Musicians (Short Poem)

I remember being in the passenger side

The road-rage drivin’

Screamin’

Hatred & obscenities

Pathetic me   

Crying silently

Looking out a flocculating window

So he wouldn’t know

And all I had, if God is dead,

                Was the radio.

Stuck In The Middle With BobbySue

In the mornings when I’m getting ready for work, I listen to Lisa Landry on Pandora.  Despite her being a stand-up comedian, her antidotes can be terrifying.  A domestic soothsayer of sorts, she can warn of the trials and errors of marrying the wrong man, the man obsessed with recipes, siring a son, and having dedicated bowls for keys; motherhood as a forced burden -not a blessed reward.  This morning my mind began to drift to the time when I first—and coincidentally last time—ever douched.

My first—and only—girlfriend, BobbySue Elisabeth Dawn McGraw insisted upon me having the experience.  Said nothing could make you feel, cleaner.  I remembered the rush of mint on the insides, an enema for the soul, tingling, the ultimate hygiene.

I’ve only read one account on the act of female douching and it was written by Stephen King in ‘The Dead Zone’.  The female character Sarah uses it to supplement sex, in order to quell her sex drive, to the point of it hurting her.

And I realized the extreme disconnect between Sarah and BobbySue.

BobbySue had had so many dicks in her, including her step-fathers, in her childhood, where in her adulthood she would go from door to door in a fully lite house checking doorknobs to make sure they were still locked.  Door to door, room to room.  She snorted heroin to forget how in the middle of the night, he’d single her out from her other siblings who reached to protect her, a part of her mind still always hiding in cubby holes and running away from home.  Eventually when she would depart and become under the custodianship of her biological father, since he was a crack-head, got her addicted to crack and pimped her out to support their now completely justifiable habit at twelve years of age.  BobbySue spent so much time getting herself sent to juvenile prison on purpose, by the time I met her when she was 24, she was illiterate. 

So this morning, sometime between washing my face and brushing my teeth, I wondered as to why BobbySue had so loved that summer eve’s feeling and knew why.  She was washing all that evil dick out of her.  All that had terrified her.  All that had immobilized her.  All that had confused her.  All of her self-loathing, guilt, and disgust.  Each dick no better than a fucking ‘Sorry!’ game piece stealing her love, her innocence, parts of her soul.

Rape is not merely the violation of a human body, it is the violation of a human soul.  You are not inside of just their body.  You are inside of their mind.  You are inside of their soul.  And you are a violator.  You trespass and desecrate a sacred temple.  When bones are broken, a life is broken.  It is the ultimate invasion and force of will.

It’s not sexy, it’s not hot, and not every woman has a “Rape Fantasy” but every woman has a real, legitimate fear of rape or else there would be more female midnight runners.

Women don’t douche because they want dick, they douche because they had too much.  They douche because that dick has soiled their very soul, their zombi.  They douche for rebirth of self.  For a wound that never heals.  Marked from birth, a less than.  A slut slot for your comedic undoing.  In your house?  Has your last name?  That bitch is your property, do what you will.  The broken American women and girls will just continue to douche privately in their bathrooms and not write about why.  Because maybe like my BobbySue, they were molested ever since they could remember by a man they had to call father.  

BobbySue’s mother in denial or worse yet, victim blaming.  Like my own mother was doing the other day about Amanda Berry. 

Feminism worked?

If Wikipedia gets their way, I’ll get categorized an American woman writer.           

Porn Links - (link poem)

Suppose, supposedly, if it were up to me the porn category would read differently:

Cunniglingus

Big Dick

Huge Dick

Tiny Dick

Wide Shoulders

Big Hands

Athletic Legs

Dangling Balls

Tight Balls

High School

Middle Age

Balding

Bald

Hairy Balls

Hairy Back

Chin Straps

Sideburns

Great Beards

In Shape

The 500

Young

Enduring Stamina

Shooting Ropes

Cumming From Blowjobs (just the cumming part)

Rope Masturbation

Giant Dick Masturbation

Choads

Veins

Tattoos

Needle Dicks

Scarred

...And of course, then there'd be:    

Giant Girth Cock

Blue Eyes

Brown Eyes

Green Eyes

Hazel Eyes

Platinum Blonde

Dishwater Blonde

Brunette

Light Ginger

Dark Ginger

Freckles

Tan

Latino

White Dudes

Black

European

Greek

Irish

Scottish

British

Australian

French

Spanish

Argentinian

Wife-beaters

Cute

Sexy

Handsome

Mysterious

Cowboy

Robot

Star Trek

Captain Kirk

Captain Picard

Fathers

My Husband

Scientists

Writers

Lawyers

Firemen

Cops

Bodybuilders

Lifeguards

Man of Honor

Grey Fox

Silver Fox

White Fox

Salt-n-PepperFox

Sure my list didn’t rhyme, but still suits me fine and now it’s time to misuse bandwidth.    

ALSO READ THESE POEMS (that actually rhyme):

Ophiophagus-hannah

47%

Duality of Womb-man

This Sure Beats The Hell Out Of Algebra, Doesn't It?

Minus Zer0

Miss Jackson

That’s the way love goes, 

nasty boy 

but what have you done for me lately?

Call ya’ Neil Armstrong with the way you get me spacey.

I’m twirling in the purple rain and it tastes like grape Nerds,

Skimming through the names, all the blurbs are words.

In the latter days, boys on the ladder had ways

Of making you consider pleasures

From candlelight to scissors.

But now the pandemic is epidemic and not even the panopticon can see me through.

The Veronicas covered The Scorpions,

The Simpsons became The Sopranos,

Everywhere I go, gotta be on the lookout for

Dropping pianoes.  

I could blame it on Dingoes but there was no baby to consume,

Guess it was just at an early age I heard

The call of the loon.

     And then he walks in from the other room…  

Chargemaster

Guess you leaked that shit, 

unusually suspecting, 

reflecting something.

In that line-up of Freddy Kruger, Jason, Michael Myers, Chucky, Gargamel and Rattlesnake Jake.

I’ll take

T.I.M.E.

Temps temporarily in the parking-lot

and we ain’t got a lot but talk.

You took all our gold.

Children all get sold to a system that has no ears to listen to common sense

The pretense is that we elect our officials

But officially it comes to us at some expense

It’s the banks that lent, that rent

It’s the banks that are toilet, that are plumber

And my Social Security Number is a Serial Number

It’s only so long before I wind-up on ice,

Even the tag on my toe will have a price,

While I’m alive, it’ll be come, go & stop__

Weather I like it or not__

__we’re just temps temporarily in the parking-lot.

The ER Almighty Inside The Sun

Hope you get Hashimoto 

in your big toe 

and that it go to each elbow, 

quickening real slow.

I'm a rebel, 

real con moto, 

took a photo 

of Toto 

while you were off eating Total 

& cavorted with your koto.

Tell Dorthy, 

"Oh, no, we're going to Kyoto!  

There's too many yokel locals rubbing elbows with loco hobos

just going pogo."

Go-to poco?

Lemme get on a knee, 

this zephyr is just a breeze, 

I'll take you--plus two--to Kokanee.  

Really real, it's a disease so

let's go to Poughkeepsie, 

we can sip Pepsi 

with gypsies

who lick batteries

while they inject krokodil 

into their arteries.   

Mama warned of proctologists 

(said they were dangerous)

said apples were good for me.

But Eve would disagree.  

fick dich

If I had a heart-attack,

would ya holla, "Hypercondriac!"? 

Would ya even have my back,

giving me The Heimlich?

I can't help but flinch

that you glitch at my itch--itch--itchy skin,

where do I begin?

We're leading double sin!

Just like the finish line

that did not win,

I can't help but grin,

since he just can't keep trim.

Yet his dimensions are pretty thin.