by Donal Mahoney
Earlier than ever this morning I wait
for copy to vacuum. It must be free of error
and the deadline is near.
But what matters today isn’t news about war,
poverty or race riots ripping the city.
What matters today is the warm quicksand
of that good woman under me again,
taking me in. Let her writhe,
let her tug at her knees, let her legs go off
in every direction. Let her take what I have
and lunge for more. I’ll be here forever,
a bee crazed by the honey
buttering her thighs.
- ► 2010 (221)
- SUDDENLY GONE, THE ENVELOPE OF SLIVERS OF WHAT I H...
- LOST, LOST LIKE PHOTOGRAPHS CLUTCHED AFTER DISASTE...
- in retrospect, maybe we are all Buddha’s
- there was a blanket on her eyes so I left her in t...
- Linda’s Place Again
- Poetry is my Fetus
- TWINKIE TWINKIE TWINKIE
- THE LOST ENVELOPES OF MEMENTOS
- THE LOST JEWELS, THE LOST ENVELOPE
- it’s still a good deal
- some advice for aspiring poets
- nice guy
- dialogue of faith and highway
- Moby Dick’s
- WHEN I LOSE THE ENVELOPE OF WHAT MATTERS
- drunk at the kitchen table with my grandmother
- the bum feeder
- not all women are cunts
- a dull lady with big calves
- Quicksand of That Good Woman
- MOONRISE, HERNANDEZ, NEW MEXICO 1941
- WHO’S NEXT
- that's entertainment
- no laughing matter
- THE IDIOT
- Shallow Dating Pool
- erotic asphyxiation
- Port In A Paper Bag
- Posturing Leprechaun On An Acid Trip
- The Landlord
- The Reprieve
- the doors of hell have numbers on them upside down...
- THE HOLOCAUST (3)
- THE HOLOCAUST (2)
- THE HOLOCAUST
- ▼ October (43)