Cyber writing group, what can i do to this?THE REMIX

I own a 2-dollar flask, within
liquid traced recordings of sensuality
predate chalk outlines and
spread-legged victories,
the spoils of gifted penetration.
Hierophant replaced harlot
demeaned by his non touch.
Remember we are given chances,
finger traced sketches in our blindness
(unchallenged farewells on gluttonous lips).
Tongues chained and dry from want,
us and we, our history cycling in 3 parts.
Bonding. Ripping. Flesh shedding.

My dictionary places conjugal 23 paces
before conquest. It lies. I know
his divorced parts in 23 pieces.

Hunter S. Thompson leaves us at 67

"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. "---Hunter S. Thompson

hmmm?

Rest Stop

The girl they knew hadn’t called home in weeks:
Suddenly she was on the phone, babbling to anyone,
Her voice distanced by Saturn,
Her roots the color of home.

She’d been delayed, got stuck.
Forgot the lyrics to her own damn song
Her break up speech on cracked lips
Halted by red rimmed eyes
Out of green acrylic
Can’t finish this painting
Store reopens at noon
It’s 4 am.

Out of time, money, and heart she called them
Without knowing who would answer.

I think this is finally ready to sell

Mating Habits of the Stagmomantis carolina

Follow the Pied Piper
White boy with cornrows
Up Up and Up again
For real? What with all the sex
In (insert Art School here)?
Stagger into tinkling metropolitan lights
Revealing the hip stare
It’s cool, honey, I’m holdin’
Tight corners and bored summer tongues
Let HIM play repentant man
‘Cause blacktop burns for days
This is NOT Polly Jean’s view
That smell is NOT our homelands
No, Nefretti was beautiful
I am just talented
And I need to get off
Hell, let me do the fucking
My sticky close out
Shot in the dark
“Momma, told me not to come…”
It’s artwork, really
Hate fuck you
Hate fuck me, hate fuck it all
And watch Brooklyn go black
‘Cause I’m spent