David Mac

by Horror Sleaze Trash on November 13, 2011

David Mac is a 33-year-old wino forklift driver from the UK whose work can be found in Ambit, Purple Patch, The Journal, Weyfarers, United Press, Monkey Kettle, Clockwise Cat, Urban District Writer, erbacce, Urban Landscapes, Heroin Love Songs, Neon Highway, KRAX, Moodswing, Antique Children, Danse Macabre, Mud Luscious, Burning Houses, This Zine Will Change Your Life, Poetry Over Coffee, Global Tapestry Journal, Obsessed With Pipework, Howls and Pushycats, Word Riot, Decanto, The Delinquent, Orbis, Streetcake, Dawntreader, Sarasvati, Black Heart Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Negative Suck, Naughty Girl X, as well as being a featured poet on The Poetry Kit’s ‘Caught On The Net’. He has various self-published chapbooks available plus ‘These Dirty Nothings’ and ‘Room is Brutal’ from erbacce press.

Waiting for the World to Come

In her room and they were at it. I watched him pump into her as I
smoked a cigarette. I was bored. ‘Look, I’m gonna go yeah?’
‘No. Wait. We’re almost done,’ he panted. I nodded. Then I asked
if I could take over when he was done. She said yes. He said no.
I said oh.
I got up and went over to her desk. There was some paper and pencils.
I took my cock out, put it on the paper and drew round it. Then I
drew around one finger, then four.
I looked around the room for other objects to draw around, other
templates to use. I said to her, ‘Hey, can I draw around one of
your tits in a bit?’
She groaned yes, in a bit. He asked why. I said I was bored.
He said, ‘That’s your problem, you get bored too easily. Sit down
and wait till we’re done.’
I sighed and went back over to the chair by the bed and sat. Bored.
Waiting for the world to come. Nothing to do.
Then I picked up one of her girl magazines and read about some
woman’s husband who had spontaneously combusted in a chair
yet nothing else around him had got burnt: not the chair, just him.
I smiled: man, and I thought I was bored!

Globule

Your drunken old man,
caned in his chair,
head back snoring, and
I told you to
suck me off.
You said not here.
I said yeah here, coz I
loved the thrill of your
naughty lips on me as
your father slept right there,
knowing he could wake
at any second and
beat the shit outta me.

But one time, when
you’d gone to the bathroom,
just after, and I was
wiping myself down, I
found a tiny glob of
cum and got it on
my finger and
went over to him in
his chair and
held my finger out,
close, so close,
over his open mouth,
wanting it to
drop in.

It didn’t.

And that’s why I
never came round
again. I
just couldn’t stand
to see that fucker
smile at me,
oblivious,
ignorant,
still blissful, still
in charge of you.

I hope that one
of your
other boyfriends
actually had the
bottle to go
through with it.

Parlour Thoughts

She bends over to reveal her pussy:
pink, fleshy, almost luxuriant.
She says ‘You like?’
but I’m indifferent.

I look at it and wonder
what it means.
To a man this is the world opened up,
like a flower, hot and mad,
but my mind’s still on
a poem I have
not yet written.

Yes, what if I were to fuck her
with a poem?
What if I were to stick
a big hard poem up there?
Would she prefer a poem
to a cock?
Would it change her?

I stand mesmerised
by her thing,
smiling, having
my delicious thoughts,
and she stands up
and says:
‘You’re a poet aren’t ya?’
I nod.
‘I knew it. You were
thinking about
sticking a poem up there
weren’t ya?’
I nod.
‘Shit, you fucking lot
are all the same!’

Ejaculation Is King

Shooting your load at least
three times a day
in the same way you
shoot your poems.
Hot and mad, burning
behind the eyes,
the maniac’s grin,
the words no one’ll know
but you. These
dirty nothings are
all your own,
you speak them to yourself
over and over as
you rub it out, as
you work it.
A gush, a spill, a flow
everywhere. Just
a madman in this room now.
Speak to your hand if it
makes you feel better.
Come on!
Everyone does it!

Poem for L.

I’m all talk like
you’re all fuck, and
your pussy hurts
my feelings
when it moans like that.

I wish your heart was
as big as your arse
but it’s just not.

And you told me your
insides were black and
diiirty and
that’s why you’re
such a wicked lay.

You said pretty girls
with pretty insides
ain’t shit
in the sack.

But I know you screw
like there’s nothing left,
like there’s
no life or death,
no heaven or hell,
no God or prayer,

till the floods come,
till our civilisation is
wiped out clean,

till hope is lost,
till
we don’t stand a chance.

But I like that about you.
Yeah, I like that.

You can’t be saved, so
I don’t have to try.

Ask My Dick

In the past and I knew it was
Love
Coz you didn’t have to rub
My dick it
Came to meet you when you
Walked in the door

And I just lay back with
This jutting obelisk
(I wish!)
In the sky in
Your hungry blue eyes

You wanted it and
It seemed to want you back
I was too uninvolved and
Underestimated to care

You two had each other
And that was enough

It was love it was love
It was sex it was sex
It was love I
Swear it was

Coz a hard dick can’t lie
Not that it don’t want to

Words In Use

I hope your
poetic is
deep wet
and wide.

I hope you under
stand.

My poetic
is
hard and
male.

There is
no
loss,

and

no love.

Imagining Something In Her Mouth

‘I’ve had all shapes and sizes,’
she said.

‘Of dicks?’ I asked.

‘No. Of pasta,’ she replied.

‘Oh, I thought you meant dicks,’
I told her. ‘Are you sure you
didn’t mean dicks?’

‘Why would I mean dicks?’
she sneered. ‘I was
talking about the menu.’

‘The dick menu?’ I said.

‘No, the menu. We are in an
Italian restaurant.’

I looked about: ‘Oh yeah.’

My mind was always
some place else when
I was with her.

Morning Horny

You wake up so horny
You want to hump
Something
Anything
And you want the hump to go on forever
To never stop
To blow fast
To last
This great effort, this
Sexy hump

But your bed’s empty
And you’re all alone
And your hand looks at you
You swear it’s giving you the eye

So you smile back

Stiff

My hardness is only temporary.
Take a photo,
Open your legs,
Open your mouth.
Get the tape measure.

Rude

Hey baby
maybe
my dick’s
not small
maybe your
pussy’s just
too deep
too wide
like an
angry
pink mouth.
And the
way it looks
at me
I know
what it’s
thinking, and
when it starts
calling me
names I
can’t handle
it!
What you say
you evil
little
cunt?!
Yeah I’d
like to
see you try!

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