-DI GUEUL ASS

Di & Ass twin homos en amour, dégueulasse

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Articles

Identity

O Identity,

that old woman,

she, whose manacl’d mind

sings of being free.

How nice, she thinks,

it is to have rented

a mobile home-

one that stinks

and one that thinks.

But how much nicer 

it would be

to have been born a tree,

and grow to the moon 

at a calm heart’s pace

instead of looking up

wishing for grace.

                                -ddd

a dose

Is the air not enough
that I crave cigarette sticks
                        instead?-
man-made doses of fixed air.

when did my thumb become unappealing? 

the touch on my lips
and a steady inhale
expanding my diaphragm

till it fills the whole city!

but these dreams are just that-
picturesque fantasies,
religious tableaux,
Sante Davide and his
cigarette pack in one hand
and an orb of fire in another.

in reality,
I’m actually picking my nose
on a bench
beside a plant
with my rolly black suitcase
standing in front of me. 

                         -ddd

an expansion in my diaphragm

the space in a breath
is infinite

the leaves of spring
unborn

the smile, the grin
of a spiritual boy
lies lazily on his form.

Implore for God
extract the whys and wherefores-
inhale inhale the fetal leaves
for you alone
     you alone
aren’t you alone.

                                   -ddd

Cremazie

a rainy morning
in March
at Cremazie metro
on the south side
waiting to be picked up
like the other lonely janes here
in their spring coats
and winter coughs.

it’s raining
and every morning I’ve been terribly
thirsty.

I wonder when the earthworms come out.

the early morning at a metro station
is a sacrilege to the human soul.

the worst of mother nature
and human nature
united
waiting. 

a trip

Part One

the angelic
      voice in the metro
hums along
      with the homeless
whistle

divine Mundane!

     Metro Parc,
in it’s spring and Sunday
     glory.

To the tired sitter-downers
     and adrift female
     pacers

today is the day!
    like any other 

Part Two

the 94
catapults us
along Iberville

     the blue sky
is hovering
     in pause

the eye of the storm is tomorrow
    today is still now 

Part Three

back on the 94
    but north
head shaved
    a lovely afternoon
brunch
walk
sex
shaving - vibrations on my
                scalp

it was numbing.

     the cerebral conversation
speaks more physically than
we give it credit for

    the vibration of noise
is in
    constant
    contact
with the brain.

      various kinds of
very physical
       massages 

Duty


There was no silence as I acquainted myself with the bright streetlight
Outside his window.
His snores were roaring like waves.
His tongue was dipped with cocaine.
There was no silence.

I felt like my mother.
I would reach out to rub his back,
To motion my leaving- I could not sleep there anymore.
And the rub would go unnoticed.
I knew my duty!

There was no silence
When I looked away. There was no silence,
When I turned towards him.
There were snores
Crackling like a fireplace
On the cold black bed.

I lay sprawled
Like my mother-
Delicate, dutiful, dying.
I needed sleep that I could not find.
I found silence.
I found silence in the break of the waves,
In my mother’s trust for my father’s body.
I found silence to sleep.

Woken with rods prodding flowers-
My anus tight, rested, asleep.
A kiss at the back of my neck.
There was no sleep. Only duty!

And when I got up and left him
In his own snores, under his black sheets,
When I got up and left,
Like a divorcee I indulged in cold orange juice.
Like a widow, I assured my love affair with God
Was the only one worth pining over.
Like my mother, I was downstairs on the leather
Couch, resting in front of television lights
Knowing this was the only meditation worthwhile.
This is the closest silence I will ever know.

-ddd, 2009

Coffee is splashin’ round in my gut

Coffee is splashin round in my gut,
Seashell sounds escaping my esphogus.

Wish wash- ba-boom. Deep thunder
Resides in nimbostratus gas
Somewhere down. Electricity pounding
Sinus swelling. It’s swell, it’s swell.
I slash the streets, their stories cute,
Little boy carrying an umbrella too big for him as his father tells him
To shut up. And i slash his father so deep with my clown
Umbrella, broken blue-yellow salvation army crucifix
That i carry. I slash. O. How I slash
The little stroller baby tucked away in yellow raincoat bag.
How I slash burnt fresh bagel smells, car yells.
Something’s rumbling. And Imma slashing.

Imma teasing old horny French men sitting
Out as if there was sun. My broken-thing caressing my anus
Rumbling. And they smoke their thick cigarettes, cough out
Grey stubble. I’m teasing, slashing, more fucking awake
Than I’ve been in a while. Ain’t misbehaving. No.
Cocaine blues- no. Thunder’s rumbling somewhere deep,
And I’m punching thick air, sidewalk cement, and little
Worms that dare to come out. Fucking hermaphrodites.

Did i come last night?
Pasty dust clinging to dirty underwear, don’t really remember
If I fucked the cat. The one that licked the table and her
Credit card. Meowing anxiety, my eyes heavy- want to fuck
Him in the other room, but the black cat perches, perched
Dust on her nostrils- did I come last night? Somethins rumbling.
Don’t think i did. Christmas carols in my dreams which turned
Out to be cell phone rings. Waking later, and owning
The sidewalk dirty underwear sweat around my nipples
Chalky lips. I own it. Somethin’s rumblin’ and I fucking
Slash the streets.

And you’re laughing maybe, and I’m still slashing baby.
I sing for sarcastic cynics;
And ode to open dicks who contemplate swimming with
The cars below- but who walk instead. Who know the sidewalk
Can’t support an extra pound but who press instead.
The ones who think green leaves look better with a grey sky.
Chalk smiles, dead byes. Toes awake. Stomach rumbling.
Howling to the other motherfuckers, you know, the ones
Who take a while to get their pants off.
Don’t worry, I’m laughing too. Leaves the best scar.

 
                                                           -ddd

Suzanne Says

When you gaze at your reflection in the river

she says

You will wonder many things.

You, and the reflection of yourself in the river

are equally as deep 

      equally as beautiful

      equally as clear.  

The difference

she says

The difference between one

and one’s reflection in the river

is the horizon-

where the water meets with the sky

or flirts with the muddy banks.

Look up, my friend,

Look up.

                                           -ddd

all the bad things

sex
and all the bad things

holding your breath
       while cumming

clenching your hips
       staying there
       until it tickles

saying yes then no
        then alright 

colonizing every fit body
        that walks

you people keep me looking up
        from those awful things
        I clench from our vision

Let Us Gaze At One Another
And Smile Tirelessly
Until The Sun Falls

forgive us for digging our little fingers
            into all the bad things
            at night

                                                       -ddd

catastophe

I crawl’d to Prague
to fuck my lover-
I had a bitter sex
         with the covers.

I bursted-
crying at midnight,
          with my fingers clenching
           to my cock clacking. 

O I stopped some place
waiting for you,
I fled toward another, 
then I howl’d at the moon-
          barking adieu
to obliterate you, my lover.

I flew to Krakow
to fuck my lover-
instead I fell
to the river.

I’ve been frozen waist-deep,
        in the blackest lake,
gnawing your ghost
              till forever.   

Come here!
    come here
         my lover. 

To Fuck.
To Smother.

come marvel at the catastrophe of naked cumming you and me.   

                                                                                                         -ddd