down in me

He had a regular-sized dick and I went to the store and I stole it. From the regular-sized dick collection behind the glass. A lot of us talk about beauty. A regular hanker for a cure, a regular size, not big or extra. I said, I’ve been waiting to do this all night and then I went and did it just like I’d seen it done. I don’t know what happened after that. Someone had thrown a breast and shattered the glass and a glass crackling caught my eyeball. But they are one of those bands that are going to sound normal live.

Here is something I sweated over pretty disgracefully:

IN WHICH WE WRITE ABOUT SEX AND OUR INTENTIONS ARE UNCLEAR

And here is a poem I wrote about a second ago and didn’t edit:

just racking up a couple of sad sorry states of affairs
decided i didn’t feel like much of anything
no sugar rat poison
no boys swimming
decided i felt like a much more hungry child
decided your talk bubbles blow my ass in water
decided to become a free agent
disgusted with what’s left of my
oh i don’t know
i racked up a few lines of indiscretion
and decided to take your comments all too seriously
decided to live dispassionately
like a humbug hungry for the harbor
what do i know
the poetry of my repetition is indiscriminate
and i’m inseminated

I don’t know why boys make my ticking clock tock but we won’t go into that so there you go.

I reviewed (sorta, kinda) Scorch Atlas by Blake Butler for a shiny new site called ‘other’ which I am deeming ‘official hangout’ like The Peach Pit or The Max but with more stripey dicks and strange refrigerators.

Big-as-the-milky-way thanks to Crispin ‘Bringing the Internet Together’ Best and Socrates Adams-Florou, whose new novel touched me in my special place. Also theirs are not the stripey dicks far as I can tell.

If you wake up, the night will be over, and if you don’t have another drink, the night will be over, if I’m not entertaining, the night will be over, and if there is silence, the night will be over and if you worry, the night will be over and then it is over and you come into view of the children basking in the sun with people walking dogs, freshly fucked, sour-smelling and them, bright-eyed and you, longing for another hit – to speed hearts and close eyes and sharpen tongues and never have to live the rejection of the day of you. Listen, I know I overstate earnestly, but some people deal okay with that. This country’s people are not warm like its weather is not warm and immigrants need to remember to keep hands inside the railing at all times.

100 better words and others even more so at amphibi.us with love