i was getting laid the other night when i felt him deep inside me- and when i opened my mouth to scream and cum, he put his dick in the way- through the teeth... and i realized, "shit! there's two of them".

she's never been outdone, and if he comes over tonite, she'll probably spit in his face. maybe if they just wait a few more weeks she'll let him spit in her's.

OLD SCHOOL DOO-WOP SONGS, devil and angel! NEED LOVE LIKE SWEET SIXTEEN.

he heard a crash and blamed himself.

i blink. i swallow. i just am listening.

are you falling for me.

I've got a Headache that could Flirt with The Devil.

Team. my third grade teacher once told me that there was no 'i' in team. of course. genius. cliche. beautiful. tiim.

3 minutes pass. phone rings. friend answers. it is he. i talk. stomach in knots. picks up car- conversation over. plot thickens. does not answer phone. parks car. he calls. she walks up stairs. awkward. 10 minutes pass. she leaves. smokes. calls. he answers. 'where did you go'? 'cigarette'. car. mother's. awkward. anias nin. bed. kissing. cold. motion. silence. rhythm. renewal. silence. exit. garden. conversation. 'see you in a month'. laughs.

directions to chicago: 40W, 85S, 26W, 81S, 75N, 74W, 65N. find the casino where the dead animals lay on rail road tracks. make love to lou reed and please forget your money where your mommy is.

The Penguin/fallof2002- Charlotte, I Miss You.

drowning noise of juke box kings and heros. excited. relaxed conversation of post-corporation work days. groups of 35plus. casual stares and glances. i am the only one writing of this moment. new found memory. red on black checkered floor- dulled by precious day's work- french fries, etc. red, smokey haze. wooden panel walls. this diner is tired as it turns into the night's keg. more tables open, THE DOORS are playing; setting the tone for this solomn essay. smell of liquor and cigarettes- a sandwich or two. My waitress- the chic black bangs. people planning midweek's events. As i sip a coffee, beer bottles are being drained into the urinals. one by one. wooden, black padded short back kiddie chairs. spinning barstools. chrome-rimmed red tables. black painted booths. neon jukebox still offers a mood that screams for everyone to stay. open kitchen. eyes see all. tattooed boys. the sound of dishes being cleaned leaves me unsettled- i haven't a job.

for the boy i'd drive miles to see:

i lust for your direction and your silent, desperate plea, and when you cum inside my body, i will throw you down on piles of bloody laundry. fucked and taunted- i feel. drunk and despondant. fuck your dick- it's smaller than the others. when i tell you this, you frown. you're a loser, you know it. you are shallow. fucking show it. eat my cunt and make me squirm. make me look delinquent, screaming so many funny things like, 'OH, YOU'RE SO GOOD'!