Work is in progressOn how bifurcation of the phallusLed to a bride's wild confusionAnd a bridegroom's mute distress.Meanwhile, do inform DinoHow he too was once abdominalAnd phenomenal until successfullyDislodged. Studying Clawfoot'sIconic probiscus, one's obligedTo conclude that someone you knewDrove or collided headfirst With a Dodge. When fears, as such,Are nominal, they're poetic and nutritious.But actual, they're merely abominable,The soul in ethereal, wordless paralysis.Kudos to you, smart tootsie-wootsie,Whose soul, O ganders, loves verbal, visual And visceral baloney, and therefore flies!
PUTTING IT MILDLYWanton, be thou the porcelain,Luminous and triumphant dolphinOf my gong-tormented, dong-tormentedSea, in love with every freakOf utterance and desire, a boyI knew when I was nineWho used his cunningly cleft thumbTo disentangle fishing line,Which craves, like words, or wormsOn hooks, a temporary lackOf meaning, so someone can take it,Shake it, come awake again,Either to live or die, and lie gasping,Mortally amazed, half mammal,Half fish. Wanton, a flying squirrelSeizes your girdle, its noseNestled in your navel, it bodyYour blurred escutcheon, its tailCleaving your cloven thighs. Once An innocent bride was disquietedTo discern at first a pale, grimlySlotted plum angering to emergeFrom the prepuce of her chum,Hitherto gentle and decorous, Who now explained softly his shameAt this phenomenon, purple, almostMarble, and unique to him In his experience among men, But if she promised to maintainHis secret, he’d demonstrateHow they could use his peculiarDeformity for unimaginable fun,Which they did, and for quite awhileThe Innocent Bride, now a wife,Wandered the village, shopping,Laundering and so forth, aglowWith an enigmatic, pickerel smile,Which attracted her husband’sClosest friend when the formerWas away for a month on business,Who plied her then with a brandyMade from the sweet odds and endsOf his grandmother’s orchard, untilDizzy with invincibility, and eagerTo brag about her bliss, she explainedHer husband’s uniqueness, and whenHer husband’s friend demonstratedWhat he too possessed, she discoveredAn absence of appropriate defenses.They met in the fields every nightFor a week, and she saw more starsThan she thought she could bear.When her husband returned, she blurted Her victorious truth, and in anguishHer spouse–-a youth, but a saint!–-explainedHe had actually been born with twinAppendages, and so not to be selfishHad given one to his careless friend.Whereupon his wife began to weepAnd pummel his chest with her fists,Crying “Idiot! Why did you give himThe one that was best!?” flinging Away her ring, that token of his skin.
It's true, I am so multimedia. As for PUTTING IT MILDLY, how heartbreaking!
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