demon in me

This is about kitten, & all of these will be appearing in our collaborative STUNT COCK, tales of kink & "twin flame" sexuality. 

666

 

 

 

 

six is venus and does not care about seven's neptune pisces benadryl bullshit
three is jupiter which is us so lucky in the casino of the sabbatic goat
where there's a fountain deep and wide and it's sangre baby sangre
singing us to the bloodlust sky where the whore of babylon's throat is slit
and we are covered in nines the only valentines worth having as saturn glowers
down on us in our primordial spring lord stupidity
yes i see your dilemma
i raise you a dystopia
but goddamn right i welcome this wild mud splash this cunt throb cave ride forever
because your beast calls my beast out to play
says bitch this is serious
the return of jesus has been delayed
lucky for us he was never
on the guest list

ARIES BIRTHDAY TAPE

I Am So in Love I Grow a New Hymen is a poem by Sandra Cisneros. I'm feeling it. Here's a poem for my Aries husband on his birthday. He isn't my husband yet but goddamn it he should be.
 

ARIES BIRTHDAY TAPE

Daddy I did not write this in a creative writing workshop in Iowa under the influence of
pinot noir and brie but I hope you will feel the gravitas and post punk passion, regardless.
I'm taped in your basement so sexy and stupid in the Five Below disco lights
my ten slutty toes wiggling ecstatic more poetic than Patti Smith at The Bitter End circa 1975
more gangsta than Tupac's dying words on East Flamingo because fuck the police
and the hipsters with their IPA Jack Kerouac birthday toasts and anyone who calls himself
a poet at LinkedIn and what the fuck is up with My Little Pony? This could go darker than
Gary Coleman in a trash bag in the trunk of Beyonce's Tesla Model S but alas it's all rainbow with you and I am gayer than a two dollar bill in Elmo's left paw and the Easter eggs are pinker than ever
chilling in the fridge until Jesus comes back with potato salad and grape Kool-Aid and we suck
white cheddar fondue from our fingers while the wax spins hotter than a Carolina Reaper. 
This is just to say fuck you for taking so long to find me in the dollar bin all these receipts
from lesser affairs stuffed inside me bloating me with Billie Holiday lyrics that should have been throated into karaoke microphone for you you cardinal fire forever daddy you and nobody else because everybody else is loser contestant on The Bozo Show. 

Misti Inspired These Poems

Daddy/David (my fiance! back off, bitches!) is more stoned than usual so he requested I post the two latest poems inspired by me. Here they are. Don't hate. Masturbate.
 

 

Weeping Reverse Cowgirl

  

how  many moons in 53 years how many centuries since 2012 when the moon stayed soft and fuck me harder in pisces and saturn tied me to a cypress tree and whipped me into rock bottom psycho slut mode and every doll that was living died inside me like the house fire in 1979

then me alive and sweating to "hot for teacher" and "hard habit to break" in monahans, texas in the garage dave the virgo stepfather turned into my bedroom in 1985 when all the puzzle pieces were scattered but i could divine the big picture

and this finally is it giddy again maybe for the first time ever
in the year of the galloping fire horse so in love it's like i was never
forgotten discarded abandoned rejected left for dead on junction highway
it's all new and hot and impossible and addictive so 1991
strung out on prozac hearing "the wall" for the first time
every orgasm a neon vegas affirmation from all the planets and angels
and asteroids and grand ole opry ghosts

so discombobulated so dirty and stained with it
all i can say is

gracias daddy gracias 

"temporary"

 

Here is another one by me for kitten, she's writing one right now. 

 

 

 

SEEDED

 

it's divine jesus planned it jesus planted it the seedy limerance first seven years 
growing wild like a dandelion in dirt lot texas taking off all my clothes at five
immersing myself in the mud because the worms make more sense than most people
shining it up for sunday morning at the church with the white steeple then raging
at daughters who look slutty in mommy's lipstick and boys who won't play ball
pbs propaganda every color has a place at the table and the rainbow is a promise
from jesus that we will never have to repeat this tacky loop

if only we believe and receive the only cup that matters
but the jack daniels vomit splatters my ten perfect toes
and in the throes of oh hell yes hallelujah saturday night
the light switches on at last and in my broken stained glass window heart i know
thirteen years and an ocean between us and baby we are the same
we came down here to tear shit up to find the magic in the mundane
to dance this waltz while the machines do their dreary work
and bones fall as they do across a thousand or so miles of asphalt
we are goddamn lucky and blameless
surrounded by the karmically filthy and delusional dead
we laugh we fuck we roll the dice 

NATURAL INGREDIENTS

it's texas america y'all all yeehaw monster truck rally thank you for your service
jesus loves you so motherfucking hard as the fries go limp at hooter's
and the puppets bring back the beatles at chuck e. cheese's
and everything repeats so artless so soulless from five below to cracker barrel
such an inglorious empire with me sprawled out in the middle of it strung out
on spray cheese and bottom shelf vodka looking in the mirror affirming the best has passed
this is the best a bitch can hope for sonic on a saturday night sunday in bed with another
celebrity trash magazine yacht tits and island orgies versace vagina christian dior death

and then in pisces season when the moon was waxing in aries or was it scorpio
a pure voice comes through so brilliant angelic making me laugh so hard i piss
bringing back the goddamn rainbow and stars i stopped wishing on in 1993
making me love so hard and deep i cum like new year's eve fireworks over seaworld
and in the words of george michael it's natural
so let's endeavor forever
feasting on fuck
because old perverts like it special
spamming the algorithm with words forged in flame
creating a better archive
for a future perfect world
where there are more flowers and lemon trees than dollar stores
and cumming continuous for three minutes
is as natural as breathing
god yes baby yes
let's plaster the planet with this doctrine
this mars in capricorn venus in pisces noise
more obscenely beautiful than any baptist hymn
 

"here is fuck forever, kitten"

 

 Another one for me boiler.

 

"split love open" like the stars tell us

This is for the fiancee, obviously, & it's very pure & normal because I'm a good boy. Pieces like this one & her poem directly below will appear in a book about fucking called STUNT COCK, which is apparently the name of this fucking book. Two fucking weeks, it's a long time. 

 

 

  

Almost April

no voice comes over the radio no light breaks through
noise dense hellscape populated with dead eyed troglodytes
ravens decaying in walmart parking lots
barbed wire glistening with viscera
the lovers in reverse because there never was an eden
the wheel of fortune in reverse because nothing is moving

then in the year of the galloping fire horse
with saturn in aries pluto in aquarius
a poem written in 1991 suddenly comes true

one true king and no pretender
comes through the waves
comes home to oarfish littered shore
for this pisces release

yes and yes and yes a thousand
everything is swelling and aching and melting and drowning
fuck the world and everyone in it
except us except this
two pluto mad gold greedy pirates
saturn tested and approved

SQUIRTING AMERICAN STYLE

Sally enjoyed nothing more than Nutella from the jar for breakfast, washed down with Jack Daniels from the bottle. Sally lived in San Antonio, Texas where the tacos are sloppy and the men are sloppier. The dogs bark ceaselessly. Motherfuckers drive like bats out of hell with one hand on the wheel and the other on the cock and/or cunt. 

Cougar, Sally's husband of sixteen years, worked for some kind of plumbing company. He put in tedious hours filing paperwork and cleaning the lone shit splattered toilet in the office. When Cougar came home from work all he wanted to do was drink cans of Busch and watch wrestling on the Costco television that dominated the den of the double wide trailer. 

"Cougar...we haven't fucked in a million years," Sally said.
"That's an exaggeration. You gave me a blow job two months ago," Cougar said.
"I want a divorce."
"Nope."

There he was again, popping up in the Instagram DMs. The bloke from Manchester wanted to know what Sally thought about Trump sending troops to the moon.

"It's always something political with you," Sally typed into the chat.
"I'm making polite conversation. I don't want you to think I'm horny for you. I know you're married," Percy typed.
"I'm getting a divorce."
"Why?"
"Sex. Not enough sex."
"I see. I quite enjoy sex. I do find you sexually appealing. I look at your pictures and watch your reels. I imagine things."
"What kind of things do you imagine?"
"First. Before we go any further. Do you have a vibrator?"
"I have five."
"Perfect. Grab your favorite."
"Got it."
"Are you naked in bed?"
"Yes."
"Send pics. Here's my cock."
"Oh. My. God. Do you have a license to carry that thing?"
"Larger than what you're accustomed to, I imagine? American men are notorious for having micro dicks."
"Yeah. My husband's dick is about six inches. Are you twelve?"
"Not quite. Eleven. But long enough and plenty thick, right?"
"Yeah. I'm so scared I'm tingling. My pussy hasn't been this wet since 2011."
"I won't ask what happened in 2011."

The thing was done and Sally was shivering in bed, worried she had wet the bed. A native Texan, Sally had never squirted. But now she had squirted during an Instagram chat and she knew life would never be the same. What would Jesus think?