David Carradine Poem by Eli MorenoDrew

My dreams

consistent and horribly vivid

having a faint theme of cunnilingus

leave me sprawled out under soft sheets

twisting my pelvis

in anyway that feels good and dirty.

It has been the only sensation

my body allows me

so sometimes I don't take my pills

so I can enjoy it a little more.


We are such dependent creatures

it's a miracle our heart pumps blood

without us asking it to.


But now blood's rushing south of the border

and everything feels good.

Suddenly David Carradine didn't seem that crazy after all.