Incoming Money

Watching
Porn
Is sometimes unattractive
Especially when I imagine
How I must look
Watching

I can taste the stink
Of the actress
as she licks and mouths
A purple imitation
Penis
It makes me sick

And you know what?
I don’t get
The faux lesbian thing
What is that about?
Fake tits, botox lip-locked
ladies panting

As if they are into members
Of the opposite sex!
Like professional wrestling
But naked
DDPs as Double Penetration
Right down to the backdrop

Watching
These things
can not be fantasy
The "Voyeur" is now a
post-producted audience
Climaxing

O! emotional high speech
Heighten these words and fuck
This business up already

Growing spinach-infertile soil

Never was very good
at knowing when to wear a hat
or not to wear a coat;
You can't see the wind,
I guess
that makes it hard to tell
when the sun might be hiding something
(even on cloudless days).
The breeze must hide around dusty corners,
and behind the pale early spring leaves,
they whisper
though;
You can always listen for them
whispering to one another.
Leaves were never very good
at keeping secrets.

of streetlamps

i've always admired
the inherent beauty
of streetlamps
and the brightness
they cast in the dark.

they know not
the hazards of bumming
cigarettes that kill
men with fatal breath,
tragic necessity.

they serve to illuminate
the frost and the drink,
for the girl
who tramps hopelessly
on the barren sidewalks they lie.

their truth takes form,
quietly singing
for the vagabond
who relies on a shelter
only light can provide.

how warm, these lamps
on which i speak
of my affection
and undying devotion.
how softly they shimmer

and forgive.

unaware of such brilliance,
robbed of forgiveness,
i would find myself lost.
deep in a cruel terrain
of night.

What the fuck does Robert Frost know?

I

Today I’m not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
I thought it was Monday, to which I close my eyes
But Tuesday, alas, stay open wide
With arms that grow long and bright

II

Today I’m not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
Beyond a fence, I see from inside
A fever breeze sick with the fits
Shake surly flakes from its perspiring head

III

Today I am not afraid to leave the house
It is cold but I have cigarettes to smoke
Beyond the fence, a sigh drools casually
Outside suggests an old season dies
Inside a new reign begins

IV

Still today I am not afraid to go outside
It is cold but hope holds up my sky
For If I sleep and gaze not on suns rise
I’d sooner forget Nature
does not need me to survive.

For sienna and flesh hugs me as victim of flush
And “blood” can not capture this
Description only mammals can name
Categorizing sensation with word like “sublime”
To delicately frame the sunset’s limitless paint

V

I am unafraid
Now to step one foot outside
It is cold yes
But today I have prepared
Cigarettes to soak up time

And when smoke,
Like youth
Foams forth from the estuary
Betwixt my tongue
I’ll go back inside

My self
However grotesque
Will know
Nothing of sublime.
Only true bliss.

Δϵινα

I have always been struck by that which is beautiful.

Overwhelming, highest in the sky, flash-boom prettiness. Although,
striking causes trauma in the child.
Ghosts of a haunted past, eternally striking.
My Mother’s smiling, beautiful face
reminds me of her Goodness and

I soon forget her Evil Eye.

Strikes subside in the Subject

as the Doer’s fists stay dormant.
Danto: “I have often been struck…”
Kant: “…strikes the eye…”
The eye’s Sublime representation confused with striking Uncanny repression!
Beauty: Transformation of Repressed Horror
Grotesque: Representation of a Higher Love of Self in the Eye of the Beholden

There once laid cries of, “Madness!”
from across this infinite asylum.
Now, only the silenced moan.
It was the mad ones that were compelled to make this battle cry.
It was PTSD soldiers that suffered in their unconscious skirmishes.

Everything else died & two things survived.

I and Eye.

Eye and I.