Kick In The Stones:
10:49 Dec 09 2008
Times Read: 576
Gum drop kisses in ga-ga land
I wanna marry a candy-man
And if he tickles my bones at night
I wont fuss or squirm or fight
Be this a lesson to the wives that pray
On some white night or some bright day
The wilderness in men is a deep dark thing
Don't open your mouth or your ears will ring
They spread on her smile with a paper knife
Even an idiot could do it, with big strong hands that
Would force her mouth wide open and stick oil
Stained fingers deep within her moist caverns
She wouldn't speak much unless spoken to and
When she did it was only an affirmation of what
Had already been said. Like a dog, a bitch, and she
Would have to cower beneath the hands of the wild black
Bows of the iron clad trees that grew in her own back-yard
She wanted to burn her world down and breathe in the smoke
That got her stoned because it was easier to dream than to
Fight hordes of cocks that strut and pose and peck
He was a rooster from the far farm lands of -
Oh, it doesn't matter, he was a faceless wonder
A blunder, a ruse, an open palmed slap to the wet
Cheeks of baby blue and his crowd of senators that
Would wear their piss stained sheets around their shoulders
And pretend that their father's didn't beat them senseless
Those poor boys from the north east, south east, far east, mid-
West and rolling through the thunderin' hills of an all American
Breakfast with ham and eggs and a little bit of toast (not too much please- I'm on a diet and as you know 'carbs are the enemy', ha ha ha!)
Now lets walk brutally through the midnight streets and step-
By-step we will crush fat buildings as if we were sorting through
Soda cans looking for a dime to eat on.
Crunch Crunch Crunch went the sounds of hammers while I walked
Up the sides of the big-rock candy mountain, danced
Like an angel on the peak of sin. And when my dance was done
They bent me over had their fun, because I was fat, because I had fed from the smelly hands of
My Imperial masters and it had given me breasts, women's breasts, and they were ripe and ready for picking.
So they leaned me down hard against the jukebox and they
Humped away my human rights, washed away my dignity beneath
The bitter spit of men who had been tossed aside like trash.
No wonder I was the one who felt guilty,
After a week of cold reflection with my family,
Who told me everything would be okay, but would never look at me the same away again, like I was dirty,
Like I was something to be ignored and shunned, like I was a stain on their own reputation.
It's no wonder that I feel like I was the one who did the rapping,
And that I had deserved every inch-of-cock that I got.
Sheer blue stars on the musky spring nights, touching down
Like spotlights and tenderly illuminating the faces of many
Small girls. They stood stark still like marble statues, awaiting
The call of the clarinet with its jail-bird sound. Three blues crows sat
Swinging on a wire, raining down rhythm like an apple-faced choir
They were red in the lips, big fat lips, and they cackled when the beats
Of the little sisters would hang in the air and never move, not until they told them they could.
That was what these fair gentlemen did, and that was why there were there
Eternally, like gliding steps of planets on the ballroom floor. Curving
To meet the movements of that big beautiful sun.
A bell rang and the class stood at attention, only to sing a prayer that was
A pledge of allegiance to your country or mine
I never could tell which.
One of these days baby. BANG! ZOOM! Straight to the moon!
And while you're sailing I'll be pinned down to the rug with the dust bunnies while
Six overworked thugs with bronze shields dominate me for wielding my authority around as if I owned it.
A man's home is his castle, and I was subject to usurpation by law
By system of government. The same system that told me smoking these cigarettes would freshen my breath.
I'm sorry Janet, but it's the way I was brought up, the way I was groomed and cultivated.
I am like the nettles your mama used to pick in the rain and boil down
For you morning tea. I sting when I am natural, I hurt when I am raw
And it is only by sucking me dry that you may find nourishment in my bones
Suckle on the marrow, because it is rich in nutrients, because it is delicious
Suckle because it is the right thing to do, because I will not be put to waste.
Even when I am made ineffective by the powers that brought me into being
I knew it, but I never saw it coming
I never was capable of comprehending
That they might fill my arms full of gifts
And while I stand helplessly in love
Kick me right in the stones
Friction Addiction: Check It
08:02 Dec 01 2008
Times Read: 609
On the serpent lust
Chained up like a howling dog
Straining the piano chords of
Conventional culture
Cause it snapped at your heels
And snarled in the wet shadows
Beneath the abrasive arm of the
All American handler, eating apple pies and
Pissing rainbows
I love my bread and butter, honey breather
Now suck back on this bottle of gin and swill
And please me like I deserved to be pleased
On all fucking fours
One day you'll maul a small child
And place its bones in your yard all dirty
With spit and slime and jizz
Cause it gets you off when you snuff out
The lights in the house of hope
You might do it
If it weren't for my whores I know I would
What keeps you more on the line
Than wet pussy smiling at you from
Across a pearly black room
Squeaking with the broken hinges of knick
Knack- Patti- whack
Give this bitch a bone
Aye. Yae. Yae. What a travesty!
They shot Romeo!
They murdered Romeo!
They blew his mind out on the five-oh-
Five. That little sucker didn't get out alive.
But who gives a shit,
Who gives a god damn?
He was just a painter, like any other,
Spraying his brains out on the walls of
Eternal New York City
When he danced with Diandra that
Freshly shaven bombshell, with more piss
And vinegar than a piss and vinegar factory
Yee-aaah, that bitch has balls son
And they're right between her legs,
Seen?
I seen.
I have seen, you, slurping up the puddles
Of newly fouled love, still warm and settled
With bits of the practitioners still floating
Like corpses in the shallow depths...
That shit is like whiskey fire
And it gets you drunk.
It makes me wonder, boy-child
Is that what sent you prancing through-
The Murder Houses, wearing nothing for protection
But that holy smile on your face?
I bet it got knocked right off
In these fetid walks of street lust
Where you can't feel the hot press of flesh
For less than a straight twenty (20) across her
Big black back
Well mud-flinger,
You did me in real good
It's like you and that Romeo were playing tricks
From your bedroom, beneath the sheets, playing
Tushy tag and snarling in the wet shadows
Cast down by the make-shift tents of your bent
Elbows, gasping out poems more hot and heavy
Then anything I could have scratched on my skins
Cause it was purely for the moment, which is something
I've rarely noticed, nor felt, as if it passed me by like
The cool winds of the death cloud
Los Muertos..
Two skeletons making love by the fire
Leaning down on the handsome furs that were cut
Down from the forests, that were hanging there,
Waiting for the buyers and the sellers and
The whole crowd of people to come walking in
Say hello, cheery-o! Good day, goodbye, so long and
Good luck, my fair friends who have feasted with us for
Oh so long, it seems like it was only a mere flash of time
A brittle blink of god's crisp eye
And those bone-daddies sleeping by the hearth
Why that must be sweet Jane, all lovely with her black skin
Nearly burnt to a crisp
Making love, making love. What’s
The costs of making love? A pound of flesh for every
Warm embrace while the clawing night runs its fingers
Over the tomb-stone cold windows, leaving sticky prints-
Writing love letters
I want you to know this, and you tell Romeo too
When you see him
That I was always a good brother, and I always, always
Looked out for you, and mama, and little C with her
Bright red dancing shoes that got covered in mud
On some cold January morning, running home, just trying
Not to get raped
I want you to know just how much I cared about you
Not so much that I'd show it, except in the beats I laid
On your greasy head, when I caught you with your hand
Stuffed down the pants of that Polish boy who's papa ran
The liquor store just Kiddy-Korner from where we used to play
But I don't blame you
It's not me that hates you, its them
Its not me that beat you, its them
And now you're gone
Off somewhere with Romeo
Because he slipped you the poison
And your finger pulled the trigger
In about a week
They'll probably find me
Dead in the bathroom
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