I'm a compulsive blogger, shoot me.

Tinder box god head

i.

I kindle the tinder box god head and
righteous noises catch the catechisms
of impotent saints, work it in – full on
jack off session, petals, boughs and all,

come constellations spider silk tender
erase at the touch, becoming just wetness.

ii.
pragmatic excuse-maker, sand sifting lips
smoothed and raw opaline kissable.

(Is the pulse of modern
man

the modem’s hum?)

Sibylline Confucius-speak rhetoricized erectile
puzzles in judeo-christian, I only speak English.

I disinherit lies, my love,
this means you.

iii.
Dilettante rosary-kisser wet with imprint,
impresario of infatuations in low-cut bikini,
hypoesthesia sets in
I mistake it for arousal, but
honey, you’re a goddamn nosebleed.

iv.
tinder box god head rescues all the hindu gods
from a 10 story blaze

spinning plates on wine glass
stems. Mars rover blows up, much tumult
approaches with the wind, nature reclaims her spoils:
virginity and all.

I had half a quart of gin &
chronic ills plagued every drop.

Eventually, I will fall asleep
to a kinder lull but for now

I’m far too busy raising hell.

:P