when

i drink down

this witch’s brew

of wormwood

this devilish elixir

that sets free within me

these words in me to feed

this poet in me who runs rampantly

crawling out of my woodwork like a termite

to search for something erotic

i’m nothing shocking

short of hallucinations hypnotic

my psychotropic eyes

my dropped wide jaws

with my bloodcurdling screams and applause

i’m feeding all of these faces who

are judging me

from somewhere other than themselves they plead

in beet red to dwell in hell

with eyes ghost glazed

the bells bells bells

as motion through motion they’ve failed

to live through their meager days

but my licorice sweet absinthe can take away

all of those pains

and i am the poet

i am the pimp of the perverse

and there is a darkness that lives

inside of every man

in tiny spots

or in larger splotches

i’m like a word painter with Van Gogh’s ear

to hear that blood is a gift of melancholy made

to course through my veins to feed

the force-field of this tainted blood

this liquid wickedness would prove true

this devil’s drink of which i have consumed

if only to say

i’m pro consumption

i’m pro sensation

i’m pro erection

i’m a convection engine aching

for your sex like a man possessed

writhing and screaming

for the soft embrace of my demon lover

my succubus bartending blonde bombshell from hell

but i’m not the man to bring home to mommy

and i am the absinthe poet laureate of Zen

with zeal i did seal the deal

i did ingest this dark essence

in silent sadness sackcloth moon

to feel eternally enshrouded

in these tales from the cryptic creeping

skeleton doom

swimming in these green balloons

a pagan king

i would assume

the brother to my sister the moon

existing in this wicked liquidness

to bliss

on the day of my doom

entombed

hand in hand

a zombie bride for my corpse groom

under a pagan moon in the nude

sprawled out in my wicker witches bed

where i indulge myself to taste her flesh

as she binds my hands to her buxom breasts

then turns and smiles and blows me a kiss

and then

she places her hands on the apex

of my phallus feeling

to offer her holy sacrament semen

and i die and i die and i die every day

again and again and again and again

when there is nowhere to hide

besides inside

myself

and it kills me to hope

anything will be left

of me

the pagan king

in my death shroud of black i pray

in my death shroud all night i rave

in my death shroud i drink green dreams

in my death shroud i exalt i sing

in my death shroud pagan king

to my absinthe queen!

 

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Poem film by Texas Outlaw Poet Jeff Callaway based on his poem of the same name. Please LIKE COMMENT and SHARE y’all dig!

 

RODE HARD AND PUT UP WET by Jeff Callaway

i’ve been rode hard

and put up wet a many a night

by dirty gin martinis

by fine moonshine

by the crucifix neon signs

of the bible belt of East Texas

where the liquor is always thicker

in one of those wet counties

and it always seems to find me quicker

over on the other side of the tracks

but back to what i was saying

i’ve been rode hard and put up wet

a many a night…

 

i’ve seen the likes of mystics

madmen

six naked men on bikes

in downtown San Francisco

i’ve seen the likes of speedfreak succubus angels

creeping like snakes inside my beer bottles

listening to Radiohead, reggae

redneck romantics

who had also been rode hard and put up wet

i’ve written poems which i’ve put away

until nowand poems i put to you

today…

 

i’ve seen the rain

from a trainfrom a Greyhound window

from a plane

i’ve seen the night inked in a blanket of fog

and i’ve sat and admired the moon from a hollow log

i’ve rolled my bones and joints

through cellar doors

through the Celis Brewery

through the celestial stars over California beaches

i love to eat the sweetest little peaches

i’ve read at Big Sur

i’ve loved English teachers

i love the sea

i love this poem that rages in me

i’ve combed the seashores

i’ve slept on floors

i’ve been locked behind bars and i’ve been free

i’ve been in a horrible mad raging sea

i’ve slept under the trees

i’ve watched evil TV’s

and i’ve seen

the sunrise the sunset

and all of these wonderful people i’ve met

who have also beenrode hard and put wet…

 

i’ve been drunk and just went to bed

i’ve been underfed

i’ve had sex drenched in sweat and i’ve bled

i’ve thought for sure that i was dead

i’ve thought for sure the sun would not rise again

and i’ve made friends and i’ve made love

i’ve cried and prayed to the lord up above

i’ve felt and held in the beds of my lover

sendless nights of soft flesh

wrapped in covers

under Texas skies

beside cheerleader’s thighs

in smoky rooms

the scent of northern lights

and i’ve made love on through the night

and into the day

but what i really wanted to say

was i’ve been rode hard and put up wet

a many a night…

 

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Purchase RODE HARD & PUT UP WET by Jeff Callaway on Amazon!

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when

i drink down

this witch’s brew

of wormwood

this devilish elixir

that sets free within me

these words in me to feed

this poet in me who runs rampantly

crawling out of my woodwork like a termite

to search for something erotic

i’m nothing shocking

short of hallucinations hypnotic

my psychotropic eyes

my dropped wide jaws

with my bloodcurdling screams and applause

i’m feeding all of these faces who

are judging me

from somewhere other than themselves they plead

in beet red to dwell in hell

with eyes ghost glazed

the bells bells bells

as motion through motion they’ve failed

to live through their meager days

but my licorice sweet absinthe can take away

all of those pains

and i am the poet

i am the pimp of the perverse

and there is a darkness that lives

inside of every man

in tiny spots

or in larger splotches

i’m like a word painter with Van Gogh’s ear

to hear that blood is a gift of melancholy made

to course through my veins to feed

the force-field of this tainted blood

this liquid wickedness would prove true

this devil’s drink of which i have consumed

if only to say

i’m pro consumption

i’m pro sensation

i’m pro erection

i’m a convection engine aching

for your sex like a man possessed

writhing and screaming

for the soft embrace of my demon lover

my succubus bartending blonde bombshell from hell

but i’m not the man to bring home to mommy

and i am the absinthe poet laureate of Zen

with zeal i did seal the deal

i did ingest this dark essence

in silent sadness sackcloth moon

to feel eternally enshrouded

in these tales from the cryptic creeping

skeleton doom

swimming in these green balloons

a pagan king

i would assume

the brother to my sister the moon

existing in this wicked liquidness

to bliss

on the day of my doom

entombed

hand in hand

a zombie bride for my corpse groom

under a pagan moon in the nude

sprawled out in my wicker witches bed

where i indulge myself to taste her flesh

as she binds my hands to her buxom breasts

then turns and smiles and blows me a kiss

and then

she places her hands on the apex

of my phallus feeling

to offer her holy sacrament semen

and i die and i die and i die every day

again and again and again and again

when there is nowhere to hide

besides inside

myself

and it kills me to hope

anything will be left

of me

the pagan king

in my death shroud of black i pray

in my death shroud all night i rave

in my death shroud i drink green dreams

in my death shroud i exalt i sing

in my death shroud pagan king

to my absinthe queen!

 

Get A PECK OF PICKLED POEMS today on Amazon!