:: Article

Two Poems

By Matthew Coleman.

I Think

I think
of a
woman –
I push
her back
against the wall,
my body
pinning her between
solid matter
and my matter.
I can feel
her body
pressed tightly
against mine
as our hips
come together;
rubbing and
gyrating –
genitalia now
alive,
thriving
with a life of
its own.
Quickly
we fall
and fumble
into the hot
panting
place of
passion.

The rest is
obviously
an inconsequential
mess.

The end.

Sex With Animals

One time I had sex with a woman who
rode me as she whinnied like a horse.

253956796_126c41d119_m.jpgABOUT THE AUTHOR
If you are a fan of love and sentiment do not read Matthew Coleman. He is the Henry Miller, Sade and D.H. Lawrence of dismantling intimacy in search of its truths. His works read like Joyce’s unfettered letters to Nora… Microscopically observing, examining each vivisection. He takes a hammer, smashing concupiscence into its every fetid and perfidious shard… shattering it into a thousand little razor edged pieces for the reader to reasemble. Read him, but read him at your risk; with the caveat that you wear safety glasses. (Pic by Andrew Gallix.)

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Monday, July 30th, 2007.