Posts Tagged ‘James Mirarchi’




in levi’s 511’s

sit on ottoman

mash down its face

let it dry munch my ass

until i’m superior again


across room

young tan man sits indian-style on floor

slowly cuts out ominous letters

from tinfoil sheet

will eventually form words:



next to him

conjugal birthday cake

naps on my bed

pulsates under slime-green frosting

reese’s pieces encrust its borders

breathes thru peanut butter slits


since 40

i no longer blow out candles

my cake blows out mine


ottoman’s fuzz

pricks my ass cheeks thru levi’s 511’s

i resolve this by trimming it

slather cushion with barbasol cream

shave off fur with gillette disposable razor

then sit on it to test out

rub my balls back-&-forth

against smooth undulating surface


for 1st time

ottoman refuses to dry munch

begins TICKING instead

i tear open pillow

pull out innards

comprised of terrible clock mechanisms


i’m appalled by annoying sound

only to notice my birthday cake

nasty & dripping

watching me

i then scoop out its entrails

find more TICKING


i step back

to impassive image of young tan man

still cutting out tinfoil letters

as if set on perpetual replay





Feeling in the dark

we’re two blind admirers

trying to interpret the braille of each other’s faces

You lean my head back

Take my Adam’s apple in your mouth like a jawbreaker

Your stubble marks the skin of my throat

Our breathing terrorizes the night

I take your ear lobe in my mouth


And LOVE bleeds in

You do the same for my belly button

LOVE bleeds in

My kisses break open the slats of your blinds

STARS gush thru your boarded up body

You graze my eyelids with yours

slicing the foggy lenses beneath

A rational LIGHT floods in




Sebastian corners you into small spaces

Makes you blush

Forces you into the most graphic light possible

Stripping you of comfy shadows


Travis corners you into small spaces

But subtly owns your territory

His palpable energy field

A friendly violation


Travis is social royalty

Sebastian is his poor man’s doppelganger


Their codependent bond stems

From a drunken teen trauma:

One day, after school

Travis (already a closeted “ladies’ man”)

Dove onto Sebastian

And fired his alcohol-marinated tongue

Into his pal’s stunned mouth

All the while – yanking down his gym shorts


In the courting sunlight

Sebastian remained on the grass of his backyard

As Travis’ tongue skillfully ran up

The underside of his swelling dick

Then along its ticklish slit

Before finally residing on his

Heaving stomach and chest

Which were coated with a sticky sweat and dirt

Travis gave his ribs muscular kisses

Pleasurably pressing down on them


As he held Sebastian’s dick firmly

In his burning hand

He mumbled

Oh, that’s nice. That’s so nice.

Travis squeezed him harder

I like you Sebastian. You don’t act like the other fags. You act like a guy.


This faux-acceptance is what triggers

Sebastian’s sad idolatry of Travis

He even takes on the title of “closeted ladies’ man”

But partially in vain


Like two noble impostors

Both Travis and Sebastian woo their straight female counterparts

But while Travis is always deemed the main feature

Sebastian is seen as the accompanying B movie

A chaser to a Molotov cocktail