Best Fuck That I Never Had

They sold me out
And roughed my skin
"Expose the meat that lies within!"

They kept me calm
And held me still
And whispered all the while: "Chill".

They filled me up
And poured me out
"Relinquish him, his former doubt".

They oiled my boob
And rubbed my gland
And promised me the "promised land".      ---> (Lexington KY)

They fixed my face
And wrote my coach
And told him I had points to broach.

I couldn't shout
I couldn't scream
I didn't want to wake the team.

As ghostly tendrils
Stroked my nips
A tremor started in my hips.

A pleasure stronger
Than before
Began to ooze from every pore.

I flailed as if
My skin was burned
As passion's tender longing churned.

The exultations
In my bones
Could hardly render earthly moans. 

As Parker snored
Above my bunk
I felt them butter up my junk.

Yet right before
My loins erupted
Blissful Coitus, interrupted.

Demons vanished
Neath' my bed
And naked left me, soaking, red.

I cried in pain
At what was done
Glanced at the hour, nearly one.

In agony
I woke up Chad

"Best Fuck That I Never Had".


Based on the true events of Jerry Sandusky at Colombus Ohio Pee Wee Football camp, August 1957.

Rock N Roll Attic

My Rock N Roll addict Dad's Rock N Roll attic
is dank and dusty since Dad overdosed 
on Rock N Roll.

My Heavy Metal mother packed up her leather
and put it with my Dad's eternal shrine
to Rock N Roll.

Tonight, I'll turn on some musty Marshall
to launch the ether of some bass faced ghost
and  when my high E bends and breaks
and my vibrato tremolos like a screaming demon
 I'll head first stage dive into the arms
of my Dad's Rock N Roll.

Daytona 5000

Charlie's "Hot Rod" roared and ripped 
the face off father's big bad skull.
Now skulking faceless father walks
the dull dark track in bone black night,
fire water veins and fist fight urge,
a prolonged vomit, a bloody bout,
a wild moon and high speed life:
 a savage road rash sacrifice.

The Pubic Waking

The Monday after
that first stroke,
I stroked again
and made mad love
to the Frankfurt Boys,
a local band.

Cocteau

The last thing Jacques Cocteau smelled

was freshly mown grass;

he'dn't known he'd

die on a golf course.

But I did.

Because I killed him.

Lordy!

Lordy took a stroll on Tues

'round piccadilly square.

Thrice he saw the creepling man,

and twice he didn't care.

But on the third he stopped,

(his passions all aflame).

For there there stood the creepling man

flashing all his shame.

Lordy took a sneakling peek

at the absent trouser-door.

I say it only sneakling

'cause he promptly hit the floor.

The street-performing robot

had whizzed and buzzed about.

When shame flashed at his metal face,

his buzz became a shout!

"Get him!" Cried the Bobbies.

My eyes!" Cried the Fruit.

"Can no one save our ruined souls

from this exhibitionary brute?!"

Up arose good Lordy

from his shame-inducéd trance.

Sore but not downtrodden,

he started his advance.

The creepling saw him coming!

They traded blow for blow!

"He knows my every move so well!

This shame-exposing foe..."

All the gods were watching.

The crowd discharged their jeers.

Lordy'd never fought like this

in all his earthly years!

The creepling stood there dangling.

Lordy'd had enough!

"Let's end this once for all!" he yelled,

"Show me your stuff!"

The creepling man pulled off his skin.

T'was a sight like none no other!

'Fore Lordy stood a maiden fair.

And that's how he met your mother.

Return Of The Repressed

Melanie fears skeletons,
but most of all,
perverts.

Melanie saw pictures
of an orangutan's bone
structure in dad's “creep”
book, but more disturbing,

that pervert's portrait
on the secret “extra”
page, signed,

Daniel “Pervert” Brown.