And ‘neath the snow’s blanket: a thought? Perhaps.
Oh goodness welcome. WELCOME to my cozy den. I was so lost in this large volume of Rothkos that I didn’t notice you until just now. Have you ever gotten utterly lost in a Rothko? I have. I just was. Each of his paintings is like looking at a richly-hued sandwich in profile. Though whoever sliced the bread of those sandwiches certainly did so without an eye for symmetrical slices! AH HA HA! Oh dear. All this talk of sandwiches. Now I’m hungry! Would you like a sandwich? Don’t answer. Don’t. Now then, I can only assume you’re here to judge my poetry. I don’t blame you. One certainly can’t expect to sit in a cozy den such as this, wiling away the hours writing utterly filthy poetry without someone stopping by to judge it. And here you are. SO! Let’s begin. Oh yes, I apologize in advance if any of this poetry is too risqué. It is for sensitive ears only! This first poem is entitled…
“The Shortest Path”
The shortest path between our two yards
Involves a scramble over fallen trees,
And past their stumps, which stand as guards
Of a birdhouse, blue as ancient seas.
Its aquamarine paint flaking,
It stands there hollow and awaiting
Its spring tenants,
As we reminisce about building it.
Ah, you’re still here! Perhaps your sensibilities are as filthy as mine! Good. This next poem is entitled…
“The Mitten In The Ice”
One snowed-in morning I ventured out
To the pond behind my farm,
Walking until the crunch of snow
Gave way to the alarm
Of ice cracking,
and I, lacking,
boots with proper insulation,
retreated a step and looked down
At my mitten trapped in the ice.
Lost two winters ago,
Now peering through the snow,
No worse for wear.
Thank you so much. Again, I apologize if you are offended. This next poem is called…
“Which Way Around The Boulder?”
There is a boulder in the way.
THANK YOU! You are indeed a good listener, and an even BETTER glistener! I apologize for the incredible heat and humidity. As a supplement to my feeble poetry earnings, I also sell perspiration online. NOW THEN the next poem is entitled…
“A Fragment Of A Cambrian Shell, A Discarded Cicada Carapace, And An Amber Sweater Button”
My final memory of my father
Before I finally pass away,
Shall be of a weekend we two spent
In a hamlet by the bay.
He on his last legs,
Feebler than he’d ever been,
And I, beginning the descent
towards the haze
that would consume him.
But on that day we shuffled through
A boutique of odds-and-ends
And together stared with shared contempt
At the over-priced shit.
You are a truly patient guest. I have but a tandem of poems more…
“A Cobblestone Wall In Winter”
The wall stops suddenly
at the edge of the stream,
As if it is waiting to cross.
Snow, clinging to the stones like white moss.
The beauty and silence
make my dick want to cream.
I love lickin’ it
And never quitting
‘till the screams are ear-splitting
Bumpin’ it, humpin’ it,
never premature junkin’ it
‘cause I’m an all-out hunk and shit
YEAH, unsnappin’ it and slappin’ it
‘till the bitches be lappin’ it
cock and balls form a trilateral cabinet
of pushin’, tushin’
and smooshin’ the cushion
Ladies screamin’ for my cream and
YEAH I’m an all-night with an N
Knight with a K
of Love with a D for “Dick”
by which I mean “Penis”
and every Venus knows
she must unclothe
and prepare for the shockwave
of my cock-play
When my third-eye spits in you
and I’m just a little too tight fit in you
and the moans and groans
seem to be on loan
from someone much louder than you
YEAH I’m proud of my goo
my cock preaches from the pew
of the church
of “Oh My God You Make Me Cum So Hard!”
This was the spot where my father taught me to how fish.
“Crow Drinking From Rainfall That Has Collected In A Fallen Leaf, Then Becoming Startled By My Approach, And Flying West”
comes to coochy lickin’
And nether regions pleasin’
My tongue’s got more kickin’
Than Buffy’s second season
My mouth’s the coochy fixer
My saliva the elixir
That will lube your tube for my fleshy intrude-
-er. I’m like a hungry wolf. Grrr!
Some cats start with the alphabet
Thinking tracin’ letters with their tongues’ll make you wet
But I got a better curriculum for your pelvis
I done studied up on Tolkien and now BAM I know Elvish
If my tongue were an iPod
and songs were licks
There’d be 40 gigs of pleasure
just waitin’ to trip
off the tip of my lips to the midst of the lips between your hips
my tongue’s so fast it could guest-star on CHiPs
Bein’ chased down the highway by Eric Estrada
Don’t worry girl El No Tiene Nada
I’m gonna drive your coochy to my own damn country
a place I call
The United Re-Pubic Of Damn You Comin’ Already Girl?!?!
My only regret is that I got only one tongue
And a minute of air is the capacity of my lungs
‘Cause if I had my way
I’d spend all day
white boy myth debunking
Until you’re thinking
just one thing
This frisky motherfucker done made my cooch sing!
Made it so tired it’ll need a sling
my dribbles of drool grace your crotch like bling bling
Yeah I said “Re-Pubic” before, I took out the L
For a childish joke that I thought worked quite well
Now that missing L could put to better use
As the first letter of all the things I wanna do to your caboose
Lick lather love lap
laminate your coochy with my freaky love sap
loose lips sink dicks
I’ll keep hirin’ you and firin’ you
just so’s I can give you the pink slip
One coochy two coochy three coochy four.
All this extra coochy just makes me want your coochy more
Clear your coochy foyer
I’m gonna bust down your coochy door
I’d sooner watch Death to Smoochy
than spend a day without your coochy
We’re gonna break it down now!
gimme a V
gimme an A
gimme a G
gimme an I
gimme an N
gimme a V
gimme an A
gimme a V
gimme an A
DAMN, we spelled “Vaginvava”!
As I stare in the direction
the startled crow now flies,
I wonder if his thirst
was truly satisfied.
the leaf now empty,
the shadows growing long,
I turn back towards my cabin.
And my throbbing
I am going to say the word “sigh” now, as if to indicate my weariness. Sigh. Now then, I await your judgement. Through phrase or glance or tear, impart to me your opinion. As I pour myself some tea.