Tobacco is a dirty weed
I like it
It satisfies no normal need
I like it
It makes you thin it makes you lean
It tears the hair right off your bean
It's the worst darn stuff I've ever seen
I like it

(I cheated, not spontaneous...this was on my grandpa's tobacco holder thing. I must have read it a thousand times over the years because it's committed to memory.)

He leans on support beams
In a bar in New Orleans
As the shadows and corners
Stow devious things

She's there across hardwood
In a tight little dress
Drinks hard-hitting cider
Dark hair, swollen breast
He slides to her side;
He'd take nothing less
Eyes blaze sapphire
Harder than the rest

She closes in soft
Makes love with her hands
She leads him out back
Into black, misty lands

Her home is a relic,
Yellow paint, yellow dust
He doesn't see a thing
Only curves, only lust

Her rooms, empty caverns
Her white skin like ice
Her bed smells of mothballs,
Of old piss and lice

Her lips, silky leeches
Her teeth used with care
The tips of her fingers
Do more than their share
To transform his body
To blind skin and hair;
The last thing he smells
Is his blood in the air

She lies with him, wilting
For hours on end
Her own brassy man
Her own secret friend

"I'll love you forever,"
Her words at his ear
"'Til your bones turn to dust,
And I'm empty of tears."



Heh, Cyclefrance's poem inspired me. Bars and mating dances and whatnot. It happens to be a gloomy, tornado-warning day outside.

Hunker down and slap you silly
Here's a friend; his name is Billy.
Hair is purple, eyes are red,
Only 'cause he's in your head.
He'll be anything you want -
A rusty spoon, an elephant.
And if his dick promotes distress,
He'll shed his crotch, and grow some breasts.

I've got an ache on for bacon
but I want to be thinner
calorie-free bacon
that would be a winner
Or something to stop me
wanting bacon for dinner

That's what the vomitorium is for.

salamander, are you really writing these poems?

cuz damn.

I am indeed. Making silly/fucked up little poems is what I do with bits of my free time anyway; I just figured it'd be more entertaining to write them here, where I don't have to wonder how to word something better, and they come out more...spontaneously.

By the by, it'd be interesting to see how a modern public vomitorium would look.

Wash our clothes
In the kitchen sink
If any's left
It's just red ink

If they saw her
Never fear
Landlord thinks
We're raging queers

If she stinks
We'll crank the fan
Bury her deep
In desert sand

Drive through pitch
As Vegas snores
Don't you fret
She's just a whore

The ladies' bathroom at Vogue magazine HQ, I would think.

Heh...was thinking a big long urinal-esque thing against the wall, with gripping handles...and a garbage disposal? Who knows!

Perhaps, in this age of recycling, it might be more like the local dump/recycling center, with different receptacles for each grade of barf. Obviously there would be an "allergy aware" section for peanut-free barf. Should we consider carrots, i wonder?

.....big silence.....

OK so in the UK, the standing joke is that barf always contains carrots whether you ate them or not. Does this humour extend beyond the borders of the British Isles?

Nah, we just laugh at corn in our poo.

:lol:

I'm
fucked.



it's an imagist poem.

I'm liking it....

Love is tender
Love is sweet
Love is a freight train
Made of meat

Love is fickle
Love is cold
Love is a ticket
Long since sold

Love is foolish
Love is blind
May as well be
A cantaloupe rind


*Happy V-Day. I hope it sucks. Unless it is good.