Posts Tagged ‘Tucson’


 

 

COWGIRL

 

“He had a dick

like a horse,”

she said, speaking

of her last lover. “It

was way too big.”

 

“I thought the bigger the

better?” I said.

 

“Well,” she

sighed, “up to

a point,

but yours is

much better, much more

suitable.”

 

“Great,” I said. “What

luck.”

 

We were lying

in bed, naked

without blankets.

 

“Let’s change

the subject,

ok?”

 

But she didn’t

seem to hear me. Her body

was there

but her mind was

somewhere else.

 

Probably

at the fucking

rodeo.

 

 

AFTER TOO MANY BLOODY MARYS

 

The cut

on my dick

is in the shape

of a cross.

 

My girlfriend

has devout

teeth

 

white

strong

clean

 

but not

without guilt.

 

 

 


GATHERING WOOD FOR BRADBURY

Fair in height, 451 tall trees with an enormity of loose leaves allowed me to  see the world for what it really was. I saw grids, launch pads, bacterial  formations. I saw intricate simplicities from the design of daffodils to the  correct function of an extraterrestrial larynx. And I watched it all circulate.  Bent on challenging and supporting the natural order. Chronicles depicted  neo-gothic expenditures, forest treks, diagnostics on the unexplainable  creationist chop block. Existence. A carpenter’s self reflection in the waters  of a glazy brown marsh.

The passengers on an exclusive interstellar trip to Europa’s Indian  Reservation organized alphabetically, chronologically — and according to the  masculinity of voice boxes. The swelling size of wicked wallets.

We forage for tree trunks homing the tenacity to plant seeds never planted  before, to bear fruits inconceivable even in grandiosely exotic foreign  landscapes. We’ve got nature’s inebriated touch: dream wood pulp, that majestic  literary type of gloop. Leaf resonates well.

Sometimes “pioneer” is an insufficient adjective, attachment for praise. My  main man, late night storyteller book master, counting the pages until Earthlife  is rekindled as organic and flesh-like, fully AWARE of these DNAnachronicities  plaguing the depths. Hidden from view until men’s voices grow dignified enough  to reach the canopy levels, and hold a torch to it. So birds can listen and  humans can find it.

Memories of the T-Rex from “A Sound of Thunder” take up large proximities in  my nostalgic data storage, you see. Laboratory physicists must’ve known how  expansive Phineas Fogg could be in filling the woodland wilderness with stifling  air – science fiction’s oxygen tank.

Manhood

Illustrated

by our supplied actions
The verdict is supranational library up keeping
a good way to keep the true characters alive