Friday, November 02, 2007

Clawfoot Bathes the Baby: Installment the First!




6 comments:

Anonymous said...

THOUGH NOW THE SOW IS HAIRLESS

Let’s write a poem! Let’s pretend
To fight! The proto-poem’s exiguous vacuums!
Let’s put to flight the fatuous and vacuous
And ride backwards on our club-footed,
Claw-footed horses as if Parthians
Shooting love apples with worms of stiff
Lightning, with willingly orphaned arrows
For every mischievous sprite who thinks
She’s wild as a mink but sweet
As soda pop! All right, Tricia,
Here goes your story: once Anonymous

And an Abenaki poetess went swimming
Around supper in the falls and pools outside
Jeffersonville, Vermont, where tradition
Decrees solemn and total nudity
Precedes emersion, plus a bottle of Jameson’s
To grease, so to speak, the skids,
Which obscured twilight’s mauve onset
And worse, the night’s octopus of ink.
So instead of finding the mile-long
Path back to the village, we crawled
On hands and knees, discovering

From glass shards and tin can lids piercing
The forest’s pine needle floor a prior
Jeffersonville dump, and yet, indeed, at last,
At least, we found the car and roared in it, a white,
Brand new, open, coffee-can Renault 16,
Into the moonless northeast kingdom night,
Though before we’d clinched any deals
This princess barfed on my back seat,
Explaining, between gulps and projectile
Demonstrations of her utmost
In stomach acids and stewed foods, “Whisky

On an empty stomach.” Balance
For justice’s scales was sought
The following year thanks to a poetical
Miracle and apposite lack of grace
In her apartment shower, her mahogany
Muff, wet, swelling big enough
To balance that bottle whose whisky,
This time, we diluted in chocolate milk,
Gazing at each other as if proud
And amused warriors, the chaotic path
To bliss never a respecter of persons.

Tricia said...

Yeah, the fur takes a really long time to draw. Also, whiskey and chocolate milk? Is such a thing allowed?

Anonymous said...

NEWS FOR THE DELICATE ORACLE

Dear Goddess of the perpetually deranged,
I hope the thought balloons
Of your albino dino and his porcelain mare
Are impermeable, since a certain
Anonymous who thinks he’s Aeolos
Showers you with thunderclaps
As if such dubious deluge
Were altruistic, whereas he simply
Should say your operatic orphans
Deriding their orphanage are terrific,
What Yeats called bitter furies of complexity
Who break-dance on the silken, slippery floor
Of your marble-less, marvelous art
And beget those images which yet
Fresh images beget. Shame on Anonymous

For being so monotonously pompous,
This Narcissus sipping from the mudpond
Of his reflected kisses. Come on,
Pretty twot, and hit him on the chin
With your best shot! Did you know
The feline phallus has flanges
Like those on the tail on which your
Baby Dino goes riding? Like a car rental
Transom guaranteed to destroy tires,
Though those are vaginal, but it’s why
Mrs. Lioness bites Leo on the ass
After he’s performed his service. “This
Fucking uxory is no luxury!” he grumbles
At the start of a movie, hoping she reaches
For the hard-on in his popcorn.

Tricia said...

You fairly take my breath away with compliments, Anonymous. And P.S.! The cat has nothing on the spiny anteater, which boasts a quadracock.

Anonymous said...

Up to Rumford
To check on the rathole--
When I get back I'll see
If I can turn the tale
Of the Innocent Bride
Into poetry. But rather
Than make you snore, Tricia,
Stop me if you've heard before
The story of the boy
With two penises,
And his sad marriage.

Tricia said...

Good God, I can't say as I have.