Rust

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if my hands were the limbs of my mind
I would understand women

if my tongue could speak the words
and emotion
lapped from your cunt
then I would know you inside out

if you could hold my cock
like something more than a toy
maybe we could be happy

perhaps
if we try

we can be people to one another
instead of locks, and keys,
and rust in-between

-BSB

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Sensations of Copulation

sex is happening beside me, inside my mind
a couple sit, myself beside her
like an impromptu menage

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she rubs her dress straight on the surface of her long legs
with pointed hands and painted nails

she laughs with her partner
carelessly tossing her hair behind her
which brushes my shoulder and she excuses herself

her smile is pleasant, but her fear is ugly
the timidness of a child does not become her mature eyes

her man is weak, and cannot handle a woman like her
she owns him, and he hopes she will keep him past tonight

while she hopes that he’ll stay a man until last call

BSB

Just a Bukowski Tonight

let’s cut through it
I’m just a man, nothing more
and the way you did your eyes tonight is sexy

the shape of your face reminds me
of a girl I used to know
someone who used me

not her fault, I deserved it
she was sexy too
so is your face

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I can’t tell the shape of your body
but I’m sure it’s a bit of all right
Fuck

I’m not a poet tonight
I’m just a Bukowski
without the books

just a dirty, old man
with stubble, and resentment
for anyone with anything less
than vagina
or booze
to offer

BSB

A Man’s Respect and Admiration

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I admire the muscles of your arms and the flatness of your stomach
I respect the softness and length of your neck and your legs
I have nothing but respect and admiration for you and your eyes
the bridge of your nose, and cheek-bones
your lips and the metal stud you sport with such class

I would respect you in the morning
In the cold light of tomorrow
with tonight’s make-up faded and smudged
I would admire you as you waited for the bus home
With your panties crumpled and soiled and crammed in your pocket

derrek-gores-recycled-magazines-collage-art-1_2th8t_11446There might be shame creeping at the corners of your face

But don’t let it take you over

You are nothing but beauty and desire

And I have nothing but respect and admiration for you

Even as I came into your mouth

BSB

Hunting Ground

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Lights shine artfully from towers that stab the night sky. That’s the key. The fill light seeps from lamp-posts and taxis and pedestrian cars. The darkness becomes the subject that’s framed in heroic personification.
Alley-bound prowlers become protagonists in the urban ballet of apathy and compassion. Smoke emits from gutters to languish. Ambition puts root down on street-corners, seeking to sprout adventure.

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The Korean joint in the square vomits superstars into the downtown air. The courthouse leans on Howe, and around happy-go-luckies still desperately preening to the twilight chill.
Everywhere pulses with desperate desire. Everywhere thrusts. Men prowl the street. Women seek the light and warmth. Downtown is darkest jungle.
-BSB

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When death lurks on your morning stroll

baked by the fresh, morning sun
the streets reek of boredom, panic, and piss
decide to practice increased tactility

practice keeping my head from bowing to track my shoes
practice my breathing
practice regulating judgmental tendencies

achieve temporary reprieve
enjoy a brief taste of peace
until I remember that there is horror

horror and death, that floats above us all
ready to set upon us at will and whim
there is danger, and blindness, and strokes, and insanity, and…

and then, I remember women
I remember sex with a woman
feel myself growing lighter, in shade and weight

feel myself getting hard
and suddenly
I’m not thinking about dying, anymore

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