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History & house rules. Click
Read poetry by our winning slam poets.
Enter the chat room.
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indoor pool; free hbo. manna. don't touch your feet to the dirty carpet. stains on vinyl wallpaper. inside, rocking. meshing, for all i know the boy's got the muse of dirtywater creased in his shirtsleeve. lines of hunger etched through his tongue, pressed hard inside of me. air conditioner rattles in the window, the plastic cup cold against my lips, coke machine residue. drunk, slurring, intoxicated. wannabe monet empties into bliss off the wall, microwave sitting on the dresser, killing time. lift and he kisses through the orgasm, smiling in crisp hotel dusk. royal, blue shorts and a t-shirt, licking bedsheet flowers across my tummy; arrondissement number sixteen: motel 6: free soap, shampoo, complimentary inkpen. yeah, that's all i need. blood stains on the bathroom tile, behind the toilet. around me, singing eager "i wish i was" lovesongs. pick the onions off the cheeseburger. naked, lured to the rubber mat on the floor of the bathtub, boy falters and i take him in my mouth, nursing all his fears of getting older. ignoring everything but how he looks [at me]. how he breathes. how it feels. eventually, the water gets cold. i pull him over again, he comes again, i linger over candy. it hurts inside my cheeks when i smile. we eat potato chips. the damp of his salty hand between my thighs.
Julie Ruble
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Read a transcript of a past slam.
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