Jason

Yards are a staple component of the South I grew up in
More lived in by children
Than the houses of their parents
I used to live with a tree
Tall, skinny, beaten
Windswept and worm eaten
Dripping aesthetic parasites
Too weak to climb, even for a little girl
That tree taught me
the meaning of frustration
and I think about it
when I listen
to you
hating yourself.

Like Kissing God

God totally slips you the tongue
and sneaks a hand up under your shirt
God finger fucks me in an airplane bathroom because he can't wait till we hit the ground
God grabs your ass in public, when he knows the others can see
God waits til you're surrounded
and tugs your hair and scratches your back
when he knows you can't do anything about it until you've regained your privacy but not your composure
God knows the shape of my thighs in stockings like the back of his hand
he day dreams of holding me when he's supposed to be conducting business
God loses his train of thought when he muses on the outline of your nipples visible through your shirt
God blushes when he thinks about fucking me in an unrelated conversation
which happens more than God cares to admit
God just loves the texture of my pussy
God's never had it so good

(halfway conceived by Jon Mmmayhem, and desperately in need of a picture.)

Headspace Crawler

She walked into my brain while I slept with a smirk on her face and a cigarette dangling from her lip. Arbitrary surreal location: oversized bed, red sheets, black cave open to the ocean. She came from the right and I watched her approach; she didn't walk, she sashayed.

This lady knew what she'd come looking for, and she looked like she'd found it. Still that self confident smile and a cool pale hand pushing my bony shoulder till head hit pillow and she hovered over my face and parting lips. I watched her hair grow, our clothes sheered to nothing.

Seashell hands pushed away my cobwebs sliding over whiter skin till I was arched and gasping; This Woman was undoing my scars, sliding fingers into my heart.

The pain was exquisite, narrowing the world to nothing save those eyes (those eyes hold oceans) looking at me cocksure as she spread my skinny thighs laughing as she filled me till I felt her coming from my throat. I opened my mouth and she spilled out screaming, fucking me like she was in need and I was the answer to everything she'd ever asked for. Pinned, fingernails cutting my breasts, hipbones bruising mine, pretty face passion snarled through red hair clotted like blood.

I grabbed her wrists bones grinding positions reversing. But taking her control broke the magic. She lay stiff and mocking under me, responding to my passion with cold laughter. This porcelain mannequin with bloody fingers inside my wrists could have been a ghost except for those terribly alive blue orbs with their cruel glitter.

I turned away. She sat on the opposite side of a wooden table, separated from me by a plate of sushi. Gleaming sleek as a loved kitten, she smiled and pouted. I felt cold. Forced a smile. In a room of tables she stood behind me with her hands on my throat pressing till my lips parted. She filled my mouth with golden liquid and kissed me. I swallowed with her tongue in my mouth...she tasted like summer as I drank her.

She oozed out my scars red and gold reforming the shape of a woman with her arms around me. I put my head on her chest and woke up.

Processing

Burgling electronic isolation with words to make me run
because I am human
and fear what I don't understand
I'll wait for you
he says
By the way, how's your face feel?
Tongue tip tripping, he's laughing at me.
He makes me laugh at myself
tub edge sitting
dying my hair for a bald man
hours away in a city I can't stand

My face?
it's going to stick like this

small alternating smiles hiding behind confused fingers
I say
This will take years
Unkissed smile shine in my general direction
women who fear commitment cause evolution
Y chromosomes now contain x ray vision
The man's a flight tracker.

"You brought me up from a very dark place

I'm not sure you quite understand how much that means

Or the significance it gives you in my life

it takes someone that i have a great connection with to do what you did"

Do I dare disturb the universe, Mr. P?

Do feelings like those require a spectacular focus?
Does left field eloquence deserve any less?

I'm waiting for you
he says
I'm waiting for you
he says
I'm waiting for you
I say
You're crazy.

Zen Color

Space with only stars and rockets
stolen shade swept over
pale eyelid winking at another painted face
half seen through peopled haze
Mars spiders dancing in death clothes
Thanatos flirting with a leather jacket
body so slowed I can feel my heart beating
beat box breaking
the man doesn't know what he's saying
speech without sound
bold text in a bathroom stall
the unwritten is what I want you to read
define the color
of negative space for me

graffiti heart

Photographic burlesque artist
muscle, bone stripped to two dimensions
viscerally screaming for three
He goes largely unseen
believing visionaries impossible
unregistering painted signal

outsize eyed undermuscled muse
artistic rescue operation
Eye scream aquamarine
soul kiss eye contact
heart pounding asylum-eyelid
recording for preservation

undertoe

Sprawled back
Feet elevated, pedestalled
the altar is raised flesh
Spit slicked sweat
Curves aligned, spread
Pinky planes tongued and fingered
by unafraid pilgrim
honest fetishist prostrate
before the sole texture of sex
cock ache arches flex
walk with a subtle undercurrent of pussy
to an upstairs room
where a man kills himself
over the beauty of those toes

(Photo by Rebecca Brown)

Smile

Like most modern Americans, I am obsessed with teeth. Childhood punctuated early and often with visits to various dentists and orthodontists, cruel children laughing through perfect fangs viewed through the red shame of lunch with a retainer.

The first time I remember utilizing a mirror for self examination, I was eight. The mirror hung ceiling to floor on the back of the bathroom door showed me a short pale body with oversized blue eyes and long sunshine hair. I smiled without parting my lips and was surprised to find I found myself pretty.

The first time I remember being mocked for my teeth I was six. Within two years an elephant eared orthodontist told my black haired parents that my undersized, deformed jaw would not grow correctly and they stapled frowns over their straight, even teeth and spent one hundred and ten dollars every month so I could be an adult with a functional mouth.

My braces came off at thirteen. No one noticed. My teeth were slick, exposed, unnatural. I wore colored gloss on my lips. I chewed gum and crunched ice.

By sixteen, cruel mouths vomited laughter and I just puked. Splendid functionality ignored till mandatory family dinners, I wore my nails short and I jammed stiff fingers down raw throat tube, risking my enamel. That was my life till twenty.

At twenty and seven months, a steady diet of travel and tequila combined so that I lost my appetite for public approval. The holes in my cheeks formed black scabs that are now soft scars under my tongue. I grew my nails out and smiled at my teeth in the mirror.

At twenty one, there’s a gap in my atria. The hole from a wisdom tooth surgically removed and not stitched up. The wound will heal, but that was no milk tooth. Tongue probes soft edge, remembering hard red cored white bone.

I will die with straight teeth and scarred cheeks and I will be buried with red paint on my mouth.

(photo: www.asylum-photo.com)