Willie Smith

by Horror Sleaze Trash on October 4, 2017

Willie’s latest collection of highly literate filth: https://www.amazon.com/Willie-Smith/e/B008381M30/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0




     Buzz hunches buzzard-like on a stool, elbows propped on the bar, well on the way, eight well drinks down, to copping a buzz. The buzz is: Buzz is steeling himself to rob Rob of Rob’s life.

     Seems Buzz possesses more than a hunch Rob has been doing the wife. Buzz believes in tit for tat; worships at the altar of civilization changes not a thing. Obsesses on, gulping shot number nine, doing by god Rob to death. Has for the purpose shanghaied from the job his sidekick Jack Hammer.

     When Rob steals in to wet the five o’clock whistle, Buzz joins him grinning in a back booth. Coaxes Rob out back into the alley for some coke. Loses not one silly millimeter of his grin, suckerpunching Rob out cold. Droops over a dumpster – depantsed – the nooky crook. Spreads homewrecking thighs. Inserts the tip of Jack’s cold steel tongue. Hammers crazy ten yards of intestine.

     Rob jerks – Buzz’s wife stealing a thumb up his butt – awake. Anxious to evade that tip, tipping itself slowly off to be but a dream, realizing in a flash what he took can’t take back.

     Over on her back Betty rolls. And one more time, in the timelessness of theft, Rob steels himself to forget Buzz. Despite the tip on that steel tongue reminding the mind – however bitterly the mind minds – never cheats, not even for a whoopee, the mind.





     Skim the porn I typed 45 years ago. Recall the black beauties, the quaaludes, the Cribari, the pot, consumed in the work. Wonder was I – lines gushing from fingers – under the influence of my own stroke?

     Did I scheme her nylons’ hue, her hips’ play, her ecstatic cry? Or did the talk simply on three legs walk?

     I put down – pit behind eyes gulping after-images – the manuscript. Walk softly hard away. Remind myself – aiming at the mirror – no good magician ever reveals a trick.





It’s just after his wad pops,

when she pops

back in her mouth

and reswallows the sword,

that we hear off camera

the guy suffer like a girl.

Her eyes over the elastic

cylinder into the lens glare –

Judith exhibiting the head.





High time to eat the balls.

Throw legs up over head.

Pop three vertebrae

muscling sack into mouth.

Bite like Adam

the apple – reluctant,

horny, eager to shut the bitch up.

Figure, once balls inside guts –

be a sideways eight,

skating the lemniscate.

Make me so bold as to beg God

to step aside for us to behold

the glory and the sleaze on the far side.

Gawk till the skull dwells in the belly.

Then into the pocket I call the eight falls.   



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