(for Cait)
Sister in black
pierced tongue temptress
queen of the underground
come mother
my sweet sorrow
& hold me once again
I've been drinking
I've been scribbling
I've been trying on new socks
open wide
& let these crazy words
slide home.
Bart Solarczyk
because i can't say it anymore eloquently than dylan
because you have given and given
sacrificing so much of your greatest commodity
your time
a scarce gift we could never reciprocate
we thank you
dear dear cait
"may you stay forever young"
Dan Sicoli
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Hey Cait, Found this at some garage sale in West Hollywood... picked it up for a buck! (They wanted two). Was buried underneath some old, funky Hustler mags & greeting cards. Guess you knew a certain ex-prez once upon a time maybe??? Wow... do tell! The hold is the shit, and you are the bomb! xxxooo always, s.a.
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THE MOTHERSHIP
for Cait
Take me to the Mothership.
I'm the Supreme Being.
Something in this world
Has blinded my vision.
I didn't leave this world
In such awful shape.
They call this pollution:
Made by those I made.
The clear skies are gone.
The waters are poisoned.
I need to get back home
Before I die of thirst.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
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a poem for cait
reclining
on the grave
of the man-
a red
California wine-
full bodied
raw &
hearty
nearby-
one glass
to be sipped
from cracked
crystal-
the rest
poured
on close
cut grass:
a lingering
last
goodbye
Catlin
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(after reading four cait collins books)
o. k. so we get this vision, see
this concept, as it were
this idea that fucks with us
you know what i'm talkin' about
this "smell me"
this "ms. all that"
this "LOL" and "hehehe"
this "xoXoxOxo"
and we get fuckin' comfortable
somehow
it's a jargon thing intended
i know
and it "sucks" us in
like menial and passive zombies
all the while believing somehow
that it's a fun experience
then, the real reader
picks his spots
treads precariously
through a chamber
of coming to grips with
horrors
we see ourselves
in baggage bared
we see our own journeys
in a way we, ourselves,
wouldn't look at them
our own mommies
and daddies
as people sitting
on the toilets of life
struggling with the turds
and the bullshit
always emitting same
in one manner or another
but that seems inconsequential
in reflection
the important thing is
that we see a "soul"
Carter Monroe © 2002
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for Cait
I told her
no way bitch
my shit
gets covered
in the kitty litter of
her college
lit-rag unless
she dropped her
panties and
let my tongue swim
laps around her
tight pussy lips and
too my suprise
she dropped her
skirt and
flipped her panties
onto my stereo and
while my
Waterboy's CD skipped
that pussy
was the sweetest
pussy and then
I sneezed
a pubic hair
wormed its way
into my nose and
I began to giggle
the way girl
scouts giggle
getting their pussies
fingered for
the very first time and
this red pubic hair
found its way from
my nose to my
fingers and I
thought of Cait
and her offer
of a free chapbook
with the purchase
of a pubic hair and
my dick went limp and
I figure Cait
cost me a cum-in-my-eye
college girl so
fuck the
pubic hair Cait you
owe me a cumshot
to the face and
at the very least
I'll settle for
your tongue
flicked like a wet
silken whip
along the crease of
my...
RC Edrington
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cait
philly dope in yr
twisted socks
cait
bottles of pre-mixed
white russians clatter
deep inside a black
purse/duffel-bag
cait
eyes hidden behind
round sun-glasses
surely red
cait
everything falling
from yr mouth is
strung & bell'd
with yr laughter
cait
contagious
laughter
cait
addictions
we won't get very
serious about
silly to see some
prim & proper
high-class housewife
beside you
you are basic
cait
you are cait
you curse
laughing
you drink
laughing
you smoke
laughing
cait
i suspect there're
stories about
cocaine or
acid or pep-pills
something
i suspect when
you took the wheel
& veered away
from amerikan heaven
dust dribbled
& you were waving
bye
stoned
laughing
when you
arrive
it's
hi
stoned
laughing
cait
laugh at
reality
& make it tv
cable
adult
she is
not
shy
cait
of continuation
of continuous
glandular continual humor --
thanks
you are
a fun sun angel
a creative new jersey-
accented
devil
fires flare
around
yr fingers
on a keyboard
& we are all
natives
on an internet island
3,000 miles from
air
we kneel
& chant
cait
cait
cait
we bow
cait
wow
bow
cait
wow
cait
dogs
cats
birds
fish
poems
fill yr
house
it's
a house
filled
overflowing
out the windows
with twisted socks
let's
sing
cait!
cait!
cait!
ron androla
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Cait Collins has a vagina
I like that in a woman
I will now proceed to talk about myself for seven hours
Jonathan Penton
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Hallmark Poem for Cait Collins
If not for you
my writing balls
bead blue
Michael Basinski
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in a shamble.
the garden shook
its wiretapping.
in my nightmares.
different versions of her
they consolidate there,
skin me alive.
crashing limb trees
splintred securities,
banks slink the shadows.
lock the safes.
wash eyes scuff
outermost film.
a jaundiced self,
she comes vicious
a smile jagged nails.
she comes to me
comes back to me
a garish grain focus.
she smiles, laughs.
wilts in programmed
sequence a sickness.
yellow leprous gaze,
struggle to stand straight.
the undead come to with
such a sudden hunger.
she's the sweetest measurement i ever made.
netted fabric nerves i unthread.
she comes to me
straight back to me
in my sleep
with intentions
bloodthirsting
theodore knapsack
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Six Questions for Cait
How is tenderness so palpable that no layers can belie
the inner beauty?
At what point is perspicacity most contagious?
Do the opening and closing of a shutter garner equal
time?
Can an atmosphere around one's depth of feeling fit
into the house?
How does fluency in experience equate to a capacity to
forgive?
Is there a cure for inner beauty?
Sheila E. Murphy
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