I am Pron, conqueror of men

I am Pron, conqueror of men and now

I rot their brains, sizzling and slow.

I hold their reins and even if they know

What happens, I am Pron.

In zippered haste they stumble

fingers fumbling, finding me

Touching me, running cum-stained

Thumbs and dreams along the keys,

It’s me.  They know, yes they know

Alright.  I am Pron.


Touch me, in deep lost night

It’s alright to touch me there,

The very sight of me stripped,

Whipped, bare, kneeling, mouth

Open to the storm.  I am Pron

You enter, you enter, typing madly

Half-holding, half-lost, the frenzy

The very sight of her with the whip in her

Hand.  You type, half-holding, not

Looking, not really.  You type me

You type me, my name

I am Pron.



My skin, all white awaits you

Write, O write in red upon me

Carve your name inside me

It’s the pain I need right now.


Wild Wind, Wild Wind

“Wild wind, wild wind, blow me away.  I want to feel the shreds of my life torn away.”

And the wind blows, and passing windows rattle, and so I laugh, I try turning up my coat, and I curse.  Papers fly, packets flap and twist, trapped in eddies, then flying free.

I turn and turn, but cannot turn away.  I see a crazed cat hopping into trees, running in ever decreasing circles.  But still the wind shrieks, how it blows, and sounds low and low.

As for me, I trudge on, eyes stung, skin stinging, sleeves flailing in the air.

And so the wind blows, and sends my peace far, far away.  And I wonder where my joy is, this strange wind-filled day.

Hold Me

“I am ready,” and I press my face into the sheets.  “Sit up for me, let me run my hands over your arms, your breasts.”

I obey, silently lifting myself from the pillow.  “Take me,” I whisper.

She cups my breasts, still raw after being waxed, “So smooth,” she says.  “Thank you,” she adds.

Gently, now, ever so gently, she pushes me back down onto the bed.  She knew my body better than I knew it myself.  I feel a finger inside me, probing, ever so slowly, and as I relax she tugs up on the inside of me.  “Am I big enough for you?” she asks.  But that does not matter to me at all.

I sigh so quietly that even she cannot hear it.  “Hold me,” I say.

Slightly put off her rhythm, by my talking, she says, “What?”

“Hold me.  Love me!”

My entire body hungers for her.  Love me, hold me, protect me.  Let this embrace last forever!

Urgently now, I whisper just that little bit more loudly, “Own me, take me, and take me completely!”

For I am yours!



Scented unsteadiness tears the air

While the thunder waits

And waits for us to notice.  It waits

As we bait each other with talk

Talk, talk, talk!  Mere words instead

Of feelings.  We use our head to clear

The air.  But we hear still that other sound

That dull hum beneath the street

We walk, silent, dark, arms swinging

Quiet, alongside. Each alone.


Lost, we walk the drift of strangers

Are those your hands which hold papers,

Lighters, promises, lies?  Or mine?

The hands pass one to another,

Mine, yours, someone, anyone:

Father to friend, and each to each,

They could never know.  Where are they going,

Where would they?  They are done

Each and every one.


The Silent Sea

The sea rolls me, foaming over and over.  A body, my body, sluicing dripping, oozing salt water spluttering, nose running, choking, gasping, body pounded, pounded over and over.  And I feel it fall and fall.

The sea turns me this way and that….and I let it, I let it run over me.  Clothes tearing, pulling away, heavy, holding me back.  Life into death, death back into life…I taste salt, salt.  The iron of blood, mixes with salt.

The sound roars, crashes over me, crashes into me.  The sea withdraws, and I let myself drift out with it.  Drift, drift.

My face under water now, suddenly I hear it.  The silence.  Sweetest of sounds, blood in my ears.  No sound, not really sound, just thundering in my ears.  A silence that roars.

The silence of the sea.

Shame and Shoulders

Shame and shoulders, turned inward

My breast burns, as my face

Reddens, my eyes prickle soft.


My tears slake the thirst of the hunter

Those who track me these millions

And millions of years. See, see

How they crest the banks of pain

How with wild yelps their hands seize

And grasp me. The shame

Overcomes love, overcomes me

And I am not me, still yet I soar

Away from this thing of me, this broken flesh

This thing of me which huddles and cries

Cowers and whines. Under their invited hours

Of blows and taunts, the names haunt

My flesh, for I am slut, whore, all things

You put beyond your doors.


But in that cold I grow so old

That yet I rise again. These names are not mine

I rise and rise, and my shame and shoulders

Turn inward and with ragged breath on frozen air

I lie slumped upon the concrete floor.