•September 1, 2010 • Leave a Comment

We will always

sit by water

on a cliff

as a sun sets,

drink wine

and marvel at this moment.

This exact arrangement

of elements within their time

is every time

the same.


The Virgin

•February 5, 2010 • Leave a Comment

from a scrap of paper dated 10/07/2000

She said to me years ago – as we sat and
looked at a picture of the
Madonna: “That’s exactly what
it feels like.”

The image stuck…
Her eyes slits – teeth biting
half her smile ecstatically
as the man had nothing to
say – but only bowed
and buried his face in
her holiness.

The described image is on page 21 of the book containing it.


•October 1, 2009 • 1 Comment

A place we used to live in
a place where we spent so much precious time…
we’ll never shake the feeling it was ours.

We became intimate with it.
We knew its inner beauty in a way that no one could;
each crack and crevice, each secret hiding place.
We knew how nice it was
and which spots to avoid sometimes.
We loved the place because it was our home.

No place will ever be just ours.
Others came before
and still others may come after
until it is dissolved.

But it will always be the case
that each and every one
who knew a place
will feel a sense of ownership
at passing by
and knowing what it’s like
to be inside.

the barfinest guy to sale shoes

•March 1, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Perusing files on an old hard drive, I was able to open an email spool and uncover this gem:

Date: Mon, 5 Jul 1999 13:54:23 EDT
Subject: the barfinest guy to sale shoes

There was once this barfy guy that sold shoes to fat hairy pirate woman
and the reason why was because he was looking for his long lost hairy pirate
woman that had pussy bubbles of bloody shit on her feet. One day he was
selling shoes like normal when a huge nasy fat hairy pirate woman came in
looking for a shoe that would go over her grose bunions and warts, Well, he
got down on his knee and took off her sock and when he did…. he died from
the nasty smell and rotten puss squirting him. It wasn’t her anyways.

mouth dream

•January 16, 2009 • Leave a Comment

You men may know this feeling of your prick leading your way – similar to the sense that any prickless person has of their base of existence blooming out from the vantage point of their eyes. Or the way our consciousness extends subconsciously to the tips of our fingers and toes.

We sometimes fly as untrained arrows fired at a dangerous, glorious arc into the night sky over an unseen town of lonely sleepers just waiting for they don’t really know what. A false sense of that mysterious something comes to them the instant our shafts hit their marks: plunging into mouths, cunts and asses, unintentionally piercing hearts.

I had no real desire to be with her. In her time of want or maybe need, she saw me discreetly from a bar stool – at my weakest. Months later, it was mutual friends who conveniently steered me, unsuspecting, into those places at those times that would put me drunkenly into her clutches over and over again.

She was mostly precious. Sharply dressed, combed, preened. Dark outlines always so perfectly drawn around her eyes, she might have been born with them. Small, cute hands wandering with a life of their own. All the right books on her shelf. But she held desperately to the belief that everything would be OK if only she could refill my glass enough times to prevent me from taking the long walk home before dawn. Her bleeding arrow wound, pouring out fruitlessly onto the barren rocks that encased the roots of my desire.

An instant before waking today, I was once again an arrow fired straight up and landing directly in her waiting mouth, so loose and wet. A small cavern of warm moist air, surrounding and safe. Exactly the way a careful, loving horse’s mouth would be. That soft, velvety smooth horse skin slowly feeling out the boundaries. Big teeth carefully padding around my sensitive subject in just the same manner that the graceful white fingers of my mother’s antique porcelain dolls would have if my birthday wish had brought them to life.

Image added as an after thought

first impressions

•December 19, 2008 • Leave a Comment
Dont steal the Fucking sign

Don't steal the Fucking sign

Here’s a fun thing to know about if you were not previously aware of it. When you run out of things to tell your family and friends about this holiday season, please bring up the anecdote about the fucking sign.