Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Percentages of People Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Thursday 3/06/2008 12:45:00 AM

Unprepared she examined the questions. Licking the discarded candy wrappers he referred to as his balls. Bits of sugar plumping her tongue. In patches of neatly trimmed pubic hair. The clown was standing there. So obviously expecting a blowjob. Squeezing. Contorting his balloons into less chaotic animals.

The butter was melting. Like children too young to be born. The little bit of sickness in every vaccine they give us. We're only immune because they've already infected us.

The clock was waiting. Drawing stick figures with the verbs. Portraits with the adjectives. Tracing cliffs. In black marker. Numbering the pages from the last to the first. Little blizzards removing the raods from our journey. Partial adverbs runing close to the hem. Huge people in tiny moments. Like everything we tell ourselves is true.

Short skits on long legs. A fraction of what I remember about being a woman. The whole of what I learned from it.

2 comments:
Craftsman of light said...

What a nice fuck!!You re so sensual!! It's beautiful.
Even though these happenings are only taking place somewhere in the mind.All fuck is only cerebral...is'nt that what you've always been saying. One pushes the buttons and gets the program is'nt it??
Both you and me know that there's absolutely no vugarity in what we're saying...dolls, candy , ballons are all the thrust of life.
Would you comment furthur please....

alcholic poet said...

what i'm trying to express is the feeling of sex right after. specifically where one party is far more invested than the other.

yes, most of it is in the mind, but what i'm interested in here is the relationship between cerebrum and skin. how touch impacts state of mind. and vice versa.

of course i'm interested in the pleasure also. or rather discerning if there really was any other than the imagined.




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