Two Poems – Lee Levinson

Notes on Frequenting Trapdoors


We burn through water like it’s blood, so say goodbye to your familial ties.

I will gut your rotisserie chicken from inside you with a double edged costco card.

Best you don’t get too complacent in your jissom tinged opiatic drawers;

curtsy cute like and sit in shit.

Impending orgasmic tickles are a falsehood;

the sensation is nothing more than the pit circumventing its abscess.

Cock size is irrelevant, the decree of manhood reigns down by the span of blood’s arch when you razor your genitals in defiance of anything shared.

Candle’s warmth has been cemented cliche,

burnt sheets of aluminum blistering hair’s follicles white hot is all the more the fitting.


Admiration for alter’s artillery must be the precursor to our engagement, this is non-negotiable.

If you look me in the eyes I will be forced to skin my teeth with your digits, digging my hole to allow you the true finger on the pulse.

Conversation is outlawed, communication between us is preferably transversed in but not limited to cancer.


Payment must unremittingly be dealt in currency of abscessed crimson blooms or bust.

Independent production of boils is a prerequisite for our confabulation.

If I leave without a single excision I will plant my malignancy in your marrow.

Sum me up in your sphincter, gall my bladder barren but remember plastic is a plus.

Is it too much to ask to be dripped dry, sweated obscenities and sealed saccharined sweet?


Assault rifle rancor does our overdue abortions healthy.

Flies will be in attendance, save your objections.

Can’t place your finger on the word?

It’s coprophagia my darling.


Pipe bombs constructed crack pipe dreams threaded nitrate will be our love child let loose upon the world.

Don’t rubber me vertical and expect me to skin to skin ya all nostalgic like.

Can’t promise anything but if I was a betting man I’d lay stacks on regret.

If our encounters reminisce anything biblical like, that is to say I left my wallet in hell.


Smear yourself Vaseline and waste the years trying to ignite.

The only lubricant I require is ammunition.

Together we glisten in the microwaved heat, drenched in baby oil, clogging pores till our skin suffocates the holy.

Sickness can only spill over if you’ve got a cup to offer and I’ve made certain your hands are tied.


An offering of citric acid holds more worth than flowers opening; love is a cork for those too afraid to bleed.

Clandestine removal of God’s nails is strictly forbidden;

Times square exhibitionism or I will broadcast my virility viral with your dimpled back as a backdrop.

My only end game is synaptic synesthesia.





Days among the dicking fields, dodging consent like forgotten untriggered mines.

Men flailing their domestication my way like I’m wearing a god damned apron.

Run through glass dicks like fleshy ones, turning daily into fulgurites.


I would focus ocular on the sun if bridge’s bottom did not obstruct the rays.

Crotch rot and, and, and…

Cheapest fix around, a hit for a hit. Fix me good, I crave only fluid. Storage in me is adoration of inhabitation, I am god.

No, god’s shitstain on white briefs.


As open as the revolving door at Bellevue, I host more pervs that way.

Working solely for sweat; currency is pure filth so I slather skin with strange men’s waste. Can’t gobble like I used to but can cock-a-doodle-do that’s for sure.


Awake at daybreak to break my back spent on my back; can’t think of a better fuck you.

Nothing but a carry on carrion, I haven’t washed in I can’t remember how long,

akin to a junkie’s aversion to the sink.


Fuel my feet with chemical carcass and spoiled seed. Protein derived from expounded lust, or hate. It all depends what hole they choose to use, doesn’t matter much to me. Utility is the game; circle the shitter from a can of beans. All hope is lost when you bring hope into the picture.

I come drainage when anyone cleans me dog-like; I’m talking cesspool aspirations.


Spit teeth out like sermons. Rain or shine, I’m clouding John’s judgement worse than wifey. They just die for the layers of onion I’ve acquired.

A complexion of coal, never been with such a blackened white man before? I ate my own hymen before first menses. What is a friend if not a patient cannibal?


Nails like razors.

No, no. Nails like nails.

Yes hammer me out daddy-god. PBS cross hatched with Real Sex,

take two.


Paint a pretty picture of my abscess won’t you? Free for the taking, that is except for medical bills. Much prefer the back of my foot, I always respect the visual of myself getting fucked.

Can. Stop.

You. Stop.

Bleed. Stop.

Me. Stop.

Lubricated. Stop.

Slip it in a bit but don’t you dare make eyes.

If I had a dime for every man who tried to love me I’d have an abortion. A main vein larger than most, my cavern is a cacophony of ovum seeking little men. Bleed Pepto-Bismal for the customers dismal request.

What a wordless asshole shaved nazi youth like, but that’s O.K. because my hole does not discriminate against phlegm’s lack of viscosity.


Your pin up girl on pins and needles.

One for all and all for one, Our Patron Saint of Fuck. Promises of nothingness, society as nothing but a waste of breath. Now frottage on the flag is something I can get behind. Tuck myself in to feel how I fuck,

still showing circumcision scars.


A free for all rather pricey in retch.

Shit congealing million man march down my buttocks. The underworld of my underwear; Dante never knew the depths of my hole when he imagined hell.

Toxic culture shock syndrome from all sorts sticking their two-cented nose where the sun don’t shine. Anyone worth fucking is worth fucking up. Everyone’s got an opinion and I’m constantly full of shit ready to drop.