Sunday, December 30, 2012

Yes, That!



It’s the case of the runaway penis, the case of the runaway penis, the case of runaway penis, oooh yeah!

It’s sloppy, it’s droopy, it’s floppy and flimsy and crimp'y, and my oh my, its smells so sad…

Lets chop it, or flop it or even better let’s just drop it, it’s the runaway penis after all!

Don’t let’s talk it, or discuss, just cuss it, or bust it….oh it has to be that bad…..

It’s the case of the runaway penis, the case of the runaway penis, the case of runaway penis, oooh yeah!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012



I am no woman anymore. I have no breasts, no genitals suchlike to match and no long hair. "If anyone asks, tell them it is because I have lost my soul.” “And I am sure my lost soul feels tainted without me.” Expression of love, angst, love, happiness, sadness, love and extreme loneliness governs the priority and the music I hear allows my hapless self to sink and drown. I no more need to feel shy, the feeling lingers on the tips and within his nails as he keeps on grazing. An escape route would be shallow, but as I am no more woman, but more and I am, that, is there still.      

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

What?



An open mind, bubbling water and a glass flask with green liquid inside. Would you care to ask how I feel? Happy, empty, androgynous, concerned, sensitive, ambitious, sexual and yes of course belittled and common. I wrote on the first month of the year and I write again in the last, two people asked me, “You don’t write anymore?” I don’t remember what I said. Significance is like molten chocolate or good sex, after it has happened consumption is the only option. I was hopeful at the starting of the year, weak, vulnerable and gauging the height of muck in an open drain, I am energetic, spirited, lazy yet hopeful again. But the significance and intolerance of stillness that I fear stalls me. “Make me come baby, make me come, to the rhythm of life.”  

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Thing

They were walking hand in hand, hairs n heads almost tangled in each others. They were happy, fuzzy, warm, darling hearts. One warm roll of pasta and a sip of cold, tangy vodka later, they were lovers. Hand on hip, waist, breast, hair and heart they rolled ahead to the eerie strikes of the drum beats floating in from far away. “You could leave me and go away but I would” said the thing. The other nodded and gave a warm kiss on the forehead. One terrible phone call conversation and twenty cigarettes later they were no more. But a very warm ray of sun shine fell through the sky onto the table on a ring that night.