she has proclaimed as much
to me
has brought her prizes
over for me to view:
silent blonde zeros of young
flesh
who
a) sit
b) stand
c) talk
at her command

sometimes she brings one
sometimes two
sometimes three
for me to
view

Sandra looks very good in
long gowns
Sandra could probably break
a man’s heart

I hope she finds
one.

you

you’re a beast, she said
your big white belly
and those hairy feet.
you never cut your nails
and you have fat hands
paws like a cat
your bright red nose
and the biggest balls
I’ve ever seen.
you shoot sperm like a
whale shoots water out of the
hole in its back.

beast beast beast,
she kissed me,
what do you want for
breakfast?

the 6 foot goddess

I’m big
I suppose that’s why my women always seem
small
but this 6 foot goddess
who deals in real estate
and art
and flies from Texas
to see me
and I fly to Texas
to see her—
well, there’s plenty of her to
grab hold of
and I grab hold of it
of her,
I yank her head back by the hair,
I’m real macho,
I suck on her upper lip
her cunt
her soul
I mount her and tell her,
“I’m going to shoot white hot
juice into you. I didn’t fly all the
way to Galveston to play
chess.”

later we lay locked like human vines
my left arm under her pillow
my right arm over her side
I grip both of her hands,
and my chest
belly
balls
cock
tangle into her
and through us
in the dark
pass rays
back and forth
back and forth
until I fall away
and we sleep.

she’s wild
but kind
my 6 foot goddess
makes me laugh
the laughter of the mutilated
who still need
love,
and her blessed eyes
run deep into her head
like mountain springs
far in
and
cool and good.

she has saved me
from everything that is
not here.

I’ve seen too many glazed-eyed bums
sitting under a bridge drinking cheap wine

you sit on the couch
with me
tonight
new woman.

have you seen the
animal-eater
documentaries?

they show death.

and now I wonder
which animal of
us will eat the
other first
physically and
last
spiritually?

we consume animals
and then one of us
consumes the other,
my love.

meanwhile
I’d prefer you go
first the first way

since if past performance
charts mean anything
I’ll surely go
first the last
way.

sexpot

“you know,” she said, “you were at
the bar so you didn’t see
but I danced with this guy.
we danced and we danced
close.
but I didn’t go home with him
because he knew I was with
you.”

“thanks a bunch,” I
said.

she was always thinking of sex.
she carried it around with her
like something in a paper
bag.
such energy.
she never forgot.
she stared at every man available
in morning cafes
over bacon and eggs
or later
over a noon sandwich or
a steak dinner.

“I’ve modeled myself after
Marilyn Monroe,” she told
me.

“she’s always running off
to some local disco to dance
with a baboon,” a friend once told
me, “I’m amazed that you’ve
stood for it as long as you have.”
she’d vanish at racetracks
then come back and say,
“three men offered to buy me
a drink.”

or I’d lose her in the parking
lot and I’d look up and she’d
be walking along with a strange man.
“well, he came from this direction
and I came from that and we
kind of walked together. I
didn’t want to hurt his
feelings.”