addiction, alternative, depression, free verse, improvisation, literature, Lydia Lunch, man, Uncategorized

Taste the whip, a love not given lightly

Taste the whip, a love not given lightly

A hand offered in reconciliation

Comes back burnt and bitten.

Advice asked, advice given, never taken

Then they act in opposition.

Lydia Lunch spoke the truth when she said

You can’t save anyone from themselves.”

And we are always our own worst enemies,

Knowing every weakness, crack & tiny flaw.

Like greedy jewel peddlers we examine our lives

Through a variety of special lenses,

Pull them from their homes in the dark

Cut them to pieces, torture them until they shine bright.

Seeking any flaw, however small, to save them some coin on the buy.

I think I care more about pills than people.

Pills are there when none of your friends are.

When the so-called progressives treat ya as a lower class junkie

And as a source for their own fix.

Like bloody-nosed paradoxes that talk & talk about nothing.

We are the scum of the earth, hated for loving our god so much.

No matter the culture the non-addict looks down on the addict.

By nature it must be experienced firsthand.

Not a half g of coke on the weekends, or even every day.

I mean you wake up when you need to use,

The first thing you do is fix.

The last thing you do is fix.

You end up using just to avoid getting sick.

In the end there’s no pleasure in this.

Morpheus drags you down with that holy rush of a kiss

That leaves you slumped against bathroom walls

Gasping for air, content or dead & you don’t need to score anymore.

For your lover & master is here.

(title from Venus in Furs by The Velvet Underground & Nico)

-Jack Blare, March 2018

alternative, Erotic, free verse, improvisation, independent, literature, man, Uncategorized


I gave up on true love a long time ago.

Like I gave up the idea that schooling & intelligence were related.

That what goes around comes around,

That bad people suffer for their sins.

That good people hold out their hands for nothing.

Now I am free to love who I please.

That its always now or never &

If it isn’t worse than cotton fever or handcuffs from real cops,

Than watching your grandparents, father, family & pets die

Right before your eyes.

Than the looks of disgust I get from strange girls at parties

When they see my tracks & scars.

When your first kiss never wants to speak to you again.

You never do & never know why.

Like when they find the dope, or hear you making love.

When these things happen enough times you find out how silly it was

That they mattered at all.

To be shy to walk around barefoot, to dive into a kiss.

To tell people your fantasies without fear.

To toss aside the baggage of being young, mentally ill & addicted,

Peel off the label & spend the day in bed with a beautiful girl.

Because the pleasure of a single touch can outweigh the finest heroin

When its from finger of a lover, the lips, the tongue.

The bed, the floor, the grass & dirt become altars to Aphrodite.

I want to anoint you in oil & listen to Sonic Youth records.

You can smoke a joint while I kiss the arches of your feet, the ankle, the heel.

Working my way inch by inch to where fire & water meet.

Until you tremble, only my breath warm and near you,

Opening a delicate flower, I inhale the fragrance of fertility,

So slowly I lick. You say “Mhm!” and push your hips into the air.

A teasing brushstroke, hot, wet, fingers exploring heaven.

Taking me out, all ready, even clear liquid drips from the tip

So warm in your hand. Like a tear of lust, tear of jewelled desire

You kiss it so gently my breath is slow motion

I have a humming of angels inside as you lavish me with attention,

I can’t go back, there is no one like you in the past

Your yellow shift, short hair & peeking nipples.

Bare legs & feet, unpolished toenails.

I want all of you at once.

What kind of beautiful madness is this?

Jack Blare, 2017

independent, literature, man, mortal, poetry, writing

Man is Mortal

By- Pijush Kanti Deb

In my soft childhood
my father, teachers and others-
all were hard in saying to me,
‘’Man is mortal’’,
I accepted
looking at the kite flying in the sky.
Now I am an adult but confused
made by one of my friends-
a scientist, a user of inductive process
in putting two and two together
for any brain-beating matter,
who regrets for all those unknown men
living outside his known orbit
far away in the caves of mountains
and the darkness of unexplored forest,
whether mortal or immortal-
just an unanswered query to him
and is reluctant to accept the proposition,
‘’Man is mortal’’
and happy in hearing my clapping
on his thoughtful logic against the proposition.