color dot earrings
“1) a passionate, pissed off inner nature &
2) an irrational, all-consuming love affair with the great bitch Style.”
all the bathrobe sash cinching brings no pride.
in the end we go dry and sometimes hairy. a
mother has such troubles sooner for she has
to bleed her child to the floor like an empty
sky wrinkling bright where moons lit it up.
as my mother stoops to read her watch, i
wonder if the best parts between my legs
had anything to do with the blood she left.
would her beauty soak into my arms that
indulged her bulging breasts? i want to thank
my mother in words, but it’s obvious cock
is the only blessing ripening on this lattice
a few gentle notes of pricksong for mother
leap from my fingers and into the ears of a
harlot now dripping with cum that looks like
the yellow earrings mom will will be buried
in when she is all done getting old and dying
fresh juice breakfast
baby, i’ve been lurking (pretty much
mom is having nightgown issues in
her titties!) everywhere for you! girls
would move eggs out of their nests to
make room for that cock, and you did
not ask me if i prefer poached, sunny,
or scrambled. mom is all: soon we’ll
fix western omelettes and fuck, yes?
then i’m like: yes sexiest dracula mom
currently wearing a black nightgown,
we’re going to fuck & have grape juice.
(she likes to make me hold out my hand
so she can hit me with her measurements)
it’s not easy keeping milk off the tablecloth.
when she is killing me with her soft teeth,
i’ll be kind of heartsick over the ruptured
fruit (she knows i’m allergic!) her round,
brown eyes will brim with I TOLD YOU SO.
mother, what colors did not gush from my
throat when you fed your needs with me?
she will have to wash behind my ears till
i’m so clean and nice; then i’ll climb off
the puddle on the linoleum, grab a bagel,
and slip on my lucky blue bike ride pants!
on my way out i will hear something like:
dearest, are not you forgetting something?
(she is really great about giving reminders)
i’ll run back, my ass moving jelly donut cute,
and jerk off on the hard parts of her toes…all
those feelings help her rest when suntanning.
ah, done. she asks me to throw away the old
mop on my way out, and please pick one up
because soaking her feet in me takes awhile.
wait, she says, is someone forgetting a hat…?
as the bill goes down over my eyes i see the
giggles settle in her melon tits like the grape
juice in my very cramped, very happy tummy
be careful, she says. fyi: mom is not so into
band aids or kissing scraped knees anymore.
KJ can create Life from poems. He thanks Carolyn and Ras for their almost oedipal commitment to the sexy poem. Some more of KJ’s poems are forthcoming in spork.