stove to boil
for coffee, cupping my privates in her hand
as she passes.
I twist away, chopping my onions on the butcher block.
"make something we can put cheese on" she says
Ginger bread bakes in the oven, stinking up the kitchen
"I didn't drink last night, and I'm paying for it today"
I say.
"There's vodka" she says "in the fridge."
Onion sticks to the bottom of my bare feet.
I wipe at my eye with my hand
it burns instantly.


5.Getting ready for the gym
all my clothes are dirty
even the dirty ones.
I have no underwear
to wear under my leggings
which have replaced short shorts
as exercise gear
since they went missing two weeks ago
and it's gotten cold.
I slide on the blue jock strap
I usually use for work.

4. We are on the couch watching a cartoon movie
my legs stretched across his lap under a green
felt blanket. He rolls a cigarette.
"your legs are in my way"
I shift
"still"
I shift
"no" he moves his knees to his chest dumping me on the floor.

3.She comes in wearing black and blue lycra
tights. and a purple blouse thing. and cowboy boots.
I'm wearing two layers of tights
jeans two sweatshirts a tshirt
and a hat.
"it's cold" she says
smoking through the jagged hole in the window.

2. He's so chipper when I come home
the apartment's smoke filled, a crisp blue
gray smoke that burns eyes and throats,
he stands by the stove flipping a chicken breast
brightly whining
"I didn't know it was SOO smokey"

1. I realized today that I am a pile of money
and all I have to do is peel off one bill at a time.
Or maybe remove it quickly so as not to disturb
the other bills, so as not to create a breeze that would
lift them and spread them.
I'm thinking there may be coins at the bottom of the pile
of bills.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

andrew

you woke to the hot hot heat
of a brown fleece electronic blanket
it's span warming your ankles to your waist.
Your sweatshirt, unzipped has wrapped around your neck
pulling your left arm up in an imitation of a sling.
theres the loud sound of heels, booted heels, cowboy heels
clopping around the next room. A hollow loud banging.
You can tell it's Andrew. the spaces between steps. The
ceaselessness of it. You imagine him smoking by the window
blonde dirty hair spilling over his left eye
then clop clop clop to the butcher block in the center of the kitchen
where he'll sip from a jelly jar of ginger whiskey and ice,
then clop clop clop back to the window,
where he exhales a cloud of cold breath and smoke
slivers of dirt darkening his fingernails.
You imagine him wearing the blue jeans he borrowed from his rich friend
an italian brand name, that hold his ass and crotch tightly but flair slightly
at the knee, and slide easily into the open top
of his untied combat boots.
You reach for your buzzing phone with your free right arm
and knock your glasses to the floor.
the small screen light turns your hand blue
Andrew continues to clop, you imagine his frayed and fraying denim
jacket bare at the backs of the shoulders, his hands jumping
in the air as he talks in that strange twisted tired accent of his.
His mustache quivering at the lip of the glass as he drinks deep
on the booze. You rememeber to two nights ago
as you sat sadly on a bench by the bar, almost too drunk to remember,
while he held you by the shoulders and told you for
twenty minutes exactly how you were amazing, with the force
and conviction of the religious, political or insane.
spittle flying from his fast moving lips landing cooly
on your cheek. The force of his words
his grip on your shoulders holding you up
pressed back against a cool wet wall.
YOu remember try to remember the words exactly
you dig at your memory now, he clops back and forth
you push down at the sleep that grabs you by the warm legs
he clops as you blink against the light from your phone screen
he clops and you read the words from an ex lover
they say
"hello."
clop clop clop
You imagine him sipping cold coffee from the black and white striped mug.
You imagine his wild
and lovely cool blue eyes, with the long girlish lashes, light colored
and red in the sun. you imagine his fingerelss gloves unraveling at
his fingers and wrists.
You imagine he smallness of his waist and the coral colored button up
shirt he wears tucked in.

2.
Remember when you fucked him? really. remember that? late at night on a sunday
it was raining then and cold it must have been february.
and you got him back to your place because everytime he talked to you
he'd put his hand on your waist with just a little pressure pulling you in.
You had to drink more before you brought him home, you had to drink
because you were embarrassed that you liked him, that somehow he'd figured out
you'd do it with him. the kissing, the holding, as if you'd been obvious
when all you'd been was quiet, shy and drunk. Remember walking home the three blocks from the club all the streets and sidewalk wetly reflecting streetlights and car lights. Reemmber that you might not have used a condom
that when you woke the next morning you were gripped with anxiety
immobolized, barely able to choke out words of salutation, hollow empty sounding htings
about the weather and the day and the time before he left, while you huddled
under your non electric comforter, the filling clumped irregularly inside its case, not keeping you warm exactly.
Remember how just a few months ago
you realized you could fall for him. if he would let you. if you would let him let you.
yeah but now he's stomping around in the next room, while you struggle
between the horror of staying in bed and the horror of getting up,
the flavor of sleep strong in your mouth, a meaningles text message on your phone and your glasses on the floor.

Friday, December 11, 2009

dr8mk

ther's the rain sound from that sound machine in the corner
the oneyou put on everynight to go to sleep
wat you really wantis someone tocomeintothebed with y]
what you really want is to stopdrinkingn andwish somethingelse made yout his happy
what you wish is that you could focuson the thing that you want
everythging but you findevery reasonto do everything else

Thursday, December 10, 2009

the electric blanket
is so warm
he comes home soon after
and turns on the shower
i can hear it from my room
the round brown face of a boy
floats in front of me
from memory
the shower is so loud
he says hello
he asks how i am
but i can barely tell
because of the booze
the electric blanket
the cold cold air
that holds my breath out
in clouds, lit by the desperately
small screen of my phone
as i text ex lovers
too late to be cute.

Monday, December 07, 2009

what you've learned

-boys like beards
-there is no excuse for shaved eyebrows
-if you have poppers in your pocket, thats why they get close while dancing and grab your waist.
-you are balding
-friends are only friends in winter, despite all summer and autumn actions
-when you get drunk you are drunk
-you can not pay for your art show
-things are bad
-you may move back to long island

Friday, December 04, 2009

you sleep in your roomate's bed
at six am the sun comes up
and paints the whole room white
homeless people gather under the window
and chirp like birds.
Your roomate is in Atlanta
his father just had his protate removed
your father had his taken out 6 years ago
its a walnut sized gland that makes
ass fucking feel good, for the bottom.

There was a boy in the bed too,
last night.
there is no note.
you wrap a brown rabbit fun blanket around you,
your barefoot feet slap the cold wood green painted floors
when you cross the apartment to your room.
It is dark, black even, with no windows.
He is there, barely asleep.
He says
I couldn't sleep with you
I just can't sleep in the same bed as someone
You kiss him. You get on top of him.
You feel desperate.
Ha!
You feel desperate again.
You shuffle back to the bright room.
It seems like a beach cabin, and the homeless chatter
like gulls.
You sniff at this poetic idea.
You press your body onto the bed.
You cover your whole body with the blanket
fur side down
tickling the small of your back
the underside of your knees.
You grind your pelvis into the bed, your
thighs scratched by a rough mexican blanket.
You tighten your asshole
One
Two
Three times
You imagine the removal of your prostate.
That silent walnut
up inside you.
That spot the boy wants to touch
with the tip of his dick.
Though he can not share this bed with you.
This fur blanket.
You will not give your prostate up to cancer
to the cold slice of a scalpel or the smooth
burn of a lazer.
You promise, outloud, to no one.
to your roomate's room,
empty except for you.