Kill

Comments Off on Kill
27 March 2016
Kill, kill, kill everything.

Kill the light falling on this page
like a false promise of warmth;
kill the news of a world in spiral.

Kill time, cruel time, ruthless time,
endless time, fleeting time, time
laying at your feet like a bored dog.

Kill hope, lazy hope, easy hope, hope peeking
like misguided blossoms in a snow storm.
Kill this, the need to reach out and touch,
say I am here, and you?

Kill that, the urge to call them, to hear them,
to assure them as only you want to be assured.
Kill it, kill it all, kill the want to live again, kill
the want to die, kill the want to be, to become.

Kill it and remain, not a reminder, just
a hollow shell mistaken for what was,
just an answer to a question that has
long ago given up on one.

(Originally posted on February 03, 2012)

Traumatique

Comments Off on Traumatique
21 March 2016
It is, as such.
Long expanses, and then.
One after.
Endless-ness.
Falling. from.
Again.

It is, as it to be.
Unfolding, after the fact.
Rolls of skin, and.
Incessant-ly.
Always. from.
It is—feel it!
As such.

Start again,
from where sentences flow,
from whence the clothes hit the carpeted blankness,
gingerly,
and then.

Start, from the end.
Skip all that happened,
and say, nothing at all.

Start from where it doesn’t need to be said,
from the night breaking off on the windshield,
shattering, renouncing,
boundless.

Start from after,
the return, the happy ending,
as if nothing.
Start.

(Originally posted on May 13, 2007)

Interruptus

Comments Off on Interruptus
20 March 2016
There was honking outside,
rare, but reminiscent
of other more vocal towns.

There was an image inside
of what you could see
in such a place.

There were footsteps and barking,
the sounds of my silence;
there was me nodding and moving,
if only for the sake of motion.

There is this never-ending floor
and you somewhere dying -
- are you breathing still?

There is this scar, refusing to heal,
itching like an absence...
If I hold my breath, would you feel it?
If I hold still, would anybody notice?

Somewhere else, something else,
another...
If I leave this unfinished,
would -

(Originally posted on November 21, 2011)

Reasons for Living—or Not

Comments Off on Reasons for Living—or Not
19 March 2016
It often begins with the low light of early spring:
the distant sounds of life on a chilly Sunday;
your reflection in a screen, bigger than it needs to be;
a dog nearing the end of her life, turning away
from food like only a dying animal can.
                                                            The last
to surrender is often the sense of the beginning,
that what might have been can still be. Instead
is a rigid sense of awakening, that this is all there is
and will be: a cold counting of assets, tabulating life,
seeing it on the losing end.
                                        And in the silence
connecting all—bathing you with your own thoughts
and the smelly leftovers of yesterday’s dream—
nothing much can be said or done:
not the anger, the last remnant of life;
not sweet abandon—only a persistence
as stubborn and meaningless as everything,
a refusal of the game and all it wills.
                                                      And yet
you remain unable to turn away—
not from fear, but from longing:
the closing of the eyes is often
harder than it appears to be.

Victor Pear BareBangs Tony Dias

Comments Off on Victor Pear BareBangs Tony Dias
Uncategorized
18 March 2016
I love tattoos and there is a moment in this scene where Victor reaches into Tony Dias' jeans to expose his tattooed ass that just has me squealing with delight. But I'm ahead of myself - Victor Pear is one of our new BangBangBoys and Tony Dias starts by sucking his cock and swallowing his balls. It's then that Victor coaxes Tony's tattooed ass out and blows him before lubing his hole with his tongue. He then barefucks the cum out of Tony Dias and his own cum which sprays all over that bare inked ass.

“Tropical Watercolor: Sarasota”

Comments Off on “Tropical Watercolor: Sarasota”
11 March 2016
Summer sings not far away, and we both know
The errors we've made. The sloped shoulders
Of those palms in the middle distance
Darken; the palms stand solitary as guards.

Summer sings, and against those walls
The late May light has sweetened, the palms
Sigh a little, fronds swaying in the breeze,
Making a sad watercolor of the square.

A mackerel sky frames the square, the square
We dreamed failed us in this place we'd come to
To find ourselves again as in a mirror.
Love, this is the square that failed.

I broke myself trying to make myself strong
For you. Dusk gilds white buildings, and smoke
From my cigarette floats toward the stars
That aren't there yet, the stars we used to desire.

They are a vast absence, reminding me
I don't believe in anything anymore except
The difficulty of everything for men and women.
Your remembered ghost is the ghost of my grandmother

Walking here endlessly in a black dress,
Shadow lost among the shadows of palms
On this square that failed, blocks from the sea.
I have run out of life, for what?

I have run out of life from the repetition
Of our moving only from mirror to mirror,
Catching our reflections in shop windows
And finding them less real than mannequins.

- by Joe Bolton, from "The Last Nostalgia"

Myself to Blame

Comments Off on Myself to Blame
4 March 2016
I only have myself to blame
for you, my victory, my downfall,
my need, my hunger, my flame...

I only have myself to blame,
hoping endlessly, as my mother
waits for my dad, against hope
for you to change,
for you to become
what I want, to be
somebody else...

I only have myself to blame
for this, the burn that is my life,
this lie that I insist on telling,
waiting, against the odds,
for me to become
someone I want...

(Originally posted on May 14, 2013)

Marcelo Mastro Barebangs Vinicius Costta

Comments Off on Marcelo Mastro Barebangs Vinicius Costta
Uncategorized
4 March 2016
The hot new talent continues this week with big dicked Vinicius Costta getting barebanged by even bigger dicked Marcelo Mastro. Vinicius is ripped - Marcelo is totally turned on by what he sees that they lock lips with such intensity you know we're in for a fantastic fuck session. Marcello rips Vinicius jeans off and deep throats his long schlong, then turns him around to rim that tight ass. Then it's Marcelo's turn as Vinicius unleashes that legendary dick from his pants and sucks it like a man possessed. It's then his chance to ride and ride it he does - bouncing up and down taking every inch deep inside. Marcelo is so turned on by this fuckathon that he explodes in a tidal wave of cum all over Vinicius' pounded ass. Anyone got a cigarette?
Powered by Wordpress   |   Lunated designed by ZenVerse