Posts Tagged ‘romantic’


30 Mar




maybe it’s a weakness
but I need
to fall
into the arms of a woman
my head upon the sitting thighs
a good woman
one that will comfort past the epigraph
no et al, past the marble, the bronze
a cursory fetish, a curiosity tickled
lips treasuring a churlish quiet, a bottom lip to love
slanted snide, waiting to be bitten
I’m already falling
a conjuring so cruel
I’m falling now
where is our bed

lead me then shoot me


The Last of ’15 Poems: II

05 Jan



asleep in the sepulcher
asleep in the sepulcher
like teenage fantasy
I fancy myself a monolith
of obsolete quixotic or poetic notions
imagined up by romantic mercenaries
who smoked like alchemists
and dressed like they fucked for free
every climactic second a salvo in a virgin war
we’re killers now it seems
and we once used to be oh so inspiring
surrounded by beautiful things like empty pens
souls with long, pale or hairy faces
cut up into pages vocationally destined to become flyswatters
midnight stomach aches, hospital blood tests
cigarettes in adolescent hands, hallway whispers
park concerts like trips around the world from a burgundy afghan
stars like hickeys in the sky made by lecherous gods
big loveless eyes that command oceans and lose travelers
early morning phonecalls that screech with the bombast of backseat harlots
the voice that returns
barely, but I can feel its fingers
it tugs at me like I was a naughty child, by ear tip
it tells me, like a handshake I respect
that all the strong men
are already waking up
because we’ve lost our time for dreaming


check underneath the seat

20 Feb



vile and vulgar wonderings under 46


wondering how I got here

wondering when I’m going to die

wondering what almost thirty means

wondering whether we’ll ever elect a gay socialist president to sit on POTUS’s sedes stercoraria

wondering whether I’ll ever smile at nature’s caprice again

snow boots rarely lead to good work, but we all have to tip the Chinese food delivery man at least 15 % somehow (try the Singapore Chow Mei Fun, I guarantee it)

wondering whether if I told you I can get god to lick your tits (she said it, not me!) but you might get into a bit of trouble for it – how many of you would really refuse, and say ‘I’ll pass’?

wondering when I’ll get to fuck Mnemosyne again – she’s a squirter and she helps me remember

she’s been passed around a lot of us, it’s true, that’s just how it works – for example, Nabokov took her as she slept, but that’s just the type of guy he was – acts loveless and full of purpose

another bit of meaninglessness to throw into the fire, the eventual fire, when the fire comes

it’s like you’re behind this wall, but I can’t see an opening

I read a few days ago, running out of cigarettes as always because of a nervous system that took a hit four years ago, that time will cease to exist in approximately three and half billion years

and we’ll all be frozen, like them folks at Pompeii, but still whole, corium over ash, each of us contained in our own unwavering look of predespondency

when I get there, if I do, almost thirty after all, I want either your legs or your arms around my neck, because in my opinion, timelessness deserves a worthy prize

the cosmos becoming like the scratched and scuffed polaroid of a lost lover she keeps hidden in that lacunar always under her pale hand

but it’s fine

it’s fine

it will be fine

we deserve to stop wondering, we deserve what’s coming


Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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