Men

Men use you
it's the way the world is
You are meat
a pile of tastey meat
they want to eat you
but the thing is
you feel special
you feel wiser than the wise man
but hey, you are not
because you are a toy
a meaty toy
to play with
let them have their fun
and put all their fun sticks in your holes
tastey
maybe they'll say something incky and you can write about it
in secret though because
we cant let the men know
that we know
that we are meat toys to eat and play with

Jimmy, Jay Gatsby, Ted Hughes, Colin Firth, Samson, Algernon Moncrieff, Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits

Please meet me next to the sea on the island. You told me I was beautiful and came into my bed. Naked, and scratched I'll be your bride. We'll bring eachother to perfection. You have not made me suffer, merely wait. Dance me to the end of love. Eat a slice of wonder bread. Don't let Crake kill me. You always look so cool. I love you wildy, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. I'll jump from the chair I sat in and kiss you. I made up my own language and wore rubber boots. It's closing time. Say you're weary, say you're sad, say you're growing old but add, Jenny kissed me. No, I like you very much. Just as you are.

Why shouldn`t

Why shouldn't
I jump from my tall tower of sadness and psycho chaos,
arms out birdwise, shoulder blades creasing,
and fall spishity splash to my death?
Is this really Friday that I want to pull a Plath and stick my head in a gas oven?
My Ted wouldn't write a book.
He couldn't.
Should I really and truly take my 20 long fingers around my throat and close them in the ending prayer?
Oh, but I couldn't!
Tomorrow is Saturday said black.
I am feverish and wanting mostly over anything- including my thoughts of a lovely Friday suicide- to take the huge canvas painted in Tracy trampy blues- to look like a what is it? Parrot?-and smash it into pieces like the crackers in your red soup.
I would so much like to die
but I am thinking of a fetus,
a particular fetus:
yours.
You were once the shaft's spermy fish
that squished into your frail old mothers vagina
and swam on into her egg.
You were the gold fish in a bowl.
A fisted flowering flimsy fishy fetus and you developed into a man.
I am thinking of my razor blade in the tiny top drawer
but, I am also thinking of dress up with red high heeled shoes and a wedding gown.
Oh, wouldn't that make a lovely song!
What if you were to munch upon a junebug? You would surely die. It's April. Not June.
There is a snowstorm outside.
I could chase into a maze a little boy and then sit and freeze trying to find him.
 I would be a hard frosty little dead cupcake.
I must wear pink for this! A pink dress with white lace and a big bow.
But I'll have to sew it and that takes time.
I want to die now, this Friday night.
Gee, remember the house in the plains with the half-black school
and the thick wool under my sheet
< the sweat> the sweat> the thick wool stink>
Oh I have to grow old and die of my age.
I'll have a chill and want that thick sheep over me.
I have yet to cook my first turkey! Oh too soon to die!
Turkey dinner tomorrow?
We'll see.

I thought you should know

I'm pregnant





april fools