We snuck into the church's gift shop in hopes of escaping the oppressive summer heat. They had an air conditioner, which felt delicious on our sweaty skin and sunburnt shoulder blades. Trying to look inconspicuous, we pretended to shop, so the clerk wouldn't catch on and throw us out. You were looking at something intently and when I came to see, you extended your hand to me. In the bowl of your palm was a perfectly carved, polished olivewood heart. I turned my palm skyward to see if you would offer it; you dropped it into my waiting hand without hesitation.
Ain’t That Somethin’ | Poems that Suck
When I was 19 I had this
boyfriend and he was a little
strange; a little too in to women's
silky panties, a little too intellectual.
ya dig?
Anyway, this one time when we
were fucking, he jumped up on my
chest and swung his little ass around
and wanted me to blow him from the back.
Now, I've seen and done a lot of
weird and kinky shit since then but,
you never forget the first time you see
the back of someone's ball bag. Magnificent.
Dope Fiend | Poems that Suck
All poets experience it,
that one mother fucker you
can't stop writing about.
Try as you might to
fight it, that witch got
under your skin, jacked themselves
into your veins and became a god damned
firestorm in your circulatory system.
Here's to you,
you little bastard.
Thanks for all the material.
Nostalgia | Poems that Suck
There's one addiction I have and that's living in the past. I like to go back in time and replay scenes in my head; good ones, bad ones, they're all the same. I like to relive them in great detail, slowing down time to capture the specifics I missed in those moments the first time around. I imagine that they are photographs, and imagine the condition they'd be in. Some edges worn from constant replay, other sticky with the aftermath of love making, still others, ripped and pasted together again, their edges burnt in fury.
To Swallow the Sun | Poems that Suck
Your long, thin finger crept like a spider up my inner thigh. "Stop," I hissed through my teeth; a warning. "No one's looking, no one cares." and you continued your journey up the pale length of my skin. The pads of your fingertips reached their intended destination and I sighed with the delicious feel of them, as I gazed, heavy lidded, at the sea, head tilted back, as if I were swallowing the sun.
Worn Soft | Poems that Suck
There's something soothing
about running my fingertips
along the edges of a well-loved
book.
Something gratifying in the
softness of something once so precise.
I hope, that in my old age,
I find the same sweet softness
in myself that I find so valuable
in a book.
The Unexpected | Poems that Suck
I was gazing out of the window
when I felt a soft touch on my
shoulder, as gentle as a whisper.
When I turned to look, I saw your head
hovering over my skin. The tenderness of
that kiss shocked me profoundly, as if you
had touched some secret part of my being.
I blushed deeply at the obscenity of it.
Shitty Poetry | Poems that Suck
Shitty poetry
is cowardice.
It tries to beautify
the human condition
to either mask it
or find the beauty
in the awful.
–
It’s shit because
it doesn’t have
the courage
to capture
what’s is
disgusting,
wrong,
depraved,
obscene,
indecent,
traumatic,
and
heartbreaking.
–
It sanitizes life,
stripping it of
the bone and
sinew that
makes us
connect
with
each
other.
–
So go ahead,
write another
poem about
a beautiful
flower
graciously
farting out
pollen
or
some
other
bullshit.
–
I’ll stick to the underbelly.
The Shit You’ll See in Paris | Poems that Suck
I was walking along a narrow,
Parisian street; very posh,
the kind with neat hedgerows
that camouflage the iron gate
intended to keep
the riff raff
out.
–
I was having a pleasant
morning stroll, but
then a giant pile
of dog shit
came across
my
path.
–
I paused for a moment,
nibbling on my
chocolate croissant,
mulling over
the turd in
my way
before
continuing
on.
–
Not five steps away,
I beheld what was
very clearly a
skid mark
that repeated
every three
paces
or
so.
–
I quickly put the
pieces together,
some unfortunate
fellow had stepped
in that
shit
not
far
back
–
And had spent
half a mile
trying to
scuff it off
the bottom
of
his
shoe.
–
I gazed at the
last, short
skid shaking
my head.
Surely, this
was a
commentary
on
life.
Paris | Poems that Suck
I was in Paris, once,
just a few days.
I didn’t do all the
touristy shit;
the Arc du Triomph,
the Eiffel Tower,
the Louvre.
–
Instead, I went down
to Pigalle, where the
streets are a litany
of porno shops.
I bought myself
a vibrator
and
some lube.
–
Then went back to
my closet of
an apartment
and had a
good fuck
on the
lice
ridden
bed.
