Words from an Asshole

Words from an Asshole

I'm puckered for you
after 2 hours of teasing.
My lips tensed
infront of your face.

I'm the man in the corner.
The one mother never warned about,
because I hid in layers of ambiguity;
a smile under a smile.

My body sways
from the constant amount
of courage
I drank down with force.

Oh, I'm oh so vulnerable:
what can I do?
Maybe you can help
these poor old lips of mine.

And you do-

And I laugh inside again.
Oh, how the weak
control the strong;
handling the gate.

-Matthew Koutzun

Filter in a Vacuum

Filter in a Vacuum

Cleaning the filter of my mind,
my eyes irritated at something in them: water.
All the sad things I've heard,
and the troublesome things I've seen;
Cleaning the filter of my mind.

-Matthew Koutzun

Sex Advice from Margaret

Sex Advice from Margaret

Dear Margaret;
What do I do?
He won't lift my spirits
with the right hand of God,
nor take my soul
into the pit of his.
I cannot understand
how a woman,
sensitive though I am,
cannot find hope
inside of him.

Dear Reader;
He can't levitate the bed.
He can't jump through hoops.
Just be happy
he can find where to stick it.

-Matthew Koutzun

Entry

Entry

Coming home
to the ruckus.
Enter a doorway
past world.
Time passes
awkward.
Take me back
to when we smiled
silent.

-Matthew Koutzun

Paper Aeroplanes

Paper Aeroplanes

I never knew a paper areoplane could carry someone so far;
folded out of mere plain paper, lined, coloured or constructed.
Someone, even so heavy or light as yourself, could fly off in it.
But in rain it folds in on itself, bat from the thin air it caressed.
A lump of pulp and it flies no more- neither it's passenger again.
I knew it wouldn't carry someone far,
but it, at least, carried them halfway.

-Matthew Koutzun

My Confession in Prose

My Confession in Prose

One day or another it was going to happen, so let it be today. I'm tired of indirectly trying to lead you to my insides through broken verse and mishapen song. I have to be direct now it seems; with you and myself, and I do it prose because I can't hide from truth any longer.

I've been searching for love all this time, never knowing where it could be, or how it is made, or how one obtains it. No matter how hard I've searched and how far I've lead you to follow me on my journey I've never been able to coax it out of me nor have you. So, I'm direct now, or am I misleading again?

I've looked at everything, across information's highway, and through the people I've met and many more I've met from afar, watching their actions, trying to dissect their ways- but still have come no closer to finding anything that resembles them in myself. From the highway, I've searched every esteric and erotic thing known to man and have felt nothing from picture, image, colour, or sound; from illusion to disillusion, there is nothing that has stirred anything in me.

Sure, my white hot comes from me now and then but it passes by without thought to whats really present. I feel genderless and sexless without a drive to call a home. Nothing to move nor distinguish me in a power driven world.

From violence to peace I've searched, perhaps love was found in pain I once thought, and couldn't stand the blood unnessecary, and in peace I could not find any pace or romantisism to stir affection into stagnant and thrusting lust.

Oh, I've done it now, with shaking hands on plastic keys, I've spewed it all out for everyone to see again (and I thought a confession would be longer. But like a climax, it's power is perhaps in it's quick and concise nature.)

Now to think: how to change it all?

-Matthew Koutzun

Translucancy: A day

Translucancy: A day

Held up to light
transparancy to brillance,
a red glow fired
in the heat of a sun.
A cold breeze froze it
and a steady hand opened it,
and a passionate quake tore it apart.
Took to seed
and green in season- grow.
Yellow mists of mourning,
when the sun brings back brillance.
Oh, begin again-
hold it out once more.

-Matthew Koutzun

How To Tell

How To Tell

Hitting the lit crossroads I see Poverty:
her: cross legged
blanket covered
multi-layered clothes-
barely warm still.
She speaks to a "City Ambassador"
(It says so on his jacket, while on one knee)
They speak,
him asking her what she wants.
"Release," she says,
"release,"
something to end all of this:
her,
and the people around her.
It could all go away she says.
Perhaps forever.
I stand listening
waiting for the white man to grant me crossing.
I should act:
bending down,
both her and the ambassador
bewildered-
as I kiss her.
Lips locked.
Teeth clashing.
Saliva mixing.
Permanence.
I stand again,
tears welling as I speed my way across,
the hand flashing red,
but pacing faster anyways- away.
She stands- all smiles- screaming- waving:
"That's how we'll save the world boy!
With love.
With love!"
Walking faster- harder;
need to wipe it all away-
need to get away-
how to tell a girl she now has hepatitis C?

-Matthew Koutzun