She has so many knots in her hair because we are desperate
in our fucking. Maybe desperate is not the right word.
Think: necessary. Think: éclat. Think the opposite
of mediocre and then continue to think that until you grow bored.
She is always digging, I am always grabbing, and there is
probably something else missing here. When I think about
her past, I think about space and how both of them make
no sense to me. They are both so big, and I have never slept
in a house that large. I get tired just thinking about starting
another poem. I write in my journal I could talk about orgasms
all day. It is hard to be happy without beer. I am working
on my stereotypes. My favorite sitcoms are the ones with the pretty
wives, the heavy husbands who wear uniforms to work.
Is anyone else concerned about the space around their cuticles?
If marijuana is a gateway drug, then what is a blowjob?
It is hard to be happy when the best part of your day is agreeing
with the ambivalent weather. I like it when married women
don’t look at me. Sturdy beds are never overrated.
I’ve wanted to use this line for months: Where did all of the wedding
rings come from? If people paid to read my poems, I would pay
someone to write me better poems. There is only one woman
I want to fuck, and that scares the shit out of me.
Gregory Sherl (via loveanddumpsters)