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I’ll take care of it

later.

like a flower in the rain

I cut the middle fingernail of the middle

finger

right hand

real short

and I began rubbing along her cunt

as she sat upright in bed

spreading lotion over her arms

face

and breasts

after bathing.

then she lit a cigarette:

“don’t let this put you off,”

and smoked and continued to rub the

lotion on.

I continued to rub the cunt.

“you want an apple?” I asked.

“sure,” she said, “you got one?”

but I got to her—

she began to twist

then she rolled on her side,

she was getting wet and open

like a flower in the rain.

then she rolled on her stomach

and her most beautiful ass

looked up at me

and I reached under and got the

cunt again.

she reached around and got my

cock, she rolled and twisted,

I mounted

my face falling into the mass

of red hair that overflowed

from her head

and my fattened cock entered

into the miracle.

later we joked about the lotion

and the cigarette and the apple.

then I went out and got some chicken

and shrimp and french fries and buns

and mashed potatoes and gravy and

cole slaw, and we ate. she told me

how good she felt and I told her

how good I felt and we ate

the chicken and the shrimp and the

french fries and the buns and the

mashed potatoes and the gravy and

the cole slaw too.

a killer

consistency is terrific:

shark-mouth

grubby interior with an

almost perfect body,

long blazing hair—

it confuses me

and others

she runs from man to man

offering endearments

she speaks of love

then breaks each man

to her will

shark-mouthed

grubby interior

we see it too late:

after the cock gets swallowed

the heart follows

her long blazing hair

her almost perfect body

walks down the street

as the same sun

falls upon flowers.

prayer in bad weather

by God, I don’t know what to

do.

they’re so nice to have around.

they have a way of playing with

the balls

and looking at the cock very

seriously

turning it

tweeking it

examining each part

as their long hair falls on

your belly.

it’s not the fucking and sucking

alone that reaches into a man

and softens him, it’s the extras,

it’s all the extras.

now it’s raining to night

and there’s nobody

they are elsewhere

examining things

in new bedrooms

in new moods

or maybe in old

bedrooms.

anyhow, it’s raining to night,

one hell of a dashing, pouring

rain….

very little to do.

I’ve read the newspaper

paid the gas bill

the electric co.

the phone bill.

it keeps raining.

they soften a man

and then let him swim

in his own juice.

I need an old-fashioned whore

at the door to night

closing her green umbrella,

drops of moonlit rain on her

purse, saying, “shit, man,

can’t you get better music

than that on your radio?

and turn up the heat…”

it’s always when a man’s swollen

with love and everything

else

that it keeps raining

splattering

flooding

rain

good for the trees and the

grass and the air…

good for things that

live alone.

I would give anything

for a female’s hand on me

tonight.

they soften a man and

then leave him

listening to the rain.

melancholia

the history of melancholia

includes all of us.

me, I writhe in dirty sheets

while staring at blue walls

and nothing.

I have gotten so used to melancholia

that

I greet it like an old

friend.

I will now do 15 minutes of grieving

for the lost redhead,

I tell the gods.

I do it and feel quite bad

quite sad,

then I rise

CLEANSED

even though nothing is

solved.

that’s what I get for kicking

religion in the ass.

I should have kicked the redhead

in the ass

where her brains and her bread and

butter are

at…

but, no, I’ve felt sad

about everything:

the lost redhead was just another

smash in a lifelong

loss…

I listen to drums on the radio now

and grin.

there is something wrong with me

besides

melancholia.

eat your heart out

I’ve come by, she says, to tell you

that this is it. I’m not kidding, it’s