Sunday Aug 20, 2006

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I gave up performing in public because I feared to confront the egoist in myself, and the audience in their sweet, shiny adorations. Whore, love doll, poet, pandering to the audience. Oh, how I would sing to them, holding church over a glass of beer and an erotic verse. The girls would clench their knees in the pews, pupils dilated, and silliy me reading verse amidst that human humidity. Whore love doll poet pandering till, I no longer wrote for me but for them. An idiot carny working a lever on a thrill ride, waiting to hear them squeal.
mervin:
This is my cock.
It and your mouth used to be such familiar things,
My cock...your mouth...
My cock...your mouth...
My cock...
By process of association, I used to get a hard on,
every time you would speak or smile, and you used to do that
a lot.
My hand, I smell my fingers and I can't smell you.
I've had these four fingers so deep inside you,
I could hear your heart beat.
Remember ...
While I try to be bitter about your leaving,
bitter about all the times I grabbed you by the hair and
you tilted your head back and screamed as we came ...
Screamed...
Rememeber
While I try to be bitter about the smell,
we had to air out the rooms before we could entertain ...
Sex, it always smelled like sex.
I will try to be bitter because you stole it all when you left,
all except memory and this:
this is my cock.

03/01/1994 bpbpdb (bad poet, bad poet, down boy)
mervin:
My mind is a place for transients.
Check in check out lovers weekends,
noone stays long, in the registers everyone is named jones.
Clean sheets, fresh towels tiny mints and sealed shampoos.
That's how I like it.
Lately its like some angry heavy band has come and stayed
and broken all the mirrors.
Closed for rennovations
and opened again almost magically.

"Sorrow floats."

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