Twisted by David D. Jones


My lust isn’t wearing cologne

It is covered in Mississippi dirt

Arkansas secrets

Louisiana funk


It’s jazz

I want to taste bloodlines for flavor

Stick my tongue under the foreskin of the future

Eating the ripe rich cheese of pride and hope and testosterone and swagger

While the past brutally fucks my faggot ass

With its grey beard stubble rasping my back

Bluesy hips bitching me out

As I grow delirious with the joy of discarded manhood

Backwoods country fuckin’

With mosquitoes and crickets the languid, inexorably horny witness

To the porn theatre projected out into the universe

From an old shack standing since old days