G–String & Pasties Local 36–24–36

October 5, 2015

“The spirit of the union
must swell in your ample breast
no unity; no titty
the beaver shall erect the dam
against the heavy flow of exploitation
no more free pass
or sight of shapely ass
for the patriarchal oppressors of womanhood
remember your battle cry
Hips! Lips! Tits! Power!
as your Greek sisters of antiquity
barricaded within the Acropolis asserted
No peace; No pussy
so too must you now
stand up for your own piece
and end this masculine stranglehold
over your bodies
rise up
you are the means of your own production
your bodies, yourselves
take control and fight!”
I shouted
“Okay, you,” the black bouncer said
gently escorting me by the arm to the exit
“Quit trying to unionize our girls,”
and thus was I out on the street
under the lascivious neon glow
of the sign over the strip club door

No Redeemer for White Sins

October 3, 2015

In the humid dark
sweltering, sweating
scent of mold and mildew
permeating every worn clapboard
an engine running loud
the crack of splintering wood
a beam of light
like a pig’s probing snout
hunts the dusty air
pouring over
screaming faces, throw rugs
tables, beds, and on it
the boy
begging and pleading and bribing
the mother punched in the mouth
quiet bitch
dragged away
the man with the flashlight
and the gun
directs the one with the sack
hooded and escorted
to the rumbling and sputtering motor
that’s the one, the condemnation
beaten with pistols
with metal tools
broken bones, lacerations
smashed and shattered teeth
eye gouged from socket
whipped, destroyed
forced to carry his death
a heavy weight borne
to old man river
flowing treacherous
mosquitoes teeming in the pick-up’s headlamps
lashed to his burden
the massive cotton gin fan
barbed wires digging into flesh
not dead yet
mutilated beyond recognition
fourteen years old
on vacation to The South
the bullet crashes through his head
and the anchor is hefted
finally thrown
into the dark Tallahatchie
into those depths
falling in
falling over him
falling forever into memory

Skydiving and Bicycling

September 29, 2015

It was her and it was him
the two people needed
for each other
as she told it to me
she’d never had a boyfriend
but that wasn’t the issue
she’d never been penetrated
that was the issue
except once
by the seat of her bike
when she was struck
from behind at a red light
that wasn’t too long ago
and she was still
in a little pain
at nineteen
it was time to get it done
that old woman had hit her hard
physically and psychologically
the specter of death
swung heedlessly
dangling from her virginity by his scythe
to cut the reaper free
she had to fuck
but it had become too big
too much importance put there
as well as fear and anxiety
taller than the average man
they would be intimidated
and fall into the arms of short girls
she was all skin and bones
sharp angles
elbows, knees and bug eyes
and was losing hope
when her prince fell from the sky
the parachute failed to open
luckily, the field was soft and spongy
on the other hand
the rock broke his back
then again, he was alive
not paralyzed
but for nine months
would be confined within a turtle shell
snapped and strapped and clamped
over back and chest and neck
immobile except for arms and legs
he was the perfect one
a man in only the one way that mattered
with total control
she was not intimidated
he just had to get there
like watering a plant
she poured mezcal into him
and when he ate the worm
he was ready
she laid him on the floor
on his back and he was stuck
pinned like a butterfly on corkboard
through his fly she extracted his penis
tugged it into the appropriate condition
straddled, pushed her undies aside
put it in
helpless to resist
she did all the movements
and in seconds he shot it all upward
from whence he’d fallen
and as quick as you pleased
she tucked him back into his pants
adjusted her panties
and came back to the kitchen
where she told me it was done
we high-fived
and I mixed us Alabama Slammers
as he called to her for help from the other room

Chicken Run

September 24, 2015

Wading through reedy waters
you flee the terrorists
and jump on up into the canoe
it rocks
you steady it and paddle madly

They divided everybody into small groups
killed them all
despite it, they weren’t so bad
except for the toilets
the men they made
shit and piss on the cellar floor
the women and children
they let use the commode upstairs
one woman upset about her sick child
they pushed onto hands and knees
onto that reeking concrete foundation
“God please no,” she cried
“I don’t want to die
face down
looking at shit.”
the pistol barked
and those were her last words
a description
of her last sight

But you escaped, fled
you and two others
leaving behind
your son, your wife
to die
maybe or maybe not
face down in shit
now you work to forget
beer work, whisky work
hard work in hard times
a labor of lost love
a proud construct of cowardice
rising monumentally over ruin

Labor of Love

September 18, 2015

In the West Wing cupboard
he had it up her ass
no more quim for him
the incontinent whore
had already shit out one
illegitimate twat upon the Earth
and he’d cotton no more
“You’re my warrior
my brave, brave warrior,” Nan said
“Stick that spear in me
stab me deep, warrior Warren,”
the slut
reminding him
the aspersions on his heritage
fuck the KKK
there wasn’t a negroidal dram
in his bloody veins
but bawdy bitch Britton
gave him an idea
as he mined the depths of her colon
he’d send in the troops
federal warriors
to properly fuck
those whining West Virginian miners
slaughter the striking coal rats
O, God! he could picture it
their faces stained black
bullet holes like gaping cunts
red dead
driven into their heads
oh, oh, yes, yes…
as he thought it
he shot it
into her dark depths
Gamaliel goo gushing
Harding’s Hard-on
delivering his solution
a tactical movement
against greedy unionizing bastards
pleased, he withdrew
his forward force from her rear
wiped clean upon the harlot’s skirt
and stepped proud
out of the closet
a man – free, white
and ready to fight

Cruise of the Condo

September 17, 2015

For the gregarious rich
who wish to forever float
amongst their own
condos on cruise ships
are available now
the decision you had to make
out of your overly taxed poverty
whether to buy a 2nd home
or travel at sea
is null aboard the Utopia and the Marquee
get the comfort of home
sailing high the rolling waves
as cheap and low as three hundred G
although for six more, real luxury
can be yours
yes, sir, get it all
home and abroad as one
and please don’t forget
to carry aboard
all that precious booty you’ve hoarded
whether fine art, bank cards or bitcoins
the pirate armies lying in ambush
awaiting your mega-yacht
expect to get paid
after blasting your stinking ship of fools
clear out of your idiot waters
as it was foretold
as it was planned
in cold blood
for the good of the land

Pee Wee: Red Hot #1

September 12, 2015

On his keychain was a fob
a leather one from a BMW dealership
every time he came in
he’d slap those keys down on the counter
I think he wanted me to see
what he drove

His pornography of choice
was the stuff shot for women
soft lighting, lots of foreplay
fewer close-up shots
and far less relentless thrusting
than the other stuff

I considered him to be
one of the good ones

His mobile chirped one day
while making the transaction
he looked at the incoming number
and pressed the green button
“Hey, Pee Wee!
What’s up Pee Wee?
Any plans for later Pee Wee?
Ha, ha, ha that’s funny Pee Wee!
Okay, Pee Wee!
Talk to you later Pee Wee!
Goodbye Pee Wee!”
he hung up, put the phone in his pocket
he laughed and told me
“Good old Pee Wee.
That was Pee Wee.”
I nodded
he added, “Herman.”
“That’s cool,” I said
“Yeah,” he said “Pee Wee, he’s cool.”

I rang up his rentals
from past experience
I knew
he’d keep the tapes for a week
he never complained about late fees
simply paid up quietly
I decided when he returned
his lady porn
I’d delete his fines
he was after all one of the good ones
and sometimes it’s only right
to do good for a good one

I just hope he shared with Pee Wee
the miracle of video rentals
you can jerk off
right in the privacy of your own home


September 11, 2015

I worked the machine with Don
we had the Disney job
black plastic trays
impressed with the likenesses
of Mickey, Donald, Goofy
it was some shit for kids
they’d pour in candy goop
let it harden
and have a mouse, duck or dog lollipop
I scooped the things up
stacked them in a cardboard box
taped it up
threw the box on a skid
and that was it
from 11pm to 7am
to pass the time
I’d start at the beginning of a movie
and run every line, every scene
recalling it all
but Don, he’d interrupt
in his defense
he didn’t know he was interrupting anything
He’d start in with something like
“How wath your weekend?
You get laid?”
“No, Don. I work third shift.
How am I going to meet a woman?”
“Oh, they’re out there.
You gotta huthle,” he’d say
Don didn’t care about my weekend
Don wanted to boast
about women
the blowjobs, the fucks, the tits they had
the titty fucks
how he’d bang ‘em so hard
they couldn’t walk
how tight their pussies were
they practically cut the circulation to his dick
“Who needth a cockring
with conthtrictor cunt?” he asked
I stood there doing my job
the rat, the fowl, the mutt
empty heads
waiting to be filled with crap
one day
as Don prattled on
“Moniqueth got these fat
puthy lipth.
It’th like getting fucked and blown
I got her tho good,
thlamming that puthy tho hard.
Her labia got bright crimthon
like a baboon’th bottom,” he told me
I was peeved
he just put an unwanted intermission
right in the middle of
Joe Vs. The Volcano
“Don! Everyone knows you’re gay.
It’s fine, everybody’s cool with it.
Just stop pretending.
No straight guys
talk about fat labias.
That’s what lesbians do.
You listen to your dyke friends talk,
From then on Don was silent around me
occasionally I’d see him with the new temps
telling them of his conquests
exploits and affairs
if he hadn’t been so delusional
so abjectly pitiable
he’d have been hit with sexual harassment suits
dozens of times over
but as it was
we all hoped someday
he’d come clean
and start telling us
about all the wondrous cocks
and tremendous assholes
those long nights
could’ve used the honesty

Dash a Thousand Kim

September 9, 2015

Arrogant cackles
born of religious inversion
crosses twisted and turned
Christ’s head swells with blood
as red-faced and bloated
as His howling followers
who profess to hang too
as He does
martyred, persecuted
in the name of freedom and liberty
they invoke the names
of Civil Rights icons
as they justify their flipped
mirror-world battle
to strip and deny minority-rights
in their backwards Kingdom
where bus drivers
who ordered blacks to the back
are the true heroes
to be lauded
in the struggle to gain justice
for them
equality is a right of refusal
to under the shelter of law
condemn and humiliate
those who can love
who can feel
for others
in ways they cannot
they neither lead nor follow
but choose instead
to get in the way
proudly flying their flag of ignorance
quoting scripture
raising arms
pumping fists in pious triumph
as they stand
in adoration of a callous hag
and the politicians eager for the opportunity
to blow sunshine
up her thrice-divorced
and four-times married holy cunt
but this is the way of the right wing
anger is everything
their motivations are loveless
without compassion
grown by nurturing their cowardice and fear
fucked insane by endless rage
fed a diet of steady yammering hate
the center of their humanity
falls away
into decay
and they are left with a core of infected rot
that allows them to malign those who care
as bleeding hearts
uproariously applaud intolerance
toward the infirm, the impoverished, the dispossessed
against their kind
all decent and true people must stand
those who hail the likes of Kim Davis,
Josh Duggar and Phil Robertson
as champions of Christ and Justice
are the enemies of Christ and Justice
shit on them and their sick grifting shtick

Morning Irritation

September 8, 2015

“What they need is to know
there’s no rush
it’s the sequencing
that’s important
me and him
have to go down there
and play it for him
once he hears her voice
he’s going to love it
and give us all the time
we need
to sequence it right…”

This is the bullshit
you overhear
out for a coffee
at 9:00 am in Los Angeles

“No, she’s directing an episode
they shoot in New York
she’s out there now
because that’s where all
the people are
and the energy and vibe
are so great…”

And I hate him sitting there
eating his buckwheat pancakes
not letting his lady friend speak
chewing, swallowing, talking
overlapping and flapjacking
gums that refuse to stop
wearing his Hasidic Jew hat
John Lennon glasses
hung from his shirt neck with care
he is a caricature
who will
someday soon
find his wealthy parents losing patience
with his aimless dilettantations
and that is when
they will tell him what to do
what friend of theirs
to speak to
to give him a job
and shut him the fuck up


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