Posted in Winnie Star, tagged poetry on March 10, 2011| Leave a Comment »
seat cushion held the shape of your ass
i sat there, too
but my ass never seemed to make a dent
atop the imprint of your ass was that girl’s ass
(imprint now of two assess)
and you took her ass to your ass
along with your heart and mind
for what it was worth
back in the day
shit, man, my ass was worth more than her ass any day
you asshole…
Posted in Winnie Star, tagged poetry on August 12, 2010| Leave a Comment »
don’t let me bother
the place where you reside
ringing out
truths
yes, various versions
stories I’ve heard
nonetheless
stayed awake
waited for the door to open
saw you in the dark
smelled your alcohol pussy breath
lies
Posted in Winnie Star, tagged poetry on June 22, 2010| 3 Comments »
in 1998
you decided to roam
and our home became
two feet less than perfect
I laid out a spiral bound
wrote some words
drew breasts and labia
over the pages
later I heard
your dream came true
and a young woman
tasted good for you
that year
I wrote more, then
drew cunts
and cut them into shards
to line the drawers of your old desk
by November
lanced pages had red smudges
atop drawings of
broken hearts
didn’t mean to write a book
but nothing worked better
in 1998
Posted in Winnie Star, tagged poetry on May 3, 2010| 2 Comments »
“Buffalo Bill” hitched up with
the rodeo just
outside of our town
we knew Bill’s type:
he bothered the locals with
his braggart ways,
the cheap saddle look, and the
haggard hack horse he rode around
(never mind the improper looks
he gave the ladies in our town)
“Sally the Chieftain,”
sole owner of the “Eat then Ride” café
warned Bill
“Look at me that way again and
you’ll be ridin’ outta here with your
ass pinned to the tail of that donkey!”
Bill’s looks didn’t bother me
(never been a real lady, anyway)
and I bedded him down
he showed me horse
and saddle
riding skills
and reining
fancy what a rodeo man
can do for a girl
Copyright by Winnie Star
Posted in Winnie Star, tagged poetry on April 14, 2010| 4 Comments »
subject me not
to the plot of your love calling me out of my car
for coffee and chat that will stimulate only
solid fear and
more anger than cheer, surely
don’t yell my name or whistle me in
let me keep drivin,’ keep thrivin’
better to be tied in a knot of my own
than to the strings of your old game
© Winnie Star
deuce coupe 