gender bend.

DSC_0038, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

Falls away.

Falling away
lights blurred with heart thud and nonsense
nonsense and fear
falling into the wind falling with no end 

in sight
sideways and confused
I will not tell a lie I do not know how to do it
I don't know
How to land on my feet grounded
I don't know
Will running with scissors end in my heart
slashed and bleeding?
I can't be afraid
of this forever ether wanting to swallow me up
with the air swirling and calling me to comfort
the beauty of this head songs chirping
fluttering this tall tale
and you are waiting with the glass slipper
and my tongue is less sharp
with your soft mouth on mine.

Light.

Surreal Self

20130922103753713.bmp, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

*********

She was a pitiful little fuck me doll

poor me sat on her finger

tiny crybaby bird that wouldn't shut up

twittering like a hatchling

little did she know she was a cum rag

Or did she know?

I am nothing she would say

I just kept thinking yeah

you truly are nothing

How could you treat me so?

Because you keep begging to be whipped

if you don't want to be trampled

why do you keep lying down

I felt selfish about giving her pleasure

hoofs banging at her making her head wobble

She knew nothing about sadness

She knew pity and I wasn't giving her a dime

If you want pity from me sharpen

your sales pitch

I crumpled her up and tossed her away

knowing she was a slip

marked rejected

horizontal attitude

I spread vertical 

with a horizontal attitude

the bed bites me and the gash

bites you 

sweet lap

licking the itch without heart

without love

the vaginal river catches me washing 

the sin

the fear

the lust

and the rip tide pulls me under 

below the waves 

undertow of fucked up head

with the heavy thrust

of you

eyes shut tight

until I send you home 

we have nothing

but this thing

in common

25 years separates us

but I find your youth beautiful

your skin supple

I will make you the machine

and you will make all the girls melt

with the knowledge 

of this woman.

in so many words.

image0-1, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

midnight

It's the half ass smile
and the ripple in each tender muscle
vein pop and sinew delicious
he will get naked in seconds flat
mid west fucked up and we know it
the accent when he talks dirty
boils in my head
Injecting me with metabolized booze
the sex makes me drunk and exhausted
but in the hours we spend under and over and beyond
what seems humanly possible
In these sheets I am still broken
not in my thighs or the kiss but in that place love happens
and I give and take it just a little longer
because the wash of this cunts ears
only knows how your heart beats at the tip
but we love it and each other in our fucked up way
until I walk out the door at 9 am
Lone wolf in this trail of tears collecting affection, pretending
washed clean in the lust of the midnight ride

Michael 2013 typo's on the train.

lusted history
can't quite finish
regretting everything
longing for another chance
and the fear
that I would fuck it all up again
and the labia brings you back
whispering pussy
talks to the end of your tongue
wagging
it screams to your head
when your heart remains black
emotionally cheating the newness
of evolution
and lust is the only thing we do well
these summer days
and confidence is easy to breach
when the hatefulness seeps
in.

Tissue.... One of my favorite things.

DSC_0044, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

IMGP6895.PEF

IMGP6895.PEF, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

IMGP6414.PEF

IMGP6414.PEF, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

ARROW HEAD ->

miller

miller, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

We all scream for Miller in a Can.

edit.

The shit in his say so says so

The lies in his I will be nothing to become everything

THIS is my day of mal content

The cock left flaccid in personal hate

You are a dick less nothing

It lays weak 

A slug in this familial bed of lies

And your heart is closed to truth and hateful love 

My cunt is open to your demise                                                                                                                                                                    

And I drink in need and want and fake love

I drink it to make you sick

And the cord that binds these tits in salutation

To what you could have but were too weak to ask

We all say

we are fetishists

proud weirdo's grasping at an elitist sexuality

Will you wear knee socks

or

let me choke you out

or

can you pin me from behind

strap this baby

on

In our city

no one does anything straight

if they do we scoff a little

and we stretch our truths letting our

freak

flag

fly

whorish hooray

we wash in this rivers cum

G spot in this vaginal Willamette

and I walk with my cock out

bathing in the awakening

knowing I own

this acute

clitoral

pain

and I wait to see

the blue crisp in your denim step

and feel the itch

the burn

the yearning to

ride

every cotton minute

and I hold onto this

blue

boy

idea

Tiny painting

Tiny painting, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

IMGP6380.PEF-001

IMGP6380.PEF-001, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

SCAN0003

SCAN0003, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

Pen ink wood shellac

Gather Gather all of the mean nothings
all meaning
NOT  A  THING
While I fly into this new sun
mid life's baby star
sparks jumping off every cell
hot to the touch melting this pain
and you are withering
martyr and alone watching the sloth hang
from this slow emotionless place
with that blank stare
And I feel nothing
NOT  A THING
with the hopefulness that I will be whole again

I am the new Dorothy Parker
letters drawn from a man's lies
I will turn table
turn coat
turn style
Rapping this play out
You are the mother fucker
But I am the mother
Bow to this bitch
Your tall tales called out of this QUEEN
bees cunt
as I see you blame shift your loss
your truth
your vacancy
Nothing is how you exist in this rap
silence in your fear of being
And I buzz at your existence full of pollen
and piss
while you lay limp in castration
from God's ideas.

Oh sweet swimming head
this wine a blackberry drought on my tongue
hot daydreams behind my eyes shut tight
and you are praying to this quiet
goddess, white wash skin
sucking at this gash with my ass in the carpet
and I am pinned
pulling your mouth to mine in this sinking ether
you utter wet words
I hear only the noise of my heart in these ears
as you lap against this clitoral feast

I see you through open eyes light dimmed and us alone
you wearing vulnerability
identified neurosis as I tap at your shoulder blades
with breath soft
finger's foothold into a collar bones groove
tension grasps at your libidinous air
I feel new excitement in every draw
tucked in tight with every exhale
my mouth finds every hollow, every dimple, every hole
puzzle piece molded into receptive flesh
and I am silent watching you
bow deep in genuflect to my Sodom
as you shudder to the danger of my mind.

IMGP6217.PEF

IMGP6217.PEF, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

coast.

Morning wears a heavy metal t shirt.

Morning wears a heavy metal t shirt., a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

When everything seems a bit fuzzy but quite alright. It is all about the practicing.

IMGP5909.PEF

IMGP5909.PEF, a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

liberties.

eyes on bar light clear
a chameleons skin lives in your cornea
words quietly shine in my tender mouth
breathing in your sweetly bitter breath
fingers reaching talking in some different language
confusing and beautiful
I will drink you under the new moon hiding beneath fearful clouds
holding skin soft warm against denim
looped fingers in the city
the death in my ears ring while everything shines new
I fear the earth moving in my thighs
tender heart full of lust and need and clear eyed confusion
with your mouth reaching deep
lapping at every cells membrane
every veins river pulsing
every moist heart beat
leaving a barren fear that I will never be good at it again
death's quiet whisper rattling as I purr to the air being stolen
as you lay coins on my black eyes

stay over. thank goodness for the love of friends.

stay over. thank goodness for the love of friends., a photo by Linda Kay Lund on Flickr.

This whole thing is almost unbearable. I feel lost and being sick has made it physically painful as well as emotional. I guess when your life goes to shit, art remains.