Fear, what is there to fear? Don’t do this and go to Hell, Or Naughty Naughty, Don’t enjoy that dick! You’ll be spanked and sent to Hell! I do this, I don’t care. I mean, are you even relevant? I mean I suck Fear’s dick every morning, So who’s the fuck are you? Why, I’llContinue reading “I don’t follow, I do this….”
Tag Archives: Poetry
Get up!: Message from the Self
Are kings and queens always fools? Do Gorgons fear to tread? No time to rest. No time for play. I have fooled myself into thinking I died. But eternity is a long time and I bore easily. There is only time for conquest.
A trapped rat
I admit that I’m not the most intelligent of rats. I’m trapped in this trap. Though it didn’t kill me, My nightmare is that I will never escape.
Death on 9th Street
“San Diego, CA., Most Beautiful City In America.” Grieving, candles burning the streets. Someone died here. Two days ago, A tent neighborhood was here, ‘luxuary’ apartments towering above. And the neighborhood is gone.
To Do List
Write Read Walk…. to create worlds and then go to them My feet crushes alabaster snow In foothills, where dear shoot men for dinner At the summit the orgies can last for eternity. But I have nothing to read they torched all the libraries. So I read the graffiti on the walls. I walked toContinue reading “To Do List”
A tale of two libraries.
A guard walks through, watching people at public desk tops. The library is new, but feels like a prison…. There is a old building that was once a main library built in the ’40s. The homeless now camp on it’s sidewalk blocking pedestrians. Neither is truly free.
Bobo
It’s been dry all winter, So when the fire came, the forest was ready to burn. I cannot flee. They caught me when I was young, still attach to mother. I know I’m not tied down, yet I cannot flee. Tents burn, people and animals scatter to escape. The air is getting thinner….
What are you?
Are you a toaster? A painting? Or are you what You create? I’m someone perfecting myself as a sexual being. I am a bearer of orgasm And ecstacy. This is my way.
Who are we?
People walking, while people sleep in the streets. Is that an emotion, A sense of helplessness? A powerlessness, despite having wealth Or fame. Are we a people anymore? Are we human, Are you human?
Airport 992
I ride buses to get to work, to visit friends. I ride the 992 to get to work, But more often I desire to jump on a plane and fly home. Here, black are seemingly always poor and of lower class. I’m only here to make money, Only be abused.
Liferaft in the Abyss 