THOUGH NOW THE SOW IS HAIRLESSLet’s write a poem! Let’s pretendTo 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 stiffLightning, 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 AnonymousAnd an Abenaki poetess went swimming Around supper in the falls and pools outsideJeffersonville, Vermont, where tradition Decrees solemn and total nudity Precedes emersion, plus a bottle of Jameson’sTo 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-longPath back to the village, we crawledOn hands and knees, discoveringFrom glass shards and tin can lids piercingThe 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 projectileDemonstrations 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.
Yeah, the fur takes a really long time to draw. Also, whiskey and chocolate milk? Is such a thing allowed?
NEWS FOR THE DELICATE ORACLEDear Goddess of the perpetually deranged,I hope the thought balloonsOf your albino dino and his porcelain mareAre impermeable, since a certainAnonymous who thinks he’s AeolosShowers you with thunderclapsAs if such dubious delugeWere altruistic, whereas he simplyShould say your operatic orphansDeriding their orphanage are terrific,What Yeats called bitter furies of complexity Who break-dance on the silken, slippery floorOf your marble-less, marvelous artAnd beget those images which yetFresh images beget. Shame on AnonymousFor being so monotonously pompous,This Narcissus sipping from the mudpondOf his reflected kisses. Come on,Pretty twot, and hit him on the chinWith your best shot! Did you knowThe feline phallus has flangesLike those on the tail on which your Baby Dino goes riding? Like a car rentalTransom guaranteed to destroy tires,Though those are vaginal, but it’s whyMrs. Lioness bites Leo on the assAfter he’s performed his service. “ThisFucking uxory is no luxury!” he grumblesAt the start of a movie, hoping she reachesFor the hard-on in his popcorn.
You fairly take my breath away with compliments, Anonymous. And P.S.! The cat has nothing on the spiny anteater, which boasts a quadracock.
Up to RumfordTo check on the rathole--When I get back I'll seeIf I can turn the taleOf the Innocent BrideInto poetry. But ratherThan make you snore, Tricia,Stop me if you've heard beforeThe story of the boyWith two penises, And his sad marriage.
Good God, I can't say as I have.
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