“A bitter wind”
—Kit Robinson
“In the American Tree,”
In the American Tree

A bitter taste—American tree
His family jewels—genealogy jizz
Flipping out—the first time
Tasting him—his bitter wad
Coming outta—his big veiny root
Stretching it down—deep inside me
Closing his eyes—oozing it out
A pint of—young teenage TNT
A freshman gymnast—college kid
Totally animal—built like a fine
Fucking—brick shithouse
Big biceps—flat stomach
His arching—Botticelli back
Birth of Venus Torso—thin waist
Straining his nut—getting him off
Letting me—taste his family tree
His heartbreaking—sweet ache
His distended face—enough to
Haunt me—the rest of my life
His runny snotty—American tree
Gnarly, veiny—all for me
Pulling its rope—of babypaste cum
Outta him—way down deep
Inch by inch—yard by yard
All the way back—to the big easy


“Not this
what this?”
—Ron Silliman
The American Tree

“Not that”—he’d say
“Not that—again, man”
“What do—you mean?”
“Not—THAT again…”

But I’d just—ignore him
Starting all—over again
Doing him—even better
The runny, juicy—second time
The tired—muscles
In my hand—were numb
Sore from—jacking him off
Biting his tit—gnawing his nipple
Grabbing his fine—loin-cut behind
Not again!—all morning long
My blistered lips—can’t get enough
He’s so moody—and sullen
But that makes it—even better
The way he struggles—and fights
Against losing it—that hard way
Again and—again the way
The American tree—squirts its brains
The way I like him—losing it bad
When he comes—so very put-upon
Who can blame him—he gives a lot
Always more—than he takes
So very sulky and—not wanting to
But broke—and having to do it
Giving me—his big veiny ROOT
His stinky armpits—uncut foreskin
Tart with smegma—it’s just awful
His exquisite—skanky hors-d’oeuvre
Not again he’d say—every time
Playing hard to get—thick as glue
Hot as dynamite—youngmale man


“Humor my
—Kit Robinson
“Tribute to Nervous,”
In the American Tree

He really couldn’t—help it much
Being born that way—well-endowed
With his nice big—baby behemoth
Skanky gnarly—American tree
Letting that Root—sink down into me
Spreading my lips—Mississippi wide
Slow & sluggish—down to the gulf
Veiny roots—down thru the bayous
Twisted magnolia—manly hours
Pubes hanging down—Spanish moss
Guzzling cheap JAX beer—getting high
Smoking weed—giving me the jive
What’s in it for me—how much man?
That’s when—all the roofs caved in


“The idea of the Tree
as I came to think and talk”
—Ron Silliman
“Afterword: A Found For…”
In the American Tree

Big Easy kid—sullen, moody
Vieux CarrĂ©—so very sulky
Without his—girlfriend Yvette
Needing it bad—what can I say?
Living in a dorm—it isn’t easy
Especially if—you’re over-sexed
And dick-crazy—like him
Needing to get off—3 times
Three times a day—that’s no lie
Eighteen years old—one big dick
A Big Easy Erection—with 2 legs
What a dreamboat—cute as shit
Call me Mr. Lucky—roommate me
Cheesy cocksucker—to the rescue
How many—desperate times
Coming back—from English class
Unlocking the door—there he was
Beating off like crazy—almost there
Having to hustle—going down fast
Sewanee River—flowing into me
Skipping classes—to get him off
Feeling him up—feeling him down
Waiting to give him—a tongue bath
After a sweaty—gymnastics workout
Sliding my hands—all the way down
His Venus torso—pumped up hard
Long lanky salty—American tree
Sinking his roots—down into me


“Writing here has
a literalism of purpose”
—Barret Watten
In the American Tree

Long lanky—American tree
After he came—I’d do the same
Tasting the root—his family jewels
Invisibly becoming—his genealogy
Later at night—dreaming about him
Nocturnal emissions—even at my age
Pouty pubescent—wetdreams again
He’d laugh at me—I couldn’t help it
It was serious business—being in love
Especially with a guy—built like him
Whose bent root—was already deep
Deep down inside me—growing fast


“based on fact
of Dante’s Inferno”
—Kit Robinson
“Tribute to Nervous,”
In the American Tree

Pants zip down—to his ankle
His built physique—in bed with me
On his back—looking at the ceiling
Lazy Lucifer kid—Scorpio rising
He’s surprised—when I tell him
I’ve rented us—an apartment
Over in the ratty—hippie ghetto
With all the—druggies & drop-outs
I wanted some—privacy with him
All to myself—with no distractions
There on West Chimes—by campus
Down from the—Varsity Theater
By Highland Drive—and North Gate
The American Tree—took root there


“The dangers I did know
were preferable to those
I didn not know”
—Bob Perelman
“An Autobiography,”
In the American Tree

Even when—I did him
Each time was—like first time
Each wad—a virgin wad
Each look on is face—first time
First time—and last time
He never got over—how aggressive
I was with him—giving him head
The look on his face—always shocked
Yvette wouldn’t—do what I’d do
She wouldn’t dirty—her pretty lips
She wouldn’t swallow—that nasty wad
But I would—and I did him a lot
I spoiled him rotten—with oral sex
Oral intercourse—fucking my mouth
Pulling my hair—yanking my ears
Making me gag—gag for some more
Getting him loaded—getting him off
On weed & acid—uppers & downers
The way he became—his gymnast dick
All muscles pumped-up—all that energy
Then unraveling it—like a rubber band
Tightly winded-up—then SPRONG!!!
I wanted to—become him all the way
When he’d faint—I had it my way
All that young male energy—oozing
Seminal sap—of the American tree


“oh it is twelve!!!”
—Robert Grenier
“Sticky Fingers,”
In the American Tree

“Eeeek!!!—Jesus Christ!!!”
“Good Golly!!!—Miss Molly!!!”
“It’s growin, baby—it must be Nine!!!”
“No,” he said—“ INCHES soft.”
“And TWELVE INCHES—when I’m hard”
Oh Lordy, Lordy—I was so shocked
All those young—juicy male hormones
Were still pumping—thru the kid
I started measuring—every night & day
Just think—that stuff’s runnin thru me
No wonder my heart’s—goin like crazy
“Shut up & get in bed”—he tell me
So derisively impatient—to get down
“To bad you’re not a kunt”—he’d say
Maybe I was—maybe I wasn’t
Either way tho—I was flunking out
And the Draft Board—was just waiting
To whisk my nelly ass—to Viet Nam
We were all under the gun—back then
I told them I was married—they smirked
I told them I was gay—“Prove it,” they said
I got down on my—hands & bruised knees
Only after I sucked it—did they say “Okay.”


“Honey and Cream,
Silver Queen”
—Lyn Hejinian
“My Life”
In the American Tree

“C’mon, man”—he’d say to me
“Give me some head—before class”
“Oh okay—if I have to” I’d say
Getting him off—quickie before class
Blowing the—back of my head off
With his oozing—Louisiana Luger
He was so mean—and vicious to me
But I liked it that way—Bad Boy sex
Into Rough Trade—rougher the better
Snotty cum—coming outta my nostrils
Erect & quivering—runny with snot
That’s how violent—he got with me
I saw stars at night—shooting away
When he banged my head—really hard
Against the bed’s—beat-up headboard
Sometimes I passed out—couldn’t breathe
With him half-strangling—me to death
The Tree’s Root—way down my Throat


“I was normal”
—Barret Watten
In the American Tree

Suddenly I’ve got these—new wetdreams
They started again—coming back you know
I was ingesting—much too much spermatozoa
His muy macho—male testosterone wads
They were haunting me—almost every night
Nocturnal emissions—can be so excruciating
Just like during adolescence—outta the blue
Totally consuming—like Proustian flashbacks
Exquisitely involuntary—simply uncontrollable
Miss Tea & Madame Marmalade—what a Story
I started my--reclusive Greta Garbo routine
Wearing sunglasses—to cover-up my eyes
My bloodshot bedroom eyes—so decadent
The more Id I got outta him—3 times a day
The more depraved—and dim-witted I became
I was no longer—a witty gay Southern girl
It was Jekyll & Miss Hyde—all over again
The more male beauty—I got into me
The more depraved I got—it was just awful
But it helped out—being an English major
I was having amazing—insights into the
Depths of Deep South—Decadent Literature
Truman Capote—and Carson McCullers
Eudora Welty—and Flannery O’Connor
Plus Miss Faulkner—the ultimate Dixie Diva
Grande Duchess—Delta Bourbon Queen
Mississippi Madame—Memphis Miss Reba
Yoknapatawpha author—my favorite drunk

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