Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Old Poetry From The Dirt

Maria (Crucifixes And Cumshots)

she comes to me again in silent confession. seeking my council. my consent.
she walks with a swagger of purpose. her spiritual avarice.my desecration of God in every step. her brown eyes ablaze with faith. her brown hair begging for my fists.

I’ve spent so many years. cramming backwoods morality down her throat like an overzealous prom king.

tonight I shall taste my own hypocrisy on her lips.

Roses Are Red For A Reason

suburbia in black and white. colors drained away and sold to support the war effort.
gothic kids with razorblades.
pornographic housewives and abusive husbands.

A well-trimmed garden is irrelevant at this point.


nightmares of freedom,
the lines are blurring.

when I focus my eyes they look like stitches.

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