Jackson

(found poem: Paul Harrison’s September titles (go there & scroll down past the poems to see the original)) And Life in the Abstract and what make sense of this or mock it well-read hmas ovens (or oberon king of the fairies) wake some of the better, unknown, small press poets you … drinking my medicine… Read more

if you are an arm I will be a gauntlet      black and magenta lace      your skin still visible      your hand still free and if you are a head I will be the hat      adorning      your nebular eyes and if you are a coat I will be the back but if you are boots I will… Read more

Onstage the panel host, a young woman (dyed blonde waves, strappy top that she periodically adjusts), adores (with exposed wrists, pressed-out lips, uptipped chin, crossed ankles) three awkward, scruffy, peculiar, camp old men Read more

I dreamed I fucked Mick Jagger     Lips & all It wasn’t nice He fucked like a malfunctioning vibrator and his cock was so small, the condom was loose He didn’t like me digging my nails into his back, probably because I didn’t mean it He had no idea how to make me come Sorry Mick Read more

On the train, standing tall Black hair, soft spikes above, cleancut below Sunglasses Cleanshaven big-dick chin Black t-shirt, blue jeans, black suede shoes Old leather Quiksilver bag, lowslung like Dee Dee Ramone’s bass He doesn’t see me staring He gets off at Bassendean Damn Read more