The Compound

28 September 2012

We sit atop

Only going below for supplies,

Short exists

The navigation too complicated

Unrequested conversations, questions, dodges and wild dogs

Upon return we must quickly reman our stations

Settle again into our trepidations

Sitting, awaiting, anticipating battleships

Incapacitated by passivity

We wage quietly the war

Existing only within our minds,

Only within ourselves

The Fat Effect

My body is an earthquake.
I’m very sorry Japan.
here she comes–
pushing air into the atmosphere with a simple foot thrust
down the block a door mysteriously falls from its hinges
and a baby contracts pneumonia.
I’m putting my foot down!
And when she crashes…
microorganisms by the quadrillions
sacrificed and lifted
temporarily transported
on a daffy rollercoaster
and then blindsided!–struck down
In the peak of glee
onto an innocent unseen snail
the crackling ripples.
little animals turn and freeze in fear
for a moment their hearts stop…
then instinct attacks!
A rush!! Then huuuusssshhhhh….
soon the grasses are vacant

Untitled Draft

I wrote this also in moment of inspiration. It’s not as cohesive as I would like, but I think it’s still good. I’m not sure if the ending, like after the line about cheese, really fits with the rest of the poem. We’ll see though.

I fucking love my vagina.

Love it.

She is so beautiful.

Always pefectly, wildly, naturally, barely groomed to perfection.

Bohemian hair.

 And an intoxicating perfume,

sold nowhere else in the world.

An Alexandra exclusive.

She is always warm and available

pink, exciting and inviting

Offering nourishment–all courses; breakfast, lunch and dinner

Consisiting of the finest wines, juices, sauces, delicacies.

Cheese is not her speciality.

She fits perfectly in my hand.

God did that on purpose, you know.

She is deep and unknown, too.

And begging to be explored, to be opened, known and discovered.

She wants to know what the feeling in the back is…

And to dig it out, dig it in.

Cock (draft)

This one is also more or less finished, written in the heat of inspiration. I’m just not sure about the phrase “mystery-liquid”, ’cause we all know what’s pumpin’ through the tubes. I guess I want to emphasize the unusualness of sperm, like the really salty taste, the (sometimes, depending on the guy and his diet) pearly-opaqueness, the varying amounts, and other stuff. Hum…

What an odd little tree.

It’s obviously cancerous—

Two bigunsightly lumps stuck at the bottom


Hauling salty, mystery-liquid

Oh god. Sorry.

I guessthat’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?

After all,

Cock has been pretty damn good to me

Over the last few years.


Why does it have to look so fucking ridiculous?

My Favorite Illusion (draft)

This one is more or less finished, but I don’t think I like the last few stanzas. All of the others were written in a moment of inspiration, minimally edited and have a flow to them. The last few stick out like a sore thumb for me. What do you think?

You ask if we can Skype

An unusual request

But nonetheless,

How can I deny you?

I go the usual spot:
Starbucks down the block

I am so nervous

I’m barely breathing

I hear the calmness in your voice

Ask me, ask me now!

You’re faltering somewhat…

Why is he pausing so much?

I am so relieved!

A big smile across my face

I love you

I love you too

We see each other again

The distance is nothing

Tickle my neck with your beard

Like you always used to do

We get jobs in the same city

Find a place too small for all our shit

Fill up the bookshelves

Cook dinner every evening

Your PhD is done

I published my masters

Dinner parties and philosophical discussions


Now, let’s start our family

One, two or three?

First little Maximus, just like we joked

Sleeping silently

In our brown and white Minicooper

He’s such a good little boy.

Our sweet little ones…

A few years later

And they’re off to college

Empty nest again

Just the two of us

North Sea, Tibet… where to next?

Together, our sun sets

Sitting holding hands

In our ancient rocking chairs

On our American-style front porch

Untitled draft

 I wrote this after sitting on the couch conversing with a very attractive ginger. During the converstaion, he kept looking from my eyes to my mouth. Perhaps this is what he was thinking : ) I feel/think this one is more or less done, but I don’t like the word ‘jiggles’, and I’m not sure about “dribbles and drops” or ‘glisten’ either. I don’t want it to be overtly or comically sexual. It’s about ‘lengthy’ desire, not cheap or obvious satisfaction.

I am obsessed with her mouth

The lips—

They are not just full

They are plump,

They are taught,

They are bursting.

The seams

So tightly wound

I arrive

Watching her converse

The parting, spreading, slight cracking

Followedby even licking

From right corner,

To left

A wide,
genuine laugh erupts from her insides

Revealing her moist tongue, teeth, throat

Everything “jiggles”,

Her spit dribbles and drops—

I swear,

That I can see it all


I try

To focus on her eyes

But myglances


Are too telling, soon


This time,

A smirk

She stares at me


Andnibbles it

A little bit

The Question

It’s been three months,

maybe four

I know you can’t resist me



Despite the distance

The feelings you said weren’t there…

Are somehow prevailing

I make sure we

Keep in touch

And you bring it up

In conversation

(I’ll take any affirmation of worth)

A huge grin

Echoes in my voice

I know you can hear my smirk


You ask me that specific question

At this moment

In a Starbucks

Everything, it seems

I always wanted

And so, what do I say now?

I open my mouth,

Nothing comes out

There is no spark, you said

Then, where did this fire come from?

Now it’s you, and not me

Wanting to feed the flames


I thought…

I hear myself breath

Everything between us, feels so low

I’m sorry but,

I don’t think so.

All We Need is The White Stripes/White Stripe

morning, late breakfast.

around the kitchen.


We started living in an old house

                                       My ma gave birth and we were checking it out

                                                                                                                                 It was a baby boy

we bought him a toy.

                        It was a ray-gun

                                                                            And it was 1981

mutual love in the background,

running smoothly:




We named him baby

had a toothache

He started crying

                                                                           It sounded like
an earthquake

It didn’t last long

Because I stopped it
I grabbed a rag doll

Stuck some little pins in it

forget the tea!

Got it

And the
plates, too.


mugs, Nutella, honey…

bacon, eggs… done! Salt, pepper.

Are we
done yet!?

Now we’re a family

And we’re alright now

                                                We got money and a little place

To fight now

We don’t know you

                      And we don’t own you

                        But if you see us

I got something else to show you

we’re sitting now.

starved hands,

right, up, down.

the table

a fork in my cereal…


has officially commenced.

manners necessary.

Our feet
magnetically touch

Then our
eyes meet…

As per

beautiful breakfast moment.

Now it’s easy
when you don’t know better

think it’s sleazy?

Then put it in a short letter

We keep warm

But there’s just something wrong with ya

                                    Just feel
that you’re the hardest little button to button

We go on

and munching

And then
it hits us…
I had opinion                             that didn’t matter

A had a brain             that felt like pan     cake bat

I got a  back  yard with nothing in it

Except a stick, a dog

And a box with something in it


simultaneous reaction,

we keep time,

rhythm is ours!

Up with
yours, up with mine

Our feet
tap in tune


would be proud.

The hardest button to button

I wrote this about eating breakfast with my ex. In case you thought it was dinner or something. We often listened to music while cooking, and he is a big fan of Jack White and his various musical incarnations. In MSWord The White Stripes lyrics appear more “in the background”–smaller, and possibly like a watermark if I can figure out how to do that with the Dutch version of MSW.


Lights in my mirror.

Heart skips a beat..

Oh man!

Eyes dart to the glovebox.


Deep breath.

Calm down!

Turn off Jimi.

Just be cool, lady!

Be real cool.

Think about Samuel L. in that Pulp
Fiction scene…

Everything’s gonna be just fine,
‘honey bunny’.

Another deep breath…

through my nose this time.

Can I smell it?

through the box…

I can smell it.

Wait, maybe that’s me!

Shit, I forgot.


Glance to the rearview.

Sit up and forward in the seat.

Arch my eyebrow.

Is there a dog in that car?

Pull down the overhead mirror.

Are my eyes red?

Eh. Not too bad.

Side mirror blip.

Oh haaay! That cop’s cute.

Maybe I can flirt with him…

is that illegal too?

Oh man oh man!


do you know why I pulled you over?


Uhuh uh.

My mouth is SO dry.

No, sir.

I don’t.


you’ve got a taillight out.

Eyes widen.

Sit up straight.

Oh! Really?

No! Too excited!


Shoulders down.

Sink baaaack into the seat.

Oh… that’s uh, good to know.


He’ll know I’m being awkward!

I’m so fuckin’ nervous!


He smiled!

Smile back!

But not too much!

You okay,


You look a little nervous…




never been pulled over before.

…ah ha-uh

With a half smile

Can I see your license?

Oh god.

Glovebox glance.

Please don’t ask for my


here you go.

I’ll be right back.

Should I move my registration?

What if he sees me?

Maybe I should pretend…

that I dropped something…

Yeah, that’s it!

I dropped myuuuhh….



I’m gonna do it…

just be cool, ‘honey bunny’

Shallow breaths

Hand reaches over,

inching slowly..

shAAaaaaa a A A aaaAAAching.

Open the glovebox…

What? What is this? It’s not here!

What the fuck!

Uuuggghhh1 crap, where is it?

This makes no sense!

Slam the box.

Hottie in my side mirror again.

Here you go ma’am.

Everything checks out.

I’m just going to give you this…

Make sure you get that light fixed
ma’ma, ASAP.

Have a good night.



Tear everything out!



Is my




*NOT a true story

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