Metal Head

Here's a poem I wrote a long time ago. It was probably written in 2001, maybe 2000. It's got sexy content. It appears here in its original form.

Metal Head

I love your Metal Head.
I love the sound it makes
When it bumps my head board.

Your reality distortion chip
Blows my mind
It forces horrendous
Thoughts into my brain

Your metal head is the most

Sometimes I try to
Crush it when we fuck
It always bruises my fingertips
Like my hips bruise your pelvis
I could squeeze 'til the cows
Come home, and it's still hard

I love your sexy metal head
When you come down the hall
To my apartment
And you reek from the sex
We're about to have

You've got your impenetrable
Metal head and your
Bag of Hostess products

Your crotch has soaked everything,
Not just your clothes.
The carpet squishes with every
step you take down the hall
And people start calling me from
Eight blocks away, complaining
About the smell.

A Ding Dong falls out of
Your bag as you turn to
Knock on my door.

The cigarette held by your metal jaw
Pushes against my door
And the smoke circles
Around your metal head.

I know it's you, because I
Can't see anymore
Your reality distortion chip
Has blinded me for now.
I can also smell the
Saturated carpet
I don't know if we'll ever
Leave here again.
One or both of our lives
May end in this apartment.
Maybe tonight or in forty years.

I wish I knew what was in
Your metal head

I can hear three distinct clicks
In your metal head when
you light a new cigarette.
You've eaten five Ding Dongs in
The past half hour.

What do you think in your metal head?

I'll try to crush your
Metal head again tonight
Just because I know I can't
You know I'd cry if I did.

I love your metal head.