Missed Connections

We met at the gangbang - m4w - 34 (Clifton)

We met at the gangbang a few weeks ago at the hotel in Clifton. 
I was guy number nine.
I wrote your phone number on the condom wrapper, but I lost the wrapper the next day.
Sorry, I had a lot to drink the night of the gangbang.
The next morning, I woke up with your tampon in my ear.
What is your phone number again, please?

SM:)LE

"Why dontcha smile Harry?"

The waitress 

Asked him

From behind the counter.

She had just finished

Refilling his coffee.

If he wasn't homeless

He sure appeared to be.

It was also obvious

That he had plenty of reasons

NOT to smile.

Well...

That was it.

That's all it took.

Harry proceeded to get up

From the wobbly chrome counter stool.

He stood there

Unzipped his pants

And whipped his filthy cock out

Filling the vicinity 

With the smell of stale urine.

He then proceeded to spin his prick around

Like a propeller

Looking directly at her

With his crazy eyes

Laughing

Through his greasy

Yellow-grey beard.

"Alright Harry! That's enough!"

She scowled.

"Put that thing away and behave or you're gonna hafta leave!"

She looked around

At the other customers

Surveying them.

Most continued to eat

Undisturbed.

Harry put his meat

Back in his pants

And zippered up.

He then sat back down

On the wobbly stool

And didn't stop

Smiling.

Landscape Painting

I’m a beer or three in

When I start 

To mow the lawn.

To keep things interesting

I take off my shoes

And feel the cool soft 

Verdant grass.

“You’re history!”

I say to the blades.

I start off 

In a straight line 

Along the property’s edge

And upon making a left

At the corner

I decide to get creative.

I turn up the music in my head

And dance barefoot across the open paddock

Loosely sweeping the mower

In fluid abstract manuevers

Not worrying if I cross the same path twice.

It takes longer than normal

But I’m pleased with the results

As I make progress

Not giving a fuck

What the neighbor 

Washing his AUDI

While carefully observing me

Indirectly

Out of the corner of his eye

Thinks.

Autumn 1979

“Hold on”

I said

Focusing.

“Stay still”.

I had my younger brother 

Tied up against a makeshift target

Made from

Stolen plywood

And 2x4’s.

And leftover paint

Appropriated from somewhere...

I smoked way too much pot then

To remember where

I found the red paint.

I threw the first knife.

“JESUS!”

My brother yelled.

“You just missed me!”

“That’s what we want!  There’s at least an inch there!”

I retorted.

“Stop being such a pussy!”

I threw the next knife

And the next.

“Thwip! Thwip!”

I somehow missed him.

When it was 4:30

We would stop practicing

And go inside

To watch Godzilla movies

Or film noir

On WABC-TV

Channel 7

Out of New York.

It wasn’t until 

The next spring

That I really got him.

With a baseball bat.

It wasn’t planned.

It was done without thinking.

I had him standing 

Behind me 

Playing catcher

While I hit outfield shots

Up the hill of our backyard.

I caught him 

On the backswing

Right to the forehead

And the blood

Immediately

Began 

To flow...

New Town

I moved to a house

On a dead end street

At the top of a hill

Looming over 

The dark steel mill

That operates 24 hours a day

In 3 shifts

Seven days a week

The ringing and clanging of metal

The banging of machinery

Echoes loudly

Like the bells of the 

Three churches

In this new town

On Sunday mornings.

There is always a wind on my street.

The woods around me

Are filled with deer

Fox, bear and coyote

In fact

True

The deer are so brazen

They often wander the streets

Like pedestrians
Reading the WSJ

At dusk.

I moved to a new town

That is webbed with

Crooked, narrow roads

Cracking the backs

Of steep inclines

And higher ground.

This new town 

Has a Main Street

That is littered 

With empty vodka bottles

Crushed cigarette butts

And shattered dreams.

A dusty tailor

An ancient upholsterer

A thrift store consignment shop

A grimy launderette

Settle in amongst 

The vacant storefronts

Derelict apartments

Nameless blue-collar businesses

Behind sun-faded

Painted concrete blocks and brick

The sidewalk in pieces.

I moved to a new town

Where the most meticulously kept property

Is the funeral home.

It gives me hope.

Meehns (Aube Reworks Maurizio Bianchi Vol 2)

I am in an alien church

A monestary

A palace of industrial

The giant rumble 

Of a planet’s engine

Emitting from beneath

Subterrainean foundations

Set in bedrock

The volume 

Invokes dieties

Glass flowers bloom

Metallic water scrapes the river bed

The coral trees cast shadows

Hundreds of paper monks

Journey across the empyrean landscape

In red serpentine ribbons

Chanting in the lower registers

Reaching the tops of mountains

Surrounded by tumescent galaxies

There they sit on wursted blankets

Meditating

Until they catch fire

Their shaved heads

Candle wicks

Flaming out

In the wind