Yes! Yes! Yes! Very excited at the moment. I’m just putting the finishing touches to a definitive collection of my poems. The best bits of twenty years of writing, plus some really good stuff that has been blossoming into my mind recently like fields of Winter cale. Last night I powered on into & through my notes, & came up with the final new piece for the collection – American Tinderwolves – a landscape portrait of the social media dating phenomenon.
Fifteen years since Facebook,
Seven since Tinder,
Deft swipe left, swipe right on Mr Right,
Millennials’ howitzer love,
Orgasmless orgies of unorganic matches,
Fyre Festival, Baby!
The great American city,
Melting pots of broken egos,
Perfect Mexican food,
Favignana tuna-girls waiting to be spear’d
By stray Tamil peacocks
Buffeting unhomeopathic streets.
In the south west of Arkansas
A reddish factory chimney totters,
The old gal who once work’d their sighs;
So many memories, good & bad,
Nearby her grandaughter’s on her phone,
Lost in the Now’s ever-enticing grap.
After Humanity’s greatest revolutions;
Agricultural, industrial, technological,
Masturbating with strangers on Skype,
Heteroflexible, genderfluid jargonelles
No-one knows who they are anymore,
Scattersouls titching day to day.
Like the colony-forming smooth sumac
An epidemic of opioid dimesions
Sweeps thro’ Californian beanfields,
Flaps along Manhattan skylines,
Twitterbirds & Tinderwolves,
Isolated with patiences of puppies.
When I was dating, wearing slippers
I used to take the family phone
The door-cubicle at Seven Arran Street,
& natter for hours,
Meet up later, kiss, then meet again,
& maybe, just maybe, get married!
Humanity steers towards sex,
Human evolution needs sex,
Do drunken frat guys ever grow up,
Penis pics & bits of sleazy text,
‘I would love to ride you!’
‘Hey wanna suck my dick?’
Tinder, OkCupid, Bumble, Hinge, Meash
Match.com, Revealr, Tastebuds, Hapn;
Having a blast travelling round the world –
In London for a couple of days,
I’m looking for someone to explore with.’
Are women merely body parts?
Bastillions in an uneven playing field,
Scrolling thro’ blogs of beautiful peers
For hours of futile hours,
Never gonna be, never gonna have,
By low self esteem envelop‘d.
In these Barbie & Ken technocultures,
Unreal, ideal relationships
Stelliferous perfection for all to see,
Overwhelming physical appearances,
Everything & so much of what you are
Depends on looks & smiling.
Packs of Tinderwolves leave the woods,
Guys flashing engorged fish,
Sexually provocative gals
Puckering out cleavage,
Breast flesh & friendliness,
Sex always sells.
It’s a turkey shoot at the Turkey Dump,
Sliding superficially into fossick DMs;
Pay money, improve emojis, get laid quicker,
White pecking pigeons loving the game,
The out-of-body ‘its a match’ jackpot,
Or going back & try your luck again.
She’s large-glass tispy for her date.
He’s late, shes drunk, thinking of bailing,
*frantic group Whatsapp*
Umm he’s here ohmygod.
‘I thought he had blonde hair?
DON’T NOTICE ME
‘My roommate would love you!’
Out goes the emergency text,
In comes the emergency call,
‘Your brother’s in the hospital…’
‘Your dog just died!’
Running in heels. Far.
The allure of sex keeps us consuming,
Termites in a mound of shite,
Cushioning back-up prospects,
Protecting peripheral phantasies,
Polyamorous buffet love.
Ruthless romeos, predators pouncing,
Guys are balls in a pinball machine,
Girls are flippers defending the hole,
Pushing them in right directions
To stack up pussy-points.
Can a clitiris commit
To only one tongue?
Early morning dipouts,
When one little phone call
Could clear up everything.
Guys open the Kittenfish Catalogue,
Looking for half-night hook-ups,
Thinking they deserve perfect tens,
When of course they’re only sixes,
Unleasing Tinder Tsunamis
In fourteen-pages of vulgarity.
Where floateth intimacy’s preciousness,
Established by passion-trysts inseperable?
Swamp’s by dates of sexual obligation,
Tin-kettle time, innoculated chemistry,
& then we start making out like fish,
Ignorant of pneumatological desires.
Sometimes situationships develop,
After a successful Cuffing Season ;
Southern Belles looking for their Cowboys,
I’ve never fucked a black girl –
Breadcrumbing becomes Benching,
Until Netflix Chills the norm!
He tells her he loves her, lactescently,
Lovebombing like a hardshell stalker,
But stashing her into non-existence
Until 4 AM – ‘Hey you wake up
Time to come & sit on my face now!’
Slow Fade follows, then dismettl’d Ghost.
I walk hand-in-hand with my Rosie
The great American city on our ears
She says she loves me as much as New York
Well, as much as its Harlequinade
We fell in love in a natural environ
As on West Thirty-Ninth, near pier Seventy-Nine
As she’s messaging someone else’s fuckbuddy
As she’s walking down a sunlit street,
She bumps into her one true soul mate,
But with both of them focuss’d on little screens,
They move on without the slightest of glances –
Unmatch’d, unromanced, & sad… forever!
DAMIAN BEESON BULLEN’S