The Dirty Muse


Life is experiences and

Road trips

And I’m so hip

I read poetry on the


I sit at a ripe age

Like the poor man

With prosthetic


Yearning for some


All of my best ideas

Come between


And release

They call me

The potty prophet

Thumbs Up



Returning to the ghosts

of my worst years

my branding moments

the growing pains

that left me lanky and flaccid

and I come down the winding stairs

of the estate


cadavers in the clearing

orange flag markers in the mud

of my fat

To be the putty scraped on the door mat

before she steps inside

I let her into my mind

she told me I need


I laughed like

“Couldn’t you tell?”

I love like

wet stones in hell

I repent

all the years

slurping out of

malaria puddle

I dream of a different suburban wetland

a frigid lack of inspiration

and weathered skill

here I am,

some pitiful sponge

sliding race track straws

up my pucker fish

to find a spine

to graze her cheeks

hold her close

as she chews on the palm of my hand

hacking bread knives in the kitchen

four fingers down, a thumb left.

What else could I possibly give?

How to Pick up Women

after a few pots of coffee
I shit like machine gun rounds,
My ass sags like rumple stilts skin
Putrid burning mass graves
Producing poo more impressive
Than poetry
When I meet a woman with a scandalously
Intentioned smile
I become
The fluffy bunny
Doing back flips
For a carrot
And a stroke

I read her a line or two
Prove my artistry
Probe my brain
Probing with chocolate finger
Frantic fanny
“that’s not even that impressive
You should see my shits
Gander the goods.
People come from all around
Towns from the far side
of the world
to seize this masterpiece ”
And when they do
The long tapering snake making its way
From the toilet bowl
Down the hall
And out the front door
That’s what gets me laid.

Flip the Bird to Completion

I’ve been fucked over
So many times
Sometimes when I struggle to take a piss
Trying to bleed a stuck pig
I watch my cock
Where it should have been
Now a middle finger
Giving me the bird

Wiping up the bullshit.

Even growth is controlled. All of life has turned artificial. Convenience has taken over. It seems that with the direction we are going it won’t be long before I’ll be able to hire a third world worker to wipe my ass.

Her name is Mochikwa and never before have I felt more comfortable with someone wiping my ass. Prior to her I had suffered with a fat brown man, who was far too abrasive and rough with his strokes. In fact his strokes seemed to have no technique to them whatsoever. It was more than apparent that he had not had the proper training to wipe my ass. That’s when I had him deported. If you aren’t competent to wipe my ass then you aren’t competent enough to live in this great nation. Mochika has soft tender hands. In fact, I enjoy the feeling of her hands so much that frequently I will ask her to wipe regardless of whether or not I’ve enjoyed a BM. I got the recommendation for this servant from my father. It seems Mochikwa’s mother worked for him. He said that her mother was even more beautiful, though I find that hard to believe, and even more tender hands? I doubt it.