Monday, July 1, 2013

Tres Gay Menu



Today’s Tasty Soup Du Jour Menu

The Semen
The Rope
The U-District Kid  
Mama Mozambique
The Raft of the Medusa
Queer Theory Queen Bees
Fabulous Fuck-Ups
Vatican Bad Vibes
Prison Planet
Seattle Self-Loathing


The Semen

“The cocks of street trash
shoot their panoramic 
mess across my face!!!”
—Jean Senac, Myth of 
Mediterranean Semen

I don't react anymore —
instead in barely a whisper
I plant the kiss of malediction
on your body's twenty-six wounds

Come read me, my dears! —
I’m a coward and fag castrated
effeminized male and malleable 
female, come read my beads!!!

How hot the stench of cum —
Let your delirious orgasm proclaim
your progeny swarming up like a
decorative A-bomb cloud with flair!

Your street trash cock shoots—
its panoramic mess across my face
come see, my dears, my whole goddamn 
life smeared and runny with regret!

The Rope

God in his balls has —
Adam, Eve, Cain and Able lying in wait
and the Chicken Angel named as His
Provocateur has come from the stars

The Fallen One and his Assembly —
burning in the villas, the housing projects
of the gods, are anxiously waiting for
communion with his seminal cumming 

Angels floating above the surface —
bursts of laughter! — creaming with semen.
jacking off, heavenly creamy cum oozing,
dripping down from the heavens above

The heart of a young sea urchin!!! —
come Miss Ginsberg, come, let's braid your 
beard with a rope of slippery-shocking cum 
turning those cocksuckers green with envy

The U-District Kid  

He’s strong, despicably beautiful! —
he has no soul, only streams of pukey pus 
beneath his angelic skin of faded jaded 
jealous jizzy sickening semen Sunlight!

He speaks of love and of love again —
he doesn’t understand anything but the 
pain and pleasure of cumming mirrored 
back in your face as you get drained

He speaks of pubic hair, the chests of 
street hustlers, uncivilized tricks, not 
understanding anything but pricks that 
run on empty down to the last drop

Enormous adolescent motorcycles —
leaving skid marks across their thighs 
vast continents rising up from under 
his lair of Pasolini SALO screams

Mama Mozambique

He doesn't understand anything but —
the tears when flying saucers stammer
the names: Tyrone! Dwayne! Jerome! 
I’ve sucked you off as deep as Africa 

Now the sand slowly dribbles down —
through the hour glass, on cue he begins
to flow, that oceanic look on his face
what slave planet owns your big cock?

The fire is invisible, moving you know —
according to the Pasolini’s ashes, I don't 
understand anything but the agony of 
spoiled baby-boomer boomerang-cocks

Bottomless pain shot straight to the Bone —
unwinding like a mummy, golden streams
of pretty pouty piss-pissoir litanies from
the Void that is nothing but a Hole

The Raft of the Medusa

The Raft of the Medusa, Venus and Ares —
bitching like a pair of faggoty fairies trying
to maneuver a place in the lovely Louvre!?
mating of sky and sea, Twins and Unicorns

Love with a Grecian god in the ruins —
love with a Tahitian stud in back of the bus
a cute Parisian prick in Greenwich Village
the endless empty wheeze of cumming

Slavery, surrender of man and his gender —
cock and balls, the illegible scrawl of magical
graffiti spells on filthy bathroom walls as
the she-male angel hovers to watch it all

He pisses down my mouth, then kisses—
me goodbye while further south,  far away, 
between the break of day and the horizon, 
wails the Virgin Mary his mother

Queer Theory Queen Bees

Venom-full, hateful, completely-de reguer—
the depilated & repudiated old faggots that
call themselves astute cuntivore-cuntrified 
Cynical Queer Theory Queen Bees

What are they whining about now that—
The Supremes have ditched tacky DOMA
and all the gay Californians are flocking to
City Hall to finally be able to get married?

No longer having to be treated as unequal—
Creeps undeserving of the heteronormative
Perks and privileges of being Citizens not
Subhuman jerkoffs fit for the gutter?

Surely, my dears, the Queer Theorists—
will come up with something more than
devilishly inventive to guilt our joy at
succumbing to the louche lure of love? 

Fabulous Fuck-Ups

Kids weren't born to throw stones at—
Young fags in high school or junior high
Schools across America where families send
Their kids to learn how to read and write

Or shoot them dead in E. O Green Oxnard—
Junior High School like they did to that kid
15-year-old Larry King typing that morning
doing his English assignment for class

Just because he wore mauve eye-shadow—
or swished & minced down the hallways
with his high-heeled boots and happy gay
Lady Gaga performance art attitude

Or insult future gay kids by stuffing their—
heads with putrid thoughts, transforming 
them into stinking str8t Mormon Boy Scouts
or wild packs of snarling suburban killers 

Vatican Bad Vibes

God, if you exist, what the hell—
are you up to? Man is strung upside down,
chameleonized on your tree of castration
hanging nude for everyone to see

See how Man settles into his stench—
and ruin with his cybernetic technology,
his internet, his drones, his  thingamajigs,
his tacky transhumanist thingamabobs

See how he nibbles at his neighbor's brain—
methodically transforming his so-so existence
into his Auschwitzes, his Dresdens, his Hiroshimas, 
his various bankster-fraudster pimp scams

There are no keyholes left, to be crammed with— 
leering voyeuristic eyeballs trying to see us as 
we strain to take a dump and wipe our happy little 

Porky Pig assholes plugged with the usual shit


Prison Planet

No radical way to stand up against this—
New World Order 1984 Brazil Dystopia push
toward the usual Prison Planet scenario that’s
happening now to this Pussy Planet

So appallingly pussy that we’ve all become—
Radioactive Radiant Queens, receptacles of 
fundamental negations, despising ourselves,
even against those who are against it!

There’s no way of denying it, my dears—
other than to be sumptuously decadent
singing our Weimar cabaret swansongs like
Marlene Dietrich with “Falling in Love Again.”

Except that we’ve become our own demise—
a truly procreative coitus with ourselves, the
driving force of our own tacky demise and
perpetual loathing! Our contra-queenery!

Seattle Self-Loathing

As Marlene sings: “I can’t help it!!!”—
Here I am down in the stinky pukey shitty
Berlin Bunker of my various hardly virginal
torrid vaginaries I was born with

Make me do something easy, I said—
to my all-knowing UFO handlers who take
care of all that usual business of the old
Karma Las Vegas Rebirth crap game

Make me drink up the sea, make me—
swill endless martinis as I play the fickle
Roulette Wheel of Fortune down here on
the meat hooks of my latest Diva Dive

Make me forget all the memories that—
I tire off, Christ, I’m so tired of lives
that cover-up and deny my shame as
I transmigrate through all my bodies

No comments: