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Christ's cigarettesI smoked Christ's cigarettes last night, and they were wonderful,
and they made me cough black soot and fire, but they were whole
and tasty. I smoked Christ's cigarettes last night, and I felt good
about myself for a bit, as that holy smoke lingered in my throat,
as I exhaled sin, and as I exhaled suffering. I smoked Christ's cigarettes last night,
and I wept spent ashes all over the carpet, and I stared down
those new stains with abject sadness. I smoked Christ's cigarettes last night,
but in my nicotine-fueled haze, I forgot to pray for goodness.
I smoked Christ's cigarettes last night, but I was too comfortable,
and the night was too bright, and I forgot to pray to my Lord.
I smoked Christ's cigarettes last night, or maybe
I just played the wishful dreamer, drunk on his own regrets.
Now I'm hungover and tired, and I wish
I could smoke Christ's cigarettes again.
Cutthroat magicianCutthroat magician,
you spit fire and red-hot
vitriol and spit.
Cutthroat magician, do you
care about me?
I sometimes whisper your name
in the dark, when there's nobody around.
what comes to mind when you hear my name?
if you think the way you speak,
you never hear my name.
who am I to you?
your words hit my heart like
a cigarette burning into my skin.
my skin is on fire.
my skin is on fire when it aches and it stings
to sit in that skin around you.
what do you know of family?
what does it mean to be a mother
but not have a child?
did you know that I have feelings?
half the time you speak,
do you ever think about me?
do you ever think about me
or my feelings?
what did I do to you?
Boy with a girlfriendCome staple your lips to mine
and die by my side, exhaling
sweetness and sex
on your wet breath.
Come over and melt your tongue
on my neck, gentle kisses
and your smooth soft skin
and your smooth soft voice.
I can't quite say that you remind me
of some beautiful old memory, because
that memory is you
next to intimacy and me.
Whenever my phone buzzes to remind me
that you want to talk and giggle with me,
I smile and I remember that you
are the best thing ever to grace me.
For that, I can't help but thank you.
you beautiful little thing.
Car speechCar speech,
green and garbled, slurred and painted yellow,
pale and effervescent, golden bubbles,
golden bubbles, golden bubbles in your hair,
strange and psychedelic, starkly yellow
like nothing I have seen before.
BridalBlown by the wind, violet
like the sound of your voice, quiet and poetic
into the night, calm and collected.
You turn and glance down, melancholy, affected
still by the still air, wind whipping your skirt, a shy blush
escapes, and you turn again, and you walk.
Hung up in the attic, fresh and scarlet, blossoming
and tender, you left your gown, your tear-stained gown, on which
my tears have grown stale, your dress wrinkled, the house creaking.
Wrinkled lines curved like sticks in the mud, on your muddied dress,
touched by children, back to your children, in silence,
it stares, and it begs reflection, while the air is stagnant and cool.
You turn your eyes to the road, and you weep gently, blue
and white sorrow, a handkerchief in hand, and I watch in silence,
like your old dress, and I cry at the sound of your wind-whipped voice, quiet and poetic.
FixednessFliers and fixed form poetry,
stuck in a rut like "that's not right" (you'll get your break)
but unwilling to fight this fight and wrong the right
by knowing me, breaking charge and going free,
free to be me in ecstasy,
mesmerizing, carnally real and red
and knowing all, all-knowing, insightful,
the voice that says to eat Calabar with belladonna, unseparated,
like tires that tread
an empty space, emptiness
and morosity, frustrated, fluid,
fixed and sad, the sad state of fixedness.
Love Song for DagmarShes a glutton, shes no kitten; she can stuff her face for Britain
See her sitting in her Citroen, you can spot her from afar.
She is buxom, she is brazen, see her bottom, its amazing,
She is straining at the straplets of her cantilevered bra.
Shes an airship, shes a trawler, still I worship and adore her
Shes a randy landslide riding in her flash French car.
As a goddess, shes the oddest, and shes vulgar and immodest
Shes the empress of breast, she is my sweet Dagmar.
Shes no figment, shes no fragment, shes a fat fridge magnet
and shes sticking like a limpet to that big white door.
You can like it, you can lump it, shes a slattern, shes a strumpet
You can fill her to the limit - shell come begging you for more.
I am smitten, sycophantic; in her panties shes gigantic
As Im straddled, panting, frantic on the pinewood pantry floor.
See her glorious posterior, imperious, superior -
He lays me down & spreads me out on his bed.
He tells me he wants to relieve my stress & help me rest my head.
He runs his fingers through my hair & he kisses my lips,
He takes away the tension by playing with me below my hips.
As my legs are up high in the air,
I feel like I have no worries or cares.
He plays me so hard I let out a slight yell,
& I wonder if something this good will put me in hell.
Some people told me I shouldn't try
Because all you do is make me cry
But I love you to much to let you go
I love you more then you think you know
You tell me that you just don't care
All those times I needed you there
to hold me when i hurt real bad
to dry my tears, and take my sad
you can't understand how i feel inside
when it was over, I just died
All I want is for you to see
is what you really mean to me
Ever since that horrible day
that i heard those words you had to say
I can't stop thinking about you
I want you to know all this is true
Everything you've read
is about the things you've said
I'll never, ever stop tryin'
But I am so sick of Cryin'
April's HouseThe man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionless brick chimney and got high.
The roof in South Oakland always reminded me of Mary Poppins.
Vodka coursing through my blood, I danced like a chimney sweep.
A man with bleached hair and long nails filed to a point walked me home.
He said, Margaret, I want you, and I knew I had stayed in a house full of lies.
Can You Accept Me?Can You Accept Me?:
I'll admit I've done my share of things
Of which I know I can never be proud
And I've tried my best to be a better man;
But I guess I can't right now
The mistakes I've made are pretty clear to me
It's not like I can just wipe a 'tat'
The symbols that go all around my body;
And the numbers on my back...
They're all reminders of who I used to be
What I used to do and how I used to live
But that man just isn't me anymore;
And I need a chance that only you can give
I guess what I really want to say is that:
I'm trying my hardest to change for better
And I need to know that you can forgive me
And so I'm sending you this letter
If it gets to you, then let me know
Reply to me and tell me clear
Can we still be a family?
Can I hope to have you near?
We've been through hell and I know I've done wrong
I never should have stayed just an angry kid
And now that we have one of our own;
I think I know that I need to quit
So please just give me a second chance
In MemoriamAfter: I set on the walk to home,
By woodland paths; I paced, I paced
But then as the cloak of dark came down,
I nearing my old town- was not braced
For that image of moths, flickering blue-
I stumbled there; reminded of you.
So I spun on my heels in evening gloam,
By autumn leaves I raced, I raced
Away from the moments that rendered in silver,
Cast glamour on the forest face
And stabbed through the shimmer of early dew-
I could have died there, surrounded by you.
The Feelings That LingerThe Feelings That Linger:
The sound of your voice still lingers here
Even though I know you're gone...
And my nights have turned to sleepless days;
They grow worse with every dawn...
You've probably heard this story though
At least a thousand times or more.
But the thing I remember best about her
Is the sound of that closing door...
It was like the end to everything;
A cloud inside my head.
When I came awake on that final night;
I reached for her in bed-
But an empty space was all I got;
There was no one to wipe these tears.
I could scream and cry for many hours;
But it wouldn't chase my fears.
I tried so hard to tell myself
That everything would be alright.
But instead I ended up reminsicing
About her ever-present light...
I'm just so tired of everything;
I wish I didn't have to think...
But maybe you'll hear me one last time;
If I put this down in ink:
We had a life that was beautiful
KissYou don't need to put your hair up
To show you wear a crown
You don't need to paint your face up
To make my walls fall down
You don't need a Wonderbra
To let your sexy shine
You don't need gold or diamonds
To tell the world you're fine
You don't need designer clothes
To prove that you have class
You don't need to know Houdini
To make the magic last
All you need is your sweet love
To be the woman I dream of.
His Never-Wed BrideBriskly comes the bloody winter winds vent
Gray dusk looms over my shattered homestead
The crows caw makes known the warriors descent
Across the dying pasture, misted red
Glory, comes now my once sweetly adored!
Fighting brothers with valiant reluctance
His tender eyes shut, his breathing no more
His body lies stone-cold with stiffened stance
How well he fought for his country and lass
Like Prince Paris, fighting for what he claimed
Now laid ready for a still, somber mass
His face in my conscience forever famed
Gone is the restful warmth of his skin
Gone is the honey-like voice from his tongue
Yet, here he lays, surrounded by my kin
His bluing ears deaf to their praises sung
His eyes like mirrors reflect my despair
His hand is unresponsive to my grasp
Though I know his spirit now watches where
He can escape all maddened soldiers' clasps
Heavens bells peal, the seraphine choir sings
For he has joined the chorus of angels
I can nearly hear his pleasant voice ring
I like him (a lot)To speak of dead willows and wind,
whispering softness and want,
unflourished, forcibly chained down,
contained and pinned, yet still without restraint.
Teal spears of hair like turquoise hunting knives,
hot like hot icicles in hot pink and neon green
and god, this stupidly attractive face
that I want so fucking bad.
I wonder why we hadn't talked till now;
maybe it's because I used to be too shy
to approach hot demi-strangers at raves,
even when it's dark and everything is beautiful for a bit.
Maybe, I think, he's me, 'cause you know,
he likes all the same things, like
melting to the tune of some song I like,
like what, like speechlessness at peace with desire.
I'm rarely at a loss for words,
but sometimes words like "like" fit the best,
especially now, in one of those rare moments
where I'm quietly stunned and don't know what to say
"I like you."
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More