Playah





He stares at her
In public
And
In front of everyone
He pulls out a wad
Of crisp one hundred dollar bills
And sniffs them grandly
And gives them a big dry lick.

“That’s wot I’m talkin’ bout!”
He thrusts
Swaggering.

“I know I just met you
But I’ll buy you
A really nice thong
As a present.”

“My gift to you.”

“Shit! I’ll buy you a couple
If you let me watch you
Try them on.”

She is not running away.
She stays smiling.
It appears that she likes
The attention
In front of everyone...

His boyz.

Her girlz.

“Where did you get all that money, dat.”

“Keisha.”
“It’s Keisha, right?”

He pulls out his wallet
Saying to her
As he flips open to an empty
Plastic pocket

“Pretty Keisha.”
“This is where your picture
Needs to be.”

“You be playin.”
She says.

“Watchoo doin’ here?”

“Shopping for thongs
For pretty girls
Suchaz yerself.”

His boyz back him
Studying
Her girlz.

He adjusts his crotch
Still looking at her
His hand actually
Gripping himself.

“No you didn’t!”
Said one of the girlz.

“Did you see that Keisha?”

“Mmm, mmm. No you didn’t!”

“Let’s get outta here.”

“Don’t lissen to them.”
He said.

“Keisha, you gone stone cold crazy.”
“He’s just a playah.”

He took her hand and held it
Pressing something into it
While her girlz
Started pulling her away.

She could hear his boyz
Laughing
Congatulatory
Behind her.

Crowds of people moved around them
And hid her from view
As she looked down into her hand
Not
At a one hundred dollar bill
But a piece of paper
With a phone number on it.

“Playah.”
She whispered to herself

Dropping the paper to the ground
To be lost
Amongst hundreds of moving
Anonymous feet.

One Hand On The Wheel





Driving today
Laid back in the leather seat
Of the Pimpmobile
Windows open
One hand on the steering wheel.

And while there is pollen and
Spattered dirt
From the rain
Last night
On the windshield

Things couldn’t be more clear

As I watch the landscape ahead
As it unfolds before me
Rolling
In synchronicity
With the low profile wheels
And chrome hubs.

My life is mine.

The beauty.
My mistakes.
The humor and horror.

I own all of it.

And I feel good
Right now
Windows down
Sunroof open

Myself open

To the possibilities
As glossy as the sun
Reflecting off the waxy paint.

My life
Wouldn’t be nearly as good
As it is
If I didn’t hold the steering wheel loosely
And get lost upon the way.

Perverts
(All Of Us)






I erased all of your
Dirty texts to me.

I loved those short filthy messages.
My own private Penthouse Forum.

But I got involved with someone.

She sent me dirty texts too
And as things got more serious with her
It seemed only right
When she stated
That she wanted ‘us’
To be monogamous
That I should probably erase
My pervie evidence of the past.

In the back of my subconcious mind
I knew it wouldn’t last with her
That it was just a matter of time.

I was living in the moment.
I took it for what it was.

Just like with you.

So I hesitated
Before erasing
Your most poetic
Graphic
Often mispelled
Flashes of lust

Of the things that you wanted to do to me
Interspersed with the things that you
Wanted me to do to you

From my phone.

A few months later
She broke up with me
And I hit the ‘erase all’ button
On my phone


Creating a blank canvas
For whomever
And whatever
New
Twisted perversions
Await
Lurking

Out there.

How I Would Like To Think
That I ‘Friended’
Wendy O’Williams
Of The Plasmatics
On Facebook





My message to
Wendy
When I sent a friend request
On Facebook:

I remember the Plasmatic’s performances
Very well.
You were peppy, zestful and spirited
As a band in unison
And as first and foremost a performer.

The captivating display that you and your colleagues
Demonstrated
Was forceful and engrossing.

Tightness amongst the rubble and chaos.

What a dangerous display of
Anarchy, nihilhism and mayhem
With the guns, fireworks
And tanks.

Pfft. Pfft.

The depth of scatological humor
Immersed in your lyrics!

Your band tugged at my heartstrings
And brought from me
Emotions that I did not know then.

Powerful, engrossing emotions.

I felt ALIVE at your concerts.

I still listen to you guys on vinyl.

Hardcore!

By the way.


Your tits were amazing!

I’m sure they still are now.

They were the hardest
Most perfect tits in show business.
Your tits and that fucking rocking
Hard ass body
In barely nothing at all
Fueled many
A wet dream
And fantasy.

I def got off on you.

Did you and Lemmy from Motorhead
Ever do it?

Regards
And
Keep on rockin’
Those punked out tits!

Yo Wendy!

I gotta Cadillac you can blow up.

May 21, 2010
12:09 PM:

Wendy O’Williams
Confirmed you as a friend
On Facebook.

“NOT”
Inhaling





Smoked some shit
The other day
Called
“Crip”.

No one disclosed the founding
Of it’s title
But in retrospect
I’m sure it was short for cripple.

The strains
Being produced today
Are severely potent
Being christianed with names
Deserving of
Warning labels
Upon purchase.

I got ran over by
“Bulldozer”.

So when I smoked
A breed called
“Connie Chung”
I was puzzled
By it’s obscure
Irrelevant title.

My answer came shortly thereafter

As I crawled across the bathroom floor
Pulling myself up
By the porcelain sink.

I looked into the mirror
Seeing “her” eyes
Staring back at me

Slanted slits
Pupils barely visible

And a wide stupid grin.

No teleprompters.
No make up.

Eye To Eye With Connie Chung.

Getting The Get.

DDT





“The moon is INCREDIBLE!”

I tell you over the phone
In a DDT haze

As I pull again
On an Indian Beedi
And the warm
Flavor of bare tobacco
Expands on my tongue
Whilst the cold
Winter air
Joins the smoke
From the small cigarette
As it burns
Down to
The tiny red string
Tied around
The base
By my fingers
Moments from going out
And my eyes
Fix upon
The thin jagged smile
Of the neighboring
Grey ghost satellite
Just beyond the
Black and boney reaching trees.

I pause.

I am taking my time
Arriving to your house
I know
But not on purpose.

I describe all of this to you
Over the phone
In a DDT fog.

You
Tell me sharply

“Stop with the words and get your ass over here quickly. I’ve been waiting.”

DDT has yet to kill
The delayed, slow and curious bug within.

Girl At A Bar






If ever the day comes
When you ask me

“What was it about me that first attracted you to me?”

I would have to reply

Firstly
“Your hands”.

And secondly
“Your face”.

There is sculpture in your hands.

I don’t know much about what you do.
I don’t know much about you at all.

But your hands are chiseled
Graphic
Well defined.

Your hands have a strong story.

They are sensuous
And need to be explored more.

As for your face...

I need to explore that more too.

The thin smiling lips
And small bright rice like teeth
Paired well with breathing vital eyes

Lively

Like your conversation

Which

Is the third reason

Why I made 
A phone call
To the number
Scrawled on the back
Of a band announcement
From The Court Tavern

Folded into quarters and
Saved in my pocket

Hoping
That I will discover you even more

And give you a better
Reason
Why I was attracted
To you
In the first place at all.