CUNT PUSSY DICK COCK FUCK POEM


			
			"Hi, my name is
			Jim.  I am doing this show on
			HBO and I was given your name and
			told that you are an 
			erotic poet."

			
			he had left a
			message
			on my
			machine
			a few weeks 
			prior
			but I just
			blew it
			off

			
			"I am sometimes accused of that, yes."

			
			"Well, we do this program where we
			showcase poets with
			background and
			images.
			So, what is your stuff like?"

			
			"Well, I dunno.  Why don't I recite a short
			piece
			and you tell
			me."

			
			I rap off a short
			sweet
			and to the 
			point
			set of words
			which include
			slap
			bite
			and
			bleed

			
			
			
			
			"We have certain perameters here at
			HBO
			and we really have to draw the line at
			violence and. . ."

			
			"Well, it wasn't about violence.  I have another
			piece about
			obsessive fucking that is
			3 or 4 minutes
			long."

			
			
			
			"Yes, well I need short pieces."

			
			"I don't have anything for you then."

			
			"Well, maybe you could take my number and
			if you know of anyone that writes 
			erotic poetry
			you could have them
			give me a
			call."

			
			"Yeah, sure."

			
			I write down his number and
			hang up

			
			I am always suspect of anything that dares to call itself
			erotic

			
			bad television and a
			t.v. dinner can be
			erotic

			
			honest poverty

			
			a crusty towel by the side of the bed

			
			a street corner in the middle of the night
			hinged on
			a slight rain

			
			
			fog on empty roads that
			stretch forever like a
			tense lion

			
			kitchens or
			bathrooms are sometimes
			especially
			nice

			
			flannel nightgowns
			and cold cotton sheets charged with anticipation
			as couples conspire to
			satisfaction

			
			but there is generally
			very little to arouse in
			poems
			poets or
			poetry that carry the warning
			erotic

			
			
			like drinking
			light beer
			or
			decaf

			
			they often have little ability to
			stimulate
			inebriate or
			liberate the
			senses


			
			
			FOOD SHOPPING
			


			we were cruising down the
			canned vegetable isle
			and Lorraine says,
			"Did you get any water?  How much do you have
			at home in the
			refrigerator?"

			
			"'Bout 3 or 4 bottles. Just like I usually have.
			Why?"

			
			"Barb says there is going to be another
			big earthquake tonight."

			
			"Oh really?"

			
			"Yeah."

			
			"So how does Barb know?"

			
			"She read it in the Rocky Horrorscope."

			
			"Well hell, if Rocky Horrorscope was right about that one,
			then there would be mass pandemonium in the streets.
			Everything looks pretty calm to me."

			
			a small bit of laughing erupts like a happy volcano
			farting at the sky
			relieving any 
			tension
			trying to build a web around the
			moment

			
			forests of hungry thought
			devour me with a 
			gentle rain

			
			I looked at Lorraine and I felt
			lucky

			
			we checked out at the 10 items 
			or less
			cash only isle with
			milk
			a bottle of wine
			a can of green beans
			and some bread

			
			the night came like a tender giant
			and the earth was alive and
			content
			inside of its skin

			
			the sun was sweating on the other side of the
			world waiting to
			enter
			singing

			
			it was a time to rest

			
			Lorraine was asleep in the
			bed
			next to me

			
			my eyes closed
			I fell into 
			sleep

			
			I was lucky

 
			
			
			THE BAD THING
			


			it was the deepest depression ever

			
			maggots were at critical mass
			crawling freely thru the dishes
			and the stink
			in my
			head

			
			I had done it

			
			fucked myself good this time

			
			it was all gone

			
			the girlfriend
			the best friend
			the room mate
			the work

			
			the dog had deserted me
			and in true L.A. style
			even the phone had stopped ringing

			
			I was alone

			
			it had become my daily ritual
			to begin about noon with a
			3 hour bath in the claw foot tub
			that fit the curve of my
			long back
			so well

			
			I'd relax and focus on
			nothing
			letting my mind float free
			while the water chilled
			all
			the 
			way
			to
			my 
			neck

			
			the most
			feeling experience of my
			day

			
			working the hot water tap with my toes
			to make the water hot again
			then chill
			then hot

			
			2, 3 hours

			
			the tub would ultimately
			suck itself out the drain into a tiny tornado of
			cool gray water and soap scum
			drawing small islands of hair over the wake
			washing me back onto the long funky shores of my
			pathetic
			state

			
			towel off

			
			get dressed

			
			descend to the foot of Grand View Street
			then turn west down 6th Street a block past
			MacArthur Park to
			Lim's
			for my
			meal of the day :
			a hot lunch of
			almond chicken cooked up with chunks of
			zucchini onions and carrot
			fried rice
			chicken noodle egg drop soup
			tasty greasy egg roll
			and a cold pre-classic
			classic Coke in the small pale green bottle with the
			Gibson Girl 
			hips and shoulders
			just for the impoverished
			intrigue

			
			spilled over a plastic cup full of
			hard steaming crackling ice
			spitting and popping 
			the whole deal just under
			3 bucks

			
			couldn't swing the change for a 
			tip

			
			the folks who ran the place were the
			Kims from Hong Kong
			a good hard working couple with
			two young sons
			that would belly up to the counter
			chow down on hamburgers and french fries and speak in
			homegrown 
			Americanese

			
			as the Otis art students
			along with the local low rent lunch crowd
			would all indulge themselves on the menu specials in their
			small private performances of survival
			skirting the omnipotent heat of the homeless 
			unemployed barrio hell
			that cooked in the piercing midtown sun just outside the
			flimsy gray screen door at
			Lim's lunch haven heaven

			
			after my big meal of the day
			things would officially begin by
			getting stoned with one of my stoner neighbors
			either Miguel
			our local illegal over the border type VW mechanic
			who worked the street selling dimes of reefer
			tabs of acid and South American coke
			or Gracin
			my older gal pal from Georgia
			who came to Hollywood to become the next great screenwriter
			but only ever succeeded in becoming
			the story 
			herself

			
			typically tho
			I would listen to my stereo or
			trip thru MacArthur Park till dark

			
			a one man cult on my journey to club dawn

			
			2 or 3 a.m.

			
			I put on my
			long 
			overcoat and
			hit the street

			
			time for my nightly constitutional
			dressed in
			black 
			top 
			to
			bottom

			
			I walk north up Grand View and
			hang left on 3rd
			past Vermont
			towards Western and
			Hollywood proper

			
			I love the night

			
			Mecca of glib madness

			
			there is nothing to obstruct my view of
			the city with its Ozlike appeal
			or its endless maze of
			streets

			
			the light is just right
			on my fair skin
			and pale
			eyes

			
			the skyline winks
			sideways
			competing with the stars for
			space in the night

			
			there is little traffic
			or the stifling sounds of commerce
			to keep me from appreciating the easy music of this
			dark and gentle face of Los Angeles

			
			as a teenager
			it was the only time that the
			living was
			good

			
			at night

			
			when the violence and abuse was
			disrupting the surface of another planet

			
			I would wait for the chorus of snoring
			and the general sounds of sleep to set me off and I would
			sneak out of bed 
			and creep into the kitchen
			like a thief
			to steal the remaining hours drawing 
			still life
			with pen
			pencil
			and
			pastel

			
			it was peace

			
			my world no longer
			at war with
			itself

			
			the truce 
			always 
			complete

			
			just past Vermont
			up by Kenmore and
			3rd

			
			my mind begins to traffic in
			bizarre images
			yanking at the corner of my
			left 
			eye

			
			I
			jerk my head about to
			confirm this terrible 
			quickening
			and 
			it
			is
			gone

			
			across the street and
			back a bit
			behind
			me there was this
			shattering vision of a
			naked man
			dragging 
			a smaller limp body into the garbage
			hunched over like an animal 
			celebrating a kill

			
			but between the tease and the
			turn of the head
			it
			had
			vanished

			
			Fuck!

			
			some evil 
			manic
			lysergic apparition
			seeping out thru small secret holes
			of a hungry and 
			lonely
			imagination

			
			I looked again

			
			nothing

			
			I moved on

			
			a few blocks later
			it 
			returns

			
			it's real

			
			a naked fucking man is
			shadowing me on the opposite side of 3rd
			owning the street with all the panache of a
			mongrel dog licking his hairy ass and bold nuts in public
			just because he can
			his little pink pecker-scepter
			unchallenged in his
			kingdom of
			skin

			
			by 3rd and Western
			he had magically
			and mysteriously
			made it to my side of the street

			
			I was walking full speed

			
			this wacko was somehow
			dashing
			thru back years and alleys
			appearing like a master 
			illusionist
			in his calculated casual manner
			the perverse prick hardly even
			breaking a sweat

			
			I picked up my pace
			turning north up
			Western

			
			he matched me

			
			I thought that if I could
			just make it to the Winchell's at
			Melrose and Western
			I'd duck inside and get away from this
			sick fuck

			
			now he was closing the gaps

			
			showing up in every vacant spot along the way
			closer and closer with each
			contact

			
			my donut sanctuary was about
			2 blocks ahead now and
			this fucking pervert was
			wanking off
			with a full head of steam
			sending me
			all the way to the edge
			and I wasn't into the 
			drop

			
			I decided to
			lay into him at the next
			sighting
			just before I popped into Winchell's
			where I figured there must be a cop
			because it is like they say
			there is always a cop 
			at a donut shop
			in
			L.A.

			
			there it was
			a few steps away
			the last  vacant lot

			
			I could feel him
			about 10 feet away
			forcing himself inside
			my periphery
			unlocking my field of vision
			poised to invade and move freely inside
			to take everything he could touch
 
			
			my secret box of fear sweating under the
			strain of
			demons screaming and barking to be
			free

			
			I turn my head to face this
			monster

			
			a bearded
			well trimmed
			medium sized 
			banker looking type
			with dark hair
			panting like a locomotive and
			jerking his joint with a
			ferocious frenzy

			
			without blinking an eye or
			breaking my stride
			I looked him dead in the eyes
			thrust my right index finger at him
			shouting point blank,
			"MOTHERFUCKER,
			YOU DON'T GET OUTTA MY FACE,
			I'M GONNA KICK YER ASS!!!!"

			
			my declaration complete
			I turned forward to
			face my goal as he
			bellowed out in a
			loud moan of tremendous
			pleasure

			
			I could feel
			the fine skinny hair on the back of neck
			stand erect like follicle cartoons in an abstract
			childhood nightmare

			
			this deranged fucker had wanted me to
			kick his ass
			and I had
			almost
			gone for it

			
			I didn't dare look back
			afraid of turning into a tall pillar of salt
			or having that naked Cro-Magnon weirdo
			spirit my fractured soul away for an extended vacation
			cocooned in some nasty slag of garbage with
			previous conquests

			
			I had never walked so damned fast in my life

			
			I blew full force into the donut franchise
			glazed over and totally freaked
			and bought myself a seat for a
			couple of bucks worth of chocolate frosteds and
			hot java
			then sat down to a
			3 or 4 hour
			donut and coffee with
			pencil and paper
			waiting for the sun to melt that sad vampire and 
			escort me safely back to my 
			digs
			in MacArthur Park

			
			it seemed to be a turning point in my funk

			
			I never saw the dog again
			he had been swallowed by the park

			
			the best friend
			gone without
			explanation

			
			saw the room mate a few months later up in
			San Francisco
			during the last
			good time
			with the
			girl

			
			the guy had lost his nose to coke
			and the girl 
			had lost her
			trust in
			me

			
			I had lost it all

			
			it was the end of an ignorance
			and the start of an innocent dark trauma
			spinning deep into the ongoing days like a
			strange carnival 
			moving from place
			to 
			place
			and from mind
			to heart
			and
			back
			again

			
			I evicted the stench of maggots
			washed the dishes and took
			shorter
			baths

			
			drank lots of hot black coffee

			
			I began taking a series of
			low paying
			expendable jobs
			working telephones and
			waiting on
			tables

			
			I wrote words on an old metal typer with a 
			long legal carriage

			
			bought a cheap car

			
			I left the neighborhood to 
			Miguel and Gracin and their
			oppressive love of
			fear

			
			in the coming years I
			paid good tips on my
			cheap meals at Lim's 
			until finally
			they too left and returned to
			Hong Kong to possibly 
			remake their 
			peace 
			before the 
			fall

			
			made my peace with
			the day
			and began to
			confirm my affinity for the night

			
			I never saw
			the bad thing
			again


			
			
			
		
			
			SUDDENLY DOWN


 						
												
			I say hi
 								 
			to this gal I know
 							                
			
			I ask how she is
			doing
			she says,
			"Fat, but happy. I've been on
			Prozac for two years."

			
			I say,
			"Oh really?  They've been
			trying to get me on that shit for
			a while now but I won't
			do it.  So,
			what's it 
			like?"

			
			she says 
			that she
			has no sex drive
			and I say
			oh that's too bad and she says
			no
			that's 
			great
			because
			guys
			can't fuck her over 
			anymore

			
			"That's cool."  I say

			
			she
			smiles
			and
			walks
			away


			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			
			TABLE TALK
			


			librarian couple came over one night for
			pasta

			
			afterwards

			
			we sat around talking and drinking some nice
			red 
			and after a time
			they laid upon us the
			story of their recently 
			dead Uncle from
			Tennessee and his 
			pet dog

			
			the Uncle
			a quadriplegic confined to his
			wheelchair
			liked to roll naked thru the house as it was
			generally hot out there in  
			his parts

			
			one day
			I guess he fell asleep at the wheel and
			upon waking 
			discovered  
			man's best friend 
			chewing off his
			cock

			
			guess because the guy was a quadriplegic
			he couldn't feel anything
			much less
			use
			it

			
			all the poor helpless man could do was maybe 
			mumble or
			give a guttural growl 
			as he watched 
			while the
			four legged beast 
			did
			the natural on his inert
			pecker

			
			the dog
			unfazed by any protest
			chewed the poor Uncle's
			dysfunctional ding dong
			clean off
			choking it down
			like a 
			rare 
			appetizer

			
			the Uncle
 
			
			kept the dick hungry hound till the end

			
			when asked what kind of 
			dog did the deed
			the nonplused response 
			was :

			
			wiener dog


			
			
			
			THERE IS A RIVER
			


			there is a cheerful ignorance
			a chance meeting and 
			luck like gold that cannot be
			mined or
			stolen

			
			a common atom

			
			a dance

			
			and stars that trick the 
			water with their
			certain
			magic

			
			do not wash your wars in it
			take your holy rituals to the
			precious fountains built by your
			agencies of fear

			
			press your
			wine from the fallout
			and drink your
			bitter victory

			
			for yes

			
			there is a river
			a giving river that will
			sing you safely

			
			a river of
			light

			
			final
			fast
			and 
			free

			
			where you can 
			disrobe
			and leave your casual sadness
			walking sideways at the
			shore

			
			meet me there
			whoever you are
			and we will agree to
			swim it
			together