Loner Magazine - Fo’ Sho & Tell

Fo’ Sho & Tell

Sexy Stream of Consciousness
By Craig Stott

Something kinky,
Mr Happy,
Hello Kitty,
Leave the door open,
The milkman’s coming,
his milk hose broke his nose,
but sprayed rich cream in her closet,
peep toe kitten heels,
clomping down the stairs,
prom night,
love at first sight limo glides,
finger slips,
wet like a baby’s toothless mouth,
then a fist,
pain is beauty,
what a beauty Daddy’s little girl,
running like a black man to the podium,
dead sweat on the road,
tiara on fire and arse hole on fire,
silicone based lube too late,
Mr Stranger built on the street,
sissy in the dark no danger,
but AIDS clap and a syfy shake,
grows boils on my face,
and in a blaze of inhumanity die,
but why stop when it feels so good?
and measure life’s value based on what?
Sunday services,
In the name of the father,
merciless undoes you before dawn,
mummy creeping sandwich making,
gherkin on your bread,
off to work frosty morning bacon winner,
dead tired years of shit mornings like this,
snap trap catches the cat,
“we don’t believe in that”,
veto me,
banners raised,
another day,
and we’ll brave the saints and their harlots,
“Come out Mr President”
“Come on our chests”
“Come out to play”
Ride with the gays,
through this rough trot two thousand years old,
In the name of the father,
let us bow our heads now and receive our Lord’s body,
Bow and receive your body,
tears streaming in my god given eyes,
falling from my face,
shag carpet ashen laminate wardrobe door brass,
bold before breakfast,
broken come sundown,
heaved back and forth splinter in my side,
but this dream i keep alive,
picket fence and Sunday best,
Golden light and heavenly night,
beyond this country town where they’ll swing us from trees,
Do Not Walk,
In the mire a busted tire,
Escapee like me blowing the dust around in vain,
grazed knees near birch trees birds never sing,
but stalk pool halls for a sloppy fuck,
glass ceiling cut her face open,
cheeks spilled into her drink,
drunk she drank her face in,
recoiled like a snake at her mistakes,
Do Not Pass Go,
But diet my sweet,
avoid them like the plague,
that’s swept all dignity away,
and now i vow this promise to myself,
that only 70’s porn i will peruse,
for the grains like bread i should eat,
keep me whole against high definition,
and manned turn stiles to the underground,
where the rebels never tread these days
except for photo ops with forced sullen grimaces,
while Daddy drives your car today,
Sweet Sixteen,
Happy Birthday!
Today you are a woman true,
the blood drips from your virgin snatch,
that makes the boys shudder,
Turkish delight,
for just a glimpse a hair or a crease,
for wet dreams and frosted cones,
Mums clean sublime with a glass of wine,
accepting their lots,
for the human race,
and a mortgage seemed nice,
low interest rate,
can’t tie a good woman down,
“It appeals to me”
as Oprah screams,
to be on my knees,
never knowing your name,
your face a blur on my way down,
till you leave me 20 on the floor,
and i wait in line for a shot in the bum,
playing fate with Doctor Grace,
till i rot like a lost child in a national park,
could be worse,
9 to 5,
up and alive for the morning news,
6 o’clock,
suck my cock.