Wednesday, June 23, 2010


In the beginning there was the word
and the word was YES!
so I fucked her
I fucked her again
mornin’ noon & night
I fucked her
day after day
I fucked her
year in & year out
I fucked her
I fucked her
I fucked her
I fucked her
I fucked her
in every tongue
from left to right in Poland
right to left in Persia
top to bottom in China
everywhichway in Klingon
I fucked her
affirmative action of the first disorder
she scented herself with YES tonight
I fucked her
in great mutual affirmation sessions
cum-sensual adults
every time she opened her legs
it was in the shape of YES
a very expletive undeleted YES.
She was YES to the very nucleus of her woman
She was my woman of want
She was my woman of want my vowels.
YES, she sucked vowels from me
Vowel-howling sound poetry
ecstasy poetry bouncing off the walls all covered in wet YES
I fucked her
YES! Aaaaaaaaaaa
I fucked her
YES! Eeeeeeeeeeee
I fucked her
YES! Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
I fucked her
YES! Oooooooooo
I fucked her
YES! Uuuuuuuuuu
I fucked her
in great gobs of gushing vowels
She loved the splatter of vowels
So I fucked her
with a mouthful of wet YES
my fundamentalist theology
exploded down her throat
To hell with the socialist sub-committee policy meeting tonight,
YES let’s fuck
To hell with lobbying for funds to feed crippled orphans
YES let’s fuck

I love how she gives good debate
turning onto her knees
to present the best part of her argument
like the good field beast she is
I’d rather plunge into the democrazy poetics of her cunt
than earn a living pro-actively in happy contrivanceland.
than a committee of global swarmers
She is my Al Gore rhythmn

And the decades go by
I fucked her
fucked her again
and again
it was all YES,
choirs of YES
chorusing down the hallways of YES.
Gospel YES, the G-spot
Soul YES Deep Soul
Classical YES Class Suckle
Rock YES & Roll YES
Decade after decade
The pension arrives
I fuck her on weekday afternoons
Sometimes right there
on the floor before the tv
in front of Oprah & Dr Phil

YES through the seasons

Then June 23, 2001
she whispered a soft italicized yes
into my better ear.
so I mounted her
and there was a breath of yes
followed by the de-conjunctiving ellipse . . .
So it was
in the end
there was the word
and the word was NO!


When I return alone home,
morning, afternoon, evening, night,
when ever
what ever
how ever

no one
. . . . . . is there . . . . ever
no one

silence undances with a skindeep shadow
reflected from an unsilvering memory.

I bed my brokenmess
cocooning the pillow
soft but unbreathing
yielding but unwarming
the unthreading remains of love
pulled up to my kissless lips
grow thinner
as night grows colder
as I turn
and curl
into a foetal question mark.

I Am Writing Letters

I am writing letters
from my primary residence
on the Island of Alone

Paper skins
Words kiss
Sentences caress
I like them swollen with myths
Of turbulence and tremors
Of abandonment
And collapsing stars

I love weaving long umbilical poems
that vine their way into your heart


For the past half century
living in an unprecedented
state of peace and prosperity
I have savored the muscular memory
of my signature hand,
how it held firm the curve
of your moist pubis.

Throw me out of your home
Throw me out of your heart

My grip on reality
to debris.

Every Word She Speaks

Every word she speaks
is touched wet
with her

I want to become
the vocabularly
she draws on
the language
of l'amour

I want to be the word,
a long multi-consonant verb
that tumble-tongues
into luscious nouns
carried on vowels
made of the soft-interior
of her cheeks

A Spring Thought

Forest ferns all foetal
uncomma themselves
to full-frontal green grammar

Sex percolattes in the soil,
hormoans bloating
the bulbs shouldering up
break-through flowers
gluttoning themselves
senseless with sunsex
as we lean forward to sniff
their delicate wide-ons
all petal perfumed
in the quiet orgy of gardens

The Best Part of Me


There are Women who last a lusttime in a Man's groin.
There are Women who last a lovetime in a Man's heart.
There are Women who last a lifetime in a Man's soul.

God sleeps at the edge of the universe
where the clarity of science fades to uncertainty
where the deep-throated howls of women
in the full froth of fuck
soften into wet whispered somethings
soothing in the vowel of O

The universe is a wOmb
The earth is an egg swirling dervish in cumulus cum.

Their small breasts
fit firm
into my hand
into my mouth
into my poem
warmly as a sparrow snuggles in its nest

I love how they open their legs
in the shape of YESOYES
fitting into them
firmly as the rugged root of an oak
into the sun soft soil

They are the Women
who make the best part of me