New Book “whores don’t kiss” by L. K. Thayer (coming soon…)

This is the cover foto, copies available soon!

“whores don’t kiss”

poems & fotos by

L. K. Thayer

© 2011

I used to live off Sunset & Formosa
in Hollywood
for a few years
I don’t know
it could’ve been longer
it could’ve been shorter
I don’t keep track
of time too well
down the street was and still is
The 7th Veil Strip Joint
back in the day when you saw
10 to 12 hookers on every corner
doing intimate things with men
without getting intimate
I would walk down to my favorite
neighborhood bar
and always play
“Tell It Like It Is” by Aaron Neville
on the jukebox
I’d have my song lyrics on me
have a few drinks
and start singing them
a capella in anyone’s ear
I had the songs
and the songs had me
I wrote them after a break up
after a nervous breakdown
after all, it was better than
empty sex in an alley way
in the back of anywhere
of course, I made sure I fit some of that in too
I miss the ladies on the corner
it gave this town more depth
more soul without the heart
in this town where fame is
the drug of choice
wondering how to get it
how to score it
how to become
a household name
like Ajax or Swiffer or Rice-a-Roni
this town is like a giant melon baller
that keeps scooping out your guts
to make an ambrosia salad
for the masses to snack on
eat it while its
fresh, it gets old fast
and you have to toss it out
like whores turning tricks
for their pimps
we all have to answer to somebody
somebody’s always calling the shots
but you can’t give it all away
you’ve got to keep your cards
close
and they will fuck you
but just remember
whores don’t kiss

L. K. Thayer

© 2011

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“Power” by L. K. Thayer

I have cramps.
I thought the period thing was over.
Period.
I have no energy, I don’t want to speak to anyone, or show up for anything. I’m tired of showing up. I’m tired of showing. I’m tired, period.
Trying to make something happen. Trying to make it.
That damn word, it. The it thing, the it girl …it can go suck it! Fuck it… Fuck it’s self!!
I wear an art mask. Masking taped together with thumbtacks and glue. I don’t want to take care of anybody or anything…I don’t want to take care of myself.
I feel like a loser. A hamster on a ferris wheel, I don’t wanna be the sideshow, the second wheel, the second fiddle…I want to open. Be the one who they pay to see.
The phone rings…I see it has a blocked number. I reach for the sound to turn it off. There was a time when I would’ve given anything for him to call. Just to hear his deep voice would send shivers in all the right places. Knowing we would spend hours sharing saliva and other bodily juices. I miss that feeling of really wanting someone, the way my heart rushed at the thought of him, wanting to look good for him, kiss him, smell him, stroke his hair, lay my head on his chest. He broke my heart for a while, but I got it back and he wants to see me again and Jimmy Crack Corn and I Don’t Care…
I turn the sound on the cell down to vibrate and feel my power, the power I gave away… and I feel good.

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2010