Friday, March 23, 2007

Sexual

My hands rub apon your shoulders as you rest your warm body on mine,
I lick my lips with desire...
the way I want to taste you,
Would you mind baby if I climbed between your thighs,
place kisses in places that make your hands clinch onto the sheets &make you moan when you try to speak?
or should I take it a little slower & suck on your toes befor I go there,
You probably cant speak now this sexual extacy got you weak now & your eyes let me know your ready,
Your toes curl as my tongue swirls up & down your body
as were in the dark now getting naughty.

by MoSkIe


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Thursday, March 22, 2007

Behind the Wheel

Every morning
I drive the highway
and
every morning I
hope for a
peaceful drive.

I hope in vain.

This guy's
riding my bumper.

I hit the breaks and
look into
my
rearview mirror.

He gives me
the finger.

I smile.

Finally, he
manages to get
around me.

There we are,
neck and neck,
cheating death.

He merges on me,
trying to
intimidate
me.

I don't move, but
hit the gas
and
speed up
causing him to
swerve.

He exists the
highway
with his middle
finger in
the air.

I gave him
a
wave and smile.

They've
all got balls
behind the wheel,
but when
they
get out
they turn into
pussies.

by Dylan Elliot


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Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Find Yourself

Slow down there girl
Where you running
with such a limp?
Was it the love buzz
that set you frantic?
Pullin’ the red out
flames lick the lip to curl
back against the wood grain
a flickering thought
makes a vicious grin
as sex skirts behind your eyes
Temper, temper trying to cool
inside the tempest, inside
your mouth slides
a heavy tongue of cosmo
Reaching down, towards
sheer, rustled blue
and a five-man grasp
of strawberry glory

by Kate Green


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Tuesday, March 20, 2007

ART: X Factor


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Monday, March 19, 2007

Nice poems without the word cunt

You want clever prose in literary context
to slip amongst the other yawns after breakfast
well I tell ye 40 pages of boredom
for stuffy middle class bedrooms
but at least mine will perk them up
might rouse them into action
raise an erection, go fuck a queer

You want something ‘uplifting’ and senseless
vague and pointless
when I am crass and pointed
and won’t veil the word with metaphor today

This world is bloated. Ugly like
a fat gut flaccid fold
all white, haired and moled
all explosion and flesh across the road
bullet sores and wounded children
a world heaving, developing, seething,
the third world constantly needing
raped by the west and screaming.

But no, don’t be angry, Terrance warned me
(say’s it all – Terrance!)
and as for CUNT offensive
gutter verbiage and I wonder what planet
these sad old farts inhabit.

Cunos means cunt in Spain
CHILDREN use that word, so come on
when will Britain ever be freed
these twisted upright citizens
and their Christian inspired creed?

Well, I’d rather choke blood
swill it around my cunting mouth
and spew to the cunted page. Good night.

by Dave Migman


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Saturday, March 17, 2007

That Girl

Never the same the second time. Boy thinks back on the one who took it
- a truth held tight in, a pearl between herself, safe. She doesn't
even know. (Or did she?) Pleasurable uncertainties, awake in bed. On
his back. Ogling into the space between bed and ceiling. Who will you
dream of tonight boy? How will you hold the girls you haven't met? Will
the women of your manhood wonder who she was? The beginning. Can you
hold them tighter for your trust in her? Do they owe her thanks even?
That distant, unfaded memory. And when your wife asks what she looked
like, What will you say?
Lie to her. A meaningless lie. Change her hair color. Or the sound of
her voice. It will mean nothing. And everyone will be safe.

by Len Shaffer


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Friday, March 16, 2007

Thrust

Its not about sex, its about power
the slow lead into explosive murder
the sensual saccharine mind blowing

god crushing... fuck

Its not about making love ... It's about taking love
about endless passion staring back at you because
they're so crushed and broken by the impact of the in satiated demon
this engraving on their soul
this thing that caters only to their sex
this fuck
this whore, this monster, this love...

It's not about motion, It's about rhythm
the precision beat of adrenaline lust rush
the cataclysmic barrage of bare bodied bodies
slamming their truth into each others lies
cleaning the sin

its not about religion, it's about Jesus Christ
It's about making her forget his name

It's not about rape, it's about her having no choice

its about being inside to erase the begging sick in your head
erasing the scribbles of society enforced media suicide
with every thrust and push and break and bleed
It's not about insatiable want, It's about insanity's need

It's not about cumming, it's about being inside
it's about the walls giving in around you
because they can't handle the raucous ravage ride
Its' about god fuck Jesus Christ heroine super suicide
and about not caring if you live through it
as long as you cross to the other side

It's about the crash, and the burn
about fucking so hard it hurts
about becoming one
about being one

it's not about me, or you
it's about creating one
from destroying two

by edenscancer


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Thursday, March 15, 2007

CAT AND MOUSE

There once was a little mouse on a little ledge on the roof of a
little house. The ledge looked big and the house bigger, but it
wasn’t a bad fall, if it came to that. The ledge was ice, which is
fine for mice, except for one with a cat in tow. The mouse pondered
its plight; jump, or head back to the cat’s delight.

Safe for a moment, the cat wouldn’t dare go out to the edge, but he
was determined to wait for his treat to leave his safe little ledge.
Three days went by and they both died, stubborn for safety and
stubborn with pride.

I had to clean the ledge, the two frozen bodies with beady eyes in
line, frozen with ice, their gaze frozen in time. I boiled them in
water and I ate their guts, just kidding, I chucked them in the trash
you gullible fucks. But every time I do eat cats or mice, I do think
of them; their flaws for their cause, and their claws tight on
fleeting floors.

I’m stubborn as hell, I can see it like lumps in my flesh, but every
time I unwind one, there’s another tightening or taught or ready to
snap. The view ahead is a mirage, no sight is that keen; to see
something sharp is to focus, and to focus is to leave all else unseen.

Tonight, I will eat and drink, but maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just
watch American Idol.

by Jason Forman


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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

A LADIES WORDS

A lady shouldn't say things like
"Fuck me, eat me out
Go 'head play with that pussy
Yes you can come in my mouth
Smack my ass, yes harder
Yes I'll give you head
Baby hit it from the back
Deep throat, sure I will
And I'll lick the sac
If you want me to I'll swallow
Let me get on top
Yes you can tie me up
Please, baby please, don't stop"
A lady shouldn't tell you
When and where you can cum
When she does or doesn't
Or even need some
A lady shouldn't demand
An encore if it's not right
Or if it's damn good-
Ask for it twice in one night
A lady, she might ask
Not just take what she needs
She would be sublte
And wouldn't want all she sees
They're so refined those ladies
Proper as they should be
Aren't you glad it's not a lady
Fucking you?
It's me

by Ndygho


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ART: Butcher



by Ty Snitko


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Saturday, March 10, 2007

UNRELENTING RUSH

I need indeed to feel words,
So that my insides stir,
Whenever they're heard,
Acting more like verbs,
Than superflous extravagant adjectives,

Vowels with constantants,
Spoken loosely follow us,
Hounding, and surrounding us,
Empowering us,
To peer outside the box we live,

Simple kinds of explanations,
Grown over the time we've spent dating,
With complications, simply stating,
Several personfications,
Of all the sacrifices we've made,

Not just another fuck,
Followed by tough luck,
Or thoughts of being stuck,
In nothing but just,
Some old realtionship's shallow grave,

To finally breathe,
Feelings of uncomprable need,
Of sprouting an irrepressable seed,
Planted with a wish to be,
Part of a love well worth the save,

A hitchhiker's continued lust,
With the quest of something just,
Fueled by nothing but, love and trust,
An unrelenting rush,
To hold another today, then always.

by R.Alton


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Fine Ware on Display

The tenebrous room is the witches den
Stir the pot to bring them in

Ephemeral delight by surreptitious means
Then put the hag back in her vitrine

When a gentleman decides that she’s
worthy to try, take her out of the case.
Let him stab at any aperture
In a way that’s grossly vulgar
With an intent that’s purely selfish
Until he’s ready to emit -
Then he’ll be quite generous
In sharing the results of this
Fabricated bliss
That’s remiss

In properly handling the fine ware on display

by Jeff Siebert


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Friday, March 09, 2007

The Boss

When I was eighteen
I worked at a convenient store
And the owner was from Pakistan
And he dressed well and
Smelled of cologne
And owned two stores
And was always going back and forth
Between the two of them
He had to make sure we were doing
Our jobs
And whenever some kid stole
Something out the store, he would
Run after them
And expected his employees
To do the same
People were always stealing
Because the neighborhood was
So poor
And he had a pager and a cell phone
To keep in touch
With the goings on in the
Store
The register often came up short
And when it did, there would
Be hell to pay
The workers didn’t stick around long
The came and went
And they often stole
And he knew this, because
He used to watch the store
From the outside, while parked
In his car, out of our view
He had to keep track of
Milk deliveries, beer deliveries
Grocery deliveries, unruly
Customers
I don’t think he got much
Sleep
At night, but he had a nice car, a nice home,
A nice wife and nice clothes
He paid us very little,
So he had to put up with a lot of stuff
From his employees,
And he wanted everyone to work
Seven days a week and on holidays
And often called on our rare days off,
When we got them
I worked there a year
And while I was there
The store seem as if
It was my life
I remember being a little kid
And going to the corner store
And wondering what went on
Behind the counter and in back
And how did all the stuff
Get into the store
And all the things that go on
In the store
Who knew, it was
So much

by Damion Hamilton


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Monday, March 05, 2007

George W. Bush Ate My Pussy Then Paid Me $10,000

woke up turned on

from this george w. bush dream

his office was over a crappy childcare facility

i walked up the stairs intending to leave a note

in a basket then walk out the door

before he could kill me

the note was about my brother's schizophrenia

and the war in iraq, mostly

but when i entered the office

george w. bush was very gregarious

and glad to see me

he skimmed the note then tossed it aside

i don't remember our brief conversation

what i do remember is george w. bush

eating my pussy

i didn't cum

but i liked him and wanted to see him again

i understood that these things take time

when it was over and i was sticky and dressed

i said,"i hate to bring it up...but could you pay me?"

he gave me a ten thousand dollar bill and said,"i hope ten thousand dollars is enough. try to be white."

i was apologetic and ashamed saying,"i know, i know...i grew up in midland, upper middle class...attended kelview heights baptist church and we were members of the country club"

i was not offended by his racist remark

i was offended by his response when i asked if i

could see him again

he was nonchalant and noncommittal

said he would let me know in a couple of months

he would call for me if he didn't find a soul mate

with big titties

i thought that was rude

he seemed to enjoy sucking on my big nipples

and caressing my little titties

then again he was the president

and who was i to argue

i wondered about laura

as i walked down the rickety stairs

envisioned her naked in bed

still as an ancient white statue

as george licked her clit

then i approached one of the childcare employees

about applying for a job

that way i could make money

and stalk my new boyfriend

at the same time

by ~Misti Rainwater-Lites


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Sunday, March 04, 2007

On and Off Meds

Trusted everything to our love but our love is in vein no more
Like water is in vain when it flows ceaselessly down a paved road
In pain ‘cause it’s been so long and it still hurts
Your name m-dashed to mine,
although sometimes I drop what I can’t forget
The tears hardly come up anymore
I pushed them all down too afraid to face my half-self
Too afraid to face how I lost you to meds or the lack of thereof
Too sane to stay sane, my love, and I know it now just like I knew it back then
My love for you is too strong
My need to hold you too hard to bear
My solitude in your company an ugly sight
And so it ends, so it ends, so it ends. On and off meds.

by Sofia JarrinT


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Saturday, March 03, 2007

ART: Ghost Town


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Friday, March 02, 2007

DATE

Come-pitted, leather-bloused diplomat
trilling acquiescence through skull-ringed fingers.

“Is there a back door to this 7-Eleven”

“I didn’t come here for you...”
‘UNZIP’
“I didn’t come here for you...!”
‘FLOMP’
“I DIDN’T COME HERE FOR YOU...”
SUCK&STROKE&SUCK

Muted Camero engine splits the suburban night.
Tobacco shield meets the front door first.

“Is there a back way out of my life?”

by Ralph Greco


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Thursday, March 01, 2007

Manly Poem...

Despite all the time I spend in the bathroom,
I can't remember shit.
Not the important things anyway.
I'm told this is because I have a penis,
which explains why I can't remember dick.
Or so I hear women often say.
And if this were to be true,
this theory of genital organ
as a barometer of memory abilities,
does size matter?
Cause if it does,
God gave me big hands, big feet,
and a long
list of things I've forgotten.
And if having an outie and not an innie
in your private sector
is a genuine indicator of cerebral comprehension,
then shouldn't that be the real meaning
of the term "cockblocking"?
Is it ironic that men "dick"tate the world
despite being preoccupied with fart jokes,
while women bitch about our gas, prices.
Speakng of politics,
does it matter if you hang to the left or the right?
Because all politicians are basically assholes,
most with a twig and berries.
I know this principle may be whack,
another tossed off attempt by females
at putting my gender down,
despite the fact that there's so many
other things women do to keep us up.
But why do we get the shaft, just because we have one?
Is there actual scientific proof that having a ding-a-ling
makes you a ding dong,
or is that just a phallic fallacy based
on a bad stereotype named Long Duck Dong?
I believe it's all a cock-and-bull excuse
women use,
when the truth is they spend
so much time and energy enticing us
with their wares,
the make-up, hairspray, silicone, perfumes,
a combination of deadly chemicals
that cause the blood to rush to the wrong head,
hence our lack of ability
in keeping facts in perspective
and not in our pants.
Now what was I trying to say?
I don't recall,
but I hope I get this gets a rise
out of someone.
Because I really feel this idea has
a third leg to stand on.

by Chris McCrellis-Mitchell


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