Fish fuck in It

[matsunosuperfan]

I was born a Cancer from a Pisces and a Cancer; both my sisters are Leos.

I was born on a Saturday, which keeps me grounded.

I went beyond the zodiac and found her empty and returned to her.

I drink the black tea of Saturn. While the booze of Venus into the flask or bottle of Mercury.

I keep the old symbols to write poems that make sense. Else I don't make sense, which is my career outside of writing.

Sense is not something a man would make if he didn't have to.
I don't have to, but as the poem goes:
1.
i sit down next to her
& our toes begin a love dance

i think
how beautiful
her dark smile
her brown skin
& i touch her arms
          her belly
our legs touch
& i realize i
want to see my white hand
  on her dark breasts
  and i cant do it

i try but my eyes
disappear
& all i can see
is beverly, beverly
tired & laying next to me

i get very confused
i dont really want to do
anything but be next to her

my hand touching
the small of her back

i cant do anything
except think love thoughts
to her & flash lights in my
head & wonder if she can
hear me loving her

2
in the 9 dimensional
collapseable universe
waiting for some one to
do it

i ask her what
she really wants

she knows!

she wants security

& i am so old and silly
in my need
i tell her the truth

---

Or, my own taste:

Honesty is Harassment

"Romance without finance is a damn nuisance."


I just wanta get drunk and have a good time.
Not impregnate Mnemosyne.
Miz Meadows and her good girls would do,
but all of em went back to school
in they 30s.

Time, you watyamakallIt,
have you no mercy?
Joveah might even believe he'll call you tomorrow,
or hold that steady
job.

I'll call you. But what of it?

Compulsion and Affect are my Eucharist.

---

No Free Will, free lunches for All


"All this was mission.
But could you accomplish it? Weren't you always
distracted by expectation, as if every event
announced a beloved?"



Pan isn't dead.
Only stifled by the possibiliy
of stifling.
Like everything, I (re)quire
a mission to be born a man
of this Earth.

While I feed the feral colony,
and worry briefly before surrendering
worry to the sun, over Abraxy
who hasn't shown today,
maybe gone the way of Hagaea
which pervades over all:
I feel he's still around.

Fear is love. 
Pain as real as orgasm and birth,
I don't cry over the sky 
and milky clouds.
Like Elwood and Jake,
a particular thorn sticks right
from my front, pointing the way
to say:

Love being fear, all is right.
Suffer if you like.
I'm having a good time,
disrespectful and all!
This is my home. And I've
repurposed Hoarding,
Compulsion, Limerence,
like Nerval the old ones;
yet mine, nonexistent,
are what is their realness.

Psychology is a lie.
I don't read their textbooks;
I've been round enough to 

Love is fear.
Pan's not dead:
Nor my pard, Abraxas.

I mean that is more or less exactly what I thought you meant