hostile terrain, continued

but see, turning back is out
– the scout reports and a recon team
will verify that brambles

whose intentions are naught but bad
have all but devoured and plan
to continue to attack

and to devour every ounce
of pavement you tough-cookie troops
have traipsed – ah the world where there are

buffets of bouquets of bubbly busty
babes – sorry to say but bubbly busty babes
never were nurtured in these mountains

– which alone leaves nothing to do
but forge forward – yes a seaside
respite raises a widespread sigh

– why of course that’s where the sun
is – all suns adore bubbly
busty sunbathing seaside babes

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hostile terrain

to all the fellows faithful, internal,
yeah the road that had to climb the mountain
where mountains in this county are notorious

for uttering crudities from most coarse minds
not to mention they sneer at rest areas
and have been known to jiggle a boulder

so it loosens from what is supposed to be
the most reliable glue the universe
can make available to the natural

world; and it generally is where mountains
are not pricks – oh they might not be peaks
where many an angel can feel safe

in an intact virtue department
but at least they make sure their boulders
are firmly glued before engineers

receive memos that the time has come to build
a navigable road and maybe
a few rest areas with scenic views

friendly to motorist and hiker alike.
But this route demanded scaling a steep serpent
in alliance with squalls hurling bitter gales.

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maybe posting a drafty excerpt/outtake will get the momentum going again

seagull down on the beach
reaches for an aquamarine
section to give it a deep
and close to erotic-worthy
scratch – a wink at the camera
and says the many seasons
in this insane island inlet
gets a gull to reach for secret resources
just to keep from joining one of those houses
run by no-good terns.
This was not the only seagull
down on the beach. Plenty seagulls.

Plenty. But most of the seagulls
of these many mossy isles
amid the silvery
semen seas did not keep up with
human life. They just appreciated
the scenery. Not the babes
who bunked in the Mossy Mound
Academy dormitory.
Not even the dormitory mistresses
– they too bunked in the Mossy Mound
Academy dormitory.
For a few minutes the seagull played chicken

with incoming tidal waves. But a girl gull
came along and dipped her pecker
in the salty foam
that pooled in a depressed place
where the sands were very damp
and wore just a few prints
that proved other waterfowl
had found this foamy pool
and departed without leaving a note
of complaint in the slot
that only feathery seafarers
could see and interact with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

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what a twisted web

best thing about the internet (for me) is being able to post/publish words I compose, be it something for free or something for sale; juicy little couplet or a novel-length work (I’ve yet to manage to finish – but I will, I will); or just a rambling blah-blah-blah like this.

But religious and political types are also afoot – lots of them. Maybe the majority? I fucking can’t stand them. Any of them. No matter the side. Preachy lecturers. Boo! Hiss! Or it is less not standing them and more that if I fall to the temptation like a tantalizing bait on youtube, there’s something sneaky and slippery about it – get a little pissed off, go to another, get a little more pissed off, look at more, temperature rises… meanwhile that novella or novel that offered so much fun (what can be more fun than making stuff up?) takes a dejected seat on the curb.

And the real kicker: the more adamant I say ‘don’t do it! don’t do it! don’t do it!’ what do I do? Exactly what I just did yesterday and a little bit this morning and now it’s back to the start line. Gotta expunge the gunk and grunge that threatens to choke my normally peaceable, whimsical, style. So no more. Fuck-em, fuck-em, fuck-em, fuck-em all.

Except I do feel inclined to say this:

I’m pretty sure I’d rather take a trip
to decadent downtown Berlin
and get my cock sucked for a quarter
instead of freezing my nuts off in Stalingrad.

Posted in the way I feel about it, thoughts, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

to all the how-to vultures

Briefly do the doors allow a light
to show an escape is possible
on a twisted road poison fruits flank;
thing is they cast a scent that allures
and peddlers assure they are answers
constructed for the sake of helping
all who have no idea what they do
become okay with conformity.

But I don’t want to do it like you
do it. I want to do it like I do
it. And you can take your virtual
sour scowl stand-in for a ruler-
wielding english department prissy
pants and shove it where enjoyment
knows enough to steer miles clear from.
Oh and dear Google, you ain’t my friend.

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Dear Muse whoever you are, please give this poet-writer a swift kick in the ass

hey what’s this frozen on the floor bit?
just get at it and stamp something already.
Rubber? Good enough, get rubbery

– that dirty squeaky friction –
lick where sweat is – maybe beads
are a crop across her caramel

acreage. Careful looking up
at the one whose tassels are
tawny – gaze is glossy chocolate

and fashioned to melt defenses
to milk – readiness perpetual
for a nightlong swinging swab

with or without the sodden
cotton panel. Suffocation
for this rubber. So be it.

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a voice politely clears its throat again

beware of these islands
rickety jeeps run around,
sparking off bamboo boxes
that know to only chatter
way beyond the sun’s bedtime;
really they act like rats a bit
– no not their sizes or their minds
one is furry and the other
is composed of metal,

basically, and the jeeps
they do not mate or if they do
it can’t be proven – though a seagull
goes around bugging the locals
who don’t really care and resent,
frankly, the bossy pushy gull
breaking up a quiet
patio repast just to preach
about how and why the jeeps

that run around like rats
seem to multiply – as long
as they stay off the beaches
let them cross with all the rodents,
so says a typical lunching local,
as long as the one little airport
remains too small to accommodate
a jumbo jet – let the weird creatures play,
so the locals try to tell the seagull

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