What I’m Reading-July 24

•July 25, 2013 • 2 Comments









I just finished reading Jill Alexander Essbaum’s book of poetry, ‘Harlot‘.  It is full of delicious wicked poems, and If you’ve ever read her poetry, you know just what I mean…this is definitely a book to be savored. She has a way with words–with language that is beautiful, surprising, profane and profound all at the same time.

Here is her poem Whoreheart, reprinted with her kind permission:


I am the bridge you dare not cross.
An ice-floe that won’t be defrosted.
A signpost in your dense, damp woods.
The serrated flower of the snakeroot.
A doe amid the beeweed.
And the rocks in the field hurt my feelings.

And I’m the spendthrift wench in debtor’s jail.
The wound that won’t quite heal.
That little Judas sitting on your shoulder.
The irregular bread of a mendicant’s supper.
A disastrous truth told in candor.
I’m the milksap of the oleander.
And mine are the cyanide sockets of almonds.

I’m the kink in the appleworm, the dolmen

that entombs you. I am not safe nor sorry.

Swollen Moses, am I your darling? I shall part

like a red and willing sea. And do I simile?
Take of your metaphor and face me.

And I am the ocean in which you’ll drown.

Abundantly black, I yawn and I drawl.

I’m calm but for aggregate, gathering storms.

And I swarm your bed like a charm

of fiend finches. And last night I rained inches,
and hours. And I am the pitcher

plant’s practical talent. The flytrap, the pie plate,
the oblate, the shrew. The mistake you made
too late to undo. The jackscrew to your threaded rod.
A fraud. I’m the pussycat of need. Your defeat. Your pall.
And I loom for you like a terrible end.
And I am not your friend.


•July 15, 2013 • 10 Comments


We take this
vile, vulgar
temporal existence
and somehow make it

we make
bodily fluids
into summer rain
sloppy wet kisses
into vintage wine
pressure & pain
into screams
of passion

and as time’s illusion
bends and breaks
us all
into a million little pieces

with each stroke
i serenade the universe
in praise
of this gift

Untitled 6-4-13

•June 5, 2013 • 9 Comments

Everything that ever was,

So despite the 3am
crying babies

the 5 am train
that rattles the window sill
and shakes our dreams
to dust

in a parallel universe
you are here
and I am there
pulling those sexy pink panties
with my teeth.

We are seven-
all over again
with tongues
and libidos
like a thunderstorm

we are time travelers

fucking our way
across the universe


•May 31, 2013 • 1 Comment

Lying next to you

with a rolodex of lovers

beneath us


we become one more

tattered card

scribbled in indelible 

black ink


The Weight of Absence

•May 16, 2013 • 6 Comments

I remember sitting alone

in an empty apartment

listening to Sade’s

Haunt Me


Thinking of no one

in particular

just the weight

of absence

how the empty space between


isn’t empty at all

just a quiet vantage point


to observe the infinite beauty

of the universe


& chart a more 

accurate course



Sunday Morning

•May 15, 2013 • 2 Comments


The silky soft
of your skin

The altar
of you hair

The goddess curve
of your hips

Got me speakin’

Liquid Dreams

•April 1, 2013 • 8 Comments

What erotic thoughts

dance beneath your ebony mane

as you lie naked

in the tub

head back

feet propped against the wall

faucet unleashing a torrent

of liquid dreams

against your clit

are you remembering

The doorman who’s smile

lingered just a second longer

than the day before

that feeling

of his eyes on your ass

even up until the time

the elevator doors closed

Or is it

the young taxi driver

who knows the city by heart

but took the long way

to your apartment

his eyes watching you

from the rear view mirror

Are you imagining him

pulling into a dark alley

climbing into the back seat

forcing his cock

between those perfectly

glossed lips?

I watch you

from a half opened

bathroom door

my dick throbbing

at the fantasies

I imagine you



I strip naked

gently slide into the tub

behind you

and into your liquid dreams

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