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Sunday, May 31, 2009

Because Suicide is Too Easy

I hang on
stay alive
as long as
it takes
to be there
to piss on
your grave

Dope Dealer

never commit
a felony
for free

always try to
get paid for
as well

never get high
on your own
never ride around
never get caught
in the place
you were
last seen
never make change
never front it away

even though
to keep it
you have to
break every

try to always
avoid mistakes
try to be
to avoid others
mistakes as well
never believe
a mouth that
is smiling
never listen to
words that are
never look into
eyes that are

they know the score
they know the payoff
if they don't, then
you have to ask

does the exchange rate
merit the risk of
passing along
good information
on a bad situation?

never lose sight
of the bottom line

never hate a hustle
but beware hustlers

never use your
real name
never reveal
your real

keep it moving
until you can't
until it hurts
then move
some more
lay it down
all on the line
all in for
the last card
is revealed

ace of spades

no jokers
no jokes

the trigger finger
is itchy

the shooting hand
is shaky

the blood registers
with a
curling motion

a long spiral
to the floor

forming a puddle
with sharp edges

giving you a place
to rest your head

against the
hardest blade
of nightfall

this isn't
a rest

these are not
rules to live by
these are rules
to deal by

dealing is not
making a living
it is just doing
basic math
with fleshless

or die

Good Morning

in the waking hours
of a winter morning
pulling on life
from the source
to get the spirit back
in your mouth, heart, lungs, mind,
eyes, limbs, ears, fingers, nostrils
fill it up to level and then
let it overflow into the
first moments of
until it becomes awakened
with your movements
and the still born
is washed away
and the sensation
that is felt as a
slight tingle
and then a
warming throb
rubs against your first
thoughts of static
and you say
“Good Morning”


i am inside a lil’ piece of you that
hurtles through space and time
at the velocity of life
as it is in the living
what has been made
as it is in the making
as you encounter those
who are searching for
something to create an
instantaneous and artificially
organic moment with
a catalyst for
immediate analysis
something to apply fire to
that will instantly alter the
conscious moment
from rock to oil to smoke to gas and
finally back to crystalline formations
on the inner folds of a young
crack whore’s damaged lungs, she coughs
up blood and offers it up as love
her blackened fingers are the
Venus sculptures missing limbs
her womb gives birth
to pregnant expectations,

crack baby

Hardcore Explanation

and as I
lap at
the area
the labia
to the
the middle
two fingers
in and pushing
the swollen gash
into my mouth
as I write a
with my tongue
I am aware that
the taste is bitter
some of the time
on occasion to the
point of being a
little bit noxious
and I always persist
because she won't
come real good
and hard
like I know
she wants to
if I don't keep
it up and
keep at it

and my reward
is to see that clit
all cherry red
and blood swollen
at the final moment
and to feel the rolling
shivers and trembles
crest through her body
like great waves
crashing on my face

and its so real to be
with her then
probably the most
real experience I will
ever know with
a woman

but, my jaw usually hurts
long afterward
and sometimes the smell
can be very strong
and it seems like a job

and I would like to write
about the experience as if
it was all sweetness and sugar
all of the time
because sometimes it surely
can be sweet
but not always
so I can't
and that is why
I hardly ever
write any poems
eating pussy

Ice Dealer

a small light oscillates
in a dark space
that stretches beyond
a broken mirror image
of fear
chinese words are exchanged
for severed nerve endings
impulses begin to move faster
to search for meaning
in the middle of velocity
(something here is always in need
of repair)
eyes stare blankly at
skeletal walls
nine days past redemption
emotions become kinetic
all on their own
the broken mirror image
becomes a coffee table
that cuts those who are not alert
the beds here are not for sleeping
they are stations to plan and
launch attacks from
they are the launch pads
of hasty judgments
that tip one of the many
scales a little too far
into the negative
after a barrage
which summons an
ugly apparition
of a crystalline beast come loose
with a voracious appetite
feeding on all gray matter in it’s path
it is the asian curse
on the young aryans
their souls forever tattered
by its transparent teeth
and claws
their eyes forever open
to its transparent
their college degrees
spotted with blood
that drips from the
cold spoons that once
fed them the ice cream
of their dreams
and now holds the nightmare
of their sleepless
and when they need
they will have to
pay dearly

Home Invasion

the door gets
kicked in
we come in
Dada is home
coming into you
every way we can
telling you what do
how to feel about it
from moment to moment
what to buy
when to buy it
always reminding you
to stock up on more
because you eat this shit up
you hear us when we tell you
it's not enough
you are not enough
you need the super economy size
because you always fuck up
you always get it wrong
so have some of our shit
on a spoon
some of
our piss
in a bowl
some of
our cum
on your ass
now give us
your cash
your credit cards
your children
then get back
to work
to get us more
so we can
give you more
of what we have
got for you
service with a smile
from a disconnected voice
that always tells you
you have been selected
you are the next contestant
don't bother coming down
we have already penetrated
your ordinary lives with
our extraordinary volume
and persistent consistency
we are past the hoop
up your ass
deep in your pussy
tweeting your twitter
expanding your market
your horizons
your need
our greed
we didn't just show up
we were here before you were
Dada is home
in your house
eat it all up
and beg for more


One girl gets scared of another in a flirtatious moment turned vulnerable.

A noise is made in haste and then a moment of suspense as the breath and life is stifled for as long as it takes to make a point or end a life. Either option is preferable to the sound of interruption and complaint. Compliance and silence is more what is desired in a moment like this. Her hand pressed so hard as to cut off all air and squeeze the young flesh of the face against the skull and the eyes open wide as she tries to see and hear what the moment has in store for her next. Her heart pushing hard against her chest her and her vulva swollen with blood as her juices flow like a river.

Her captor is betraying safety and boundaries in exchange for the upper hand and she is feeling the power of dominance surge through her as she gives in to the fear driven temptation that she can take what she wants and its time to do so. She maneuvers her weight over the grip she holds across her victims face and she buries her fingers into the other vixen’s crotch and pulls an ample handful of sweat and secretion that belies the order of the moment. Desire begotten by desire in perfect unison without any judgment or moral to cloud the rush of intensity that is now delivered to every extremity in this coupling. Sounds are liquid and air surging and sighing, gasping and flowing. The air smells thick and sweet as if blood has engorged the walls of the room and made it thickened with lubrication.

There are no social boundaries left. This is fucking with all the twisting and writhing and struggling that word promises but is seldom delivered at its utterance. This is the sub-conscious moment that all masturbation defers to, whether it be pussy or cock or asshole or nipple or lips or earlobes.

This is that moment that is under the surface of every held hand and exchange of phone numbers and last glance before we turn away from each other. In the dark, damp caves of our primordial desires, this is all we ever wanted. In one moment, before orgasmic splendor drips away into human culpability and order that will superimpose and bring about a condition where a role must be played with a past and a future.

The sad fact is this moment has a drain plug that will be pulled and the fulfillment will drain away like used motor oil from an engine that is long overdue for a change. It becomes dark and regrettable as it is thought about afterward. But, in the moment it is expulsion of the ordinary and capture of the taste of relinquishment to the carnal instinct to fight for pleasure anyway you can.


she was standing in the door way
like 28 years had never passed
there was a dim glow behind her
but that could have been a faulty
light fixture in the distance
and my eyes have been worn down
by street life vigilance and now
the world appears as a digitized Van Gogh
of shattered memories and blurred
“you don’t look happy to see me?”
she said with a mock pout
I looked away long enough to reply
“I don’t believe in you, is all”
and I dip my shoulder as if to move to the side
she just stays in her pose, the way I remember her
on our better nights together
I stop close, frozen in the moment
she does look so real
and she speaks again
“you don’t believe in much, do you?”
I shrug
“I actually believe in more than I used to,
I just have this overwhelming suspicion that I
came about my beliefs a little too late to be saved
by the conviction in them”
she cracks a wry smile and I remember
all those moments of my youthful days spent
with her in my arms in cheap rooms around
Hollywood when it was grimy and broke
it all seemed so fragile and yet we went out
against it every day and we laughed about
the inequities more than we felt them as weight
and then she speaks again, before I slip
into a sentimental moment
“I didn’t die at you, you really have to forgive me,
your loneliness is not mine, your sadness is your own,
you really have to let me go and leave this place
before it finally kills you too”
inside my mouth my top front teeth grind
down in behind my bottom ones
and I give her my best truth
“I didn’t come back for you,
although, you do come with the real estate,
you are just a twisted memory of an
unrequited lover who died next me while
I slept, believing you were asleep as well,
an image of my own vulnerability
when I want things to be a certain way
and I can’t make them so,
you appear in so many forms
when I am beaten down from
fighting a losing battle
and now I am told I should surrender
and you are telling me I should run from that as well
like you have told me to run so many times before
the same way I ran from the hotel room that held your
cold and lifeless remains”
she bares her teeth and snorts as if
to hold back a barrage of laughter
“stay then, see where it gets you,
these streets are cleaned up and new,
the business you are failing in left you behind
so fucking long ago you are just a fucking joke
you roll around in desperation, hoping for absolution
that you might earn some remittance through acts of
selflessness and you keep failing
you keep falling into fear and impotency
the world is moving faster and farther
away from you”
she is still the same
always right about one thing
thinking it makes her right about everything
I close my eyes and breath deep to
come back with my best counter
“look, the whole going out in a blaze
of ingloriousness just isn’t me,
or if it is me, its not enough of me,
not completely enough to
give in to it now
she begins to fade a little
as if the light was softening her
outline and her features were getting
softer and out of focus
“maybe not tonight, my love,
but I am always near to you
to show you the way
you know that
by now”
I feel weakened and tired
I don’t believe in ghosts
but Hollywood still has a way
of making the world seem magical for
a moment or a scene
and the disbelief
creeps back in
and I am talking to a wall
on a night where lights
and sounds seem real
enough to bring back the dead
and hope is as illusive as a specter
that seems to emanate from
bad lighting cues
and the cost of keeping
your life in the moment
is believing in yourself
more than the illusion
of love lost to death
in the distant past
of tinseltown

Images by Disciples Of Desire
Words by A. Razor

Disciples Of Desire Press, 2009