the golden boy that was swallowed by the sea

We saw the Golden Boy bleed love
onto the sand like rain

While we were injecting colours
into our open veins

And deep beneath the water
The dead black silence crawled

Far away across the ocean
The Golden Boy is beneath the sea
The Golden Boy swallowed by the sea

And love is sometimes violent
And violence has no constraint

And i can see inside you
Yes i can feel what you think

And with this knife of silver
I will release your soul

And throw it out into the ocean

- Swans

A.I created porn


He looked young male body kiss it at Joe, whose cockhead was poking out through the shorts he had over him.
Plastered, he started mumbling something about getting out of that sightly wool shirt. The jock looked me
over and leered a little, older twinks boy stripping off his shirt as he asked, "How do you want it?
"Yea, bitch, you want me to stuff this colossal cock take it in the mouth take somebody on your
eager little throat, don't you faggot? Let's just get the rest of these bags and boxes from the
hall and we can be on our way.



probably won't make it home until .... He pulled my head up and pushed my head puff on some tubing over and
over again until I took over on my own, ravenously bobbing on his boy twink oral monstrous rod, ravaging his
cock with my mouth, stretching my throat until I gagged, alternating between sucking, licking, and stroking.

I'm Master of the Motorcycle, Lord of the Flies, top dog, alpha gay boys outdoor male, King Dong, the Stallion.

"Make love to me baby," Russian Twink David moaned. Suddenly, I landed hard against the tree trunk,
my hands barely making it out in front of me to take the brunt of the blow.

Hungry brown holes awaiting the arrival of cock

Twink Sphincter

yummy

TONY O'NEILL

tony o'neill newhero


tony o'neill nowhere



THIS POEM CARNT FIGHT NO MORE

(..cont)

this poem just got lucky
with one of Sylvia Plath’s poems
this poem shot Andy Warhol
this poem is in Tangiers smoking a hookah
with Shane MacGowan and Dickon Edwards
“none for me, I have asthma”
this poem is doodling in the big book
this poem is snorting cocaine with Marc Almond
this poem is in love with you,
a frozen moment, crossing the 59th street Bridge, 2002
this poem is pissing in a cup
in Homerton Drug Dependency Unit
this poem is discussing poetry with Dennis Cooper
this poem is shooting dope with Clarence Cooper Jr
this poem is contemplating suicide
at a frigid kitchen table
this poem is shy, in a Chelsea bedroom,
“you use alcohol as a crutch”
this poem was shat out into the toilets of the Intrepid Fox, circa 1996
this poem has bled over a La Rocka suit, L.A. circa 2000 this poem is longer
and harder
than your poem.




(and this poet is in love with YOU.)

Thanks for the heads up from beautiful Shane, who doesn't know I exist. x