Some poems
slide off my tongue
like a drop
of scotch whiskey
Others must be lured
from my throat
with a hook and bait
But there are some
that need to be carved
from my flesh
and slapped down
on the table
like a piece of meat

Max Mundan, Butcher Shop Poetry

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226

(via maxmundan)


Some poems
slide off my tongue
like a drop
of scotch whiskey
Others must be lured
from my throat
with a hook and bait
But there are some
that need to be carved
from my flesh
and slapped down
on the table
like a piece of meat

Max Mundan, Butcher Shop Poetry

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226


Drawing the razor across my face,
I wince as I take,
not only blond hairs but
a sizable chunk of flesh as well.
If my objective was to
make the sense of alienation
as apparent on the outside
as it is at my core,
then the sticky blood
slowly dripping over my lips
certainly conveys the message.

That’s the funny thing
about blood.
It’s so easy, so cheap,
to sacrifice a little
when you need some
for your rituals but
the result it buys,
in horrified and repulsed respect,
from your now attentive audience,
is worth it’s weight in gold.

Looking at me now,
you can tell there is something
slightly off about me but
you can’t put your finger on
exactly what it is.
Engaging me in discussion
to determine my affliction is,
in all likelihood,
more trouble than it’s worth.

I am carving a
“Do Not Disturb” sign
into my face because
you have shown very little interest
in what I have to say and
I have grown weary endeavoring
to meet with your approval.
I have decided to capitulate and
remove my disguise,
in the vain hope you will now understand
what I can’t find the words to say.

Max Mundan, Shaving My Eyebrows

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226


Best Laid Plans

maxmundan:

i am going

            to leave you

to apologize

            to leave you

to back down

            to leave you

to tell you i was wrong

The first time that you hit me, I wanted, so badly, to hit you right back; to slap some sense into your stupid, fucking face. Later, we sat on the couch at your friend’s house while you told me it was all my fault; that the words I used had pushed you into a corner and you had no other choice but to lash out; that I needed to be more careful about what I say to you; that you cannot be held responsible for your actions; that your well being is my responsibility and that if I was a decent human being I would do anything in my power to keep you from losing control.

i am going

            to leave you

to bite my tongue

            to leave you

to walk on eggshells

            to leave you

to watch every word i say

Remember in the Disneyland parking lot, when you tried to hit me with that bottle of wine. You tried to kill me. That full bottle would, almost certainly have crushed my skull. I had to grab your hand and wrestle the bottle away from you. You were screaming like a banshee and shaking like a leaf. I looked in your eyes but I couldn’t see you at all. There was a stranger there. And you told me this was my fault too. That I made the mistake of standing up for myself and telling you what I wanted. I should have known better and it was perfectly reasonable of you to try to kill me.

i am going

            to leave you

to shut down

            to leave you

to roll into a ball

            to leave you

to swallow my feelings

Then that time we went camping. We had a nice time until the sun went down and you said something about communism and I made the mistake of telling you that you were wrong. It was my fault, I know. I should have known better than to contradict you. Of course, something like that is going to make you fly off the handle. You were perfectly within your rights to pick up that knife and try to stab me in the neck. I’m only sorry that I was so weak that I had to stop you and pry the knife out of your hand. If I had been a good person, I would have just taken my punishment like I deserved. It was my fault. My fault.

i am not going

            to leave you

to complain

            to leave you

to protect myself

            to leave you

fuck up again

 

i promise

baby


Rules: In a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you. Tag [ten] friends, including me, so I’ll see…

I was tagged by maraicenzina. Thanks, Maria, for thinking of me.

This is my top ten.

Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs

The Wanting Seed by Anthony Burgess

The Devils of Loudun by Aldous Huxley

Valis by Phillip K. Dick

Crash by J.G. Ballard

Why I am Not a Christian by Bertrand Russell

Manufacturing Consent by Noam Chomsky

Plain Facts for the Old and Young by John Harvey Kellog

The Malleus Maleficarum by Kramer & Sprenger

The Illuminatus Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson

That’s it for me. I tag wordrummager, everlasting-lily-blossom, kittgory, alcrowley13, ihebfehri, the-conquistador, eternal-reinvention, myvoicemyright, lonelyinsomniac and foul-ball.


There ain’t a thick enough coat of bullshit
you can put on this planet
that can hide the evil
from an addict
We’ve seen your dark heart
We know what you really want
and how much
you’re willing
to pay for it

Billy from Philly
was the sweetest killer
this side of the Rockies
With his steel blue eyes
and gap-toothed, gun-metal grin
Billy could charm the pants off you
then turn around and
trade your pants
for a dime bag
It’s cool, though
without your pants
was the way Billy liked you

Billy was a flea infested, gutter psychic
He could look you up
and look you down
then pull out the five words
that would either make you
cum in your pants
or sell him your mother’s pussy
I guess it goes without saying
but Billy wasn’t popular at parties

Once, when I was lonely
Billy held me in his arms
and stroked my neck for comfort
I know he wanted
more than I could give him
but he settled
for a peck on the cheek
and a grateful thank you
whispered in his ear

I cried when Billy died
not because I missed him
No, I loved Billy
just not like that
I wept tears of relief
Now there was one less guy
walking around
with all my secrets
in his head

Max Mundan, Rehab Stories: Billy From Philly

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226


Q
I've never liked something so fast, but when reading the opening lines of "baby,be free" I instantly loved it. My favorite poem by you so far!❤️
A

I am very fond of it too. Thank you so much for the kind words. It’s really appreciated.


baby, be free
let the mascara roll
down your face with your gut
wrenching laughter and sobs

wipe off the rich crimson
you’ve smeared on your lips and kiss
whosoever you choose, baby
be free to

dress up
like a gypsy, to
dress up
like a pirate, to
dress up
like a nun, baby
be free

in a world filled up to the brim
with those so tethered and bound
they cannot bear the sight of
anyone free, baby
be free

set your course on your
own who you are
is nobody’s business but your
own, baby
be free

be a boy
be a girl
we don’t care
what you become
as long as you, baby
be free

Max Mundan, Baby, Be Free (via maxmundan)

beautiful balloons
floating
spinning
lazily drifting away
splash a rainbow
across the sky

there’s a party
in the clouds
and it’s impossible
to hide my smile or
the giggle in my voice

until I remember
this is the way
you died

Max Mundan, helium

© David Rutter 2014

Follow me on twitter @dmr226


everlasting-lily-blossom replied to your quote“The first time that I fucked you was in my mind entirely in my…”

Omgosh! This is beautiful. One of my favorites!
Thank you so much.