and for my hope, I must be made to serve.
On Cass' Wound
"Illness as Metaphor is...an exhortation."
--Susan Sontag, AIDS
& Its Metaphors.
I see a suppurating, pussy cache.
No: It's the tender, black of nostril--moose--
Wherefrom blood-laced, vernal snot, dun as ash,
Slickly hints toward O'Keefe's "Pink" in the Luce.
Oh: It's a crimson, fertile crescent-vat,
Where, with mud-fury and foam, the Tigris
Did burst with a plasmatical spa-Lat!,
Undamming the besutured edifice.
Or: It's a remoulade-and-mayonaise-filled
Eclair, (A 'gurgitating, salted slug);
Head cheese, dewedged, and tuns of goat-sludge tilled--
A gorge with porridge that cut a rut and sug.
So: Doubtless, shown, a Tracy or Ari
Ought chide: "What's with this racy gore? Scary!"
"The Shakespeare Sonnet Lover's Ring"
(A little humor in defense of the Bard)
Verily, did I take the time
to look within the Sunday news,
ignoring the colorless lack of rhyme
or reason that they choose
to utilize throughout the thing;
but worst of all they advertise
"The Shakespeare Sonnet Lover's Ring"
a piece to blight most tasteful eyes.
This gaudy, tacky masterpiece
inspired, it says, by Romeo
and Juliet? Forfend, surcease!
No sonnet that, most people know...
but simple folk like shiny things --
I'm sure they'll sell a million rings.
I await my appearance on stage
Behind the curtain I await my chance
Silence of the audience in my head
After this girl it is my turn to dance
I wish I could be at home in my bed
Anxiety runs all through my blood
In, through the curtains I glance at the light
The rest of the crowd comes in like a flood
Through the hole in the wall it burns my sight
I soon, am on stage and I am singing
Confidence fills me as I do my job
In this very scene there are bells ringing
At the end of the scene I start to sob
The show is now over, it had been fun
I'd look back and realize the job I'd done
Love's Holocaust
Her eyes, so glow, just as burning trees do,
When fire has set- and has so set the sun.
Passion, she holds, an unspeakable true,
That o'er my heart- her magik can run.
Running, no turns, though found back here again
Knowing I'm losing- my love knows the dead.
A box, it's fate, all four walls are my friend,
Keeping truth trapped- nicely trapped in my head.
Has devil breasts - I've been in her fury.
Have I no rest - wrest'ling pasts long buried.
My eyes, sewn shut, yesterday is no more.
My soul, I've sold, so no hope can I score.
Our passion burns like a candle -
I lost
A stranger's wind kills flame -
love's holocaust
Smokey the Drug Dog
I will never forget the day he came
Panic and chaos filled the halls and rooms
Everyone thought the idea was so lame
Soon many students would face their dooms
The drug dog searched here and smelled all around
He sniffed and he snuffed through all of the cars
The policeman searched and followed the hound
We sat and waited for him to search ours
He came to the car and at the door he clawed
The paint was scratched by that nasty old dog
The police looked in and gave a quick nod
My mind went blurry, I fell in a fog
The school kicked me out, now I can't play ball
All because the dog found my Tylenol.
She Who Would Be Mine
The beautiful enchantress whom I seek
Does render even bright Athena pale.
As orbs peer out from 'neath a sequined veil,
Her glance dissolves my aptitude to speak.
A tryst or rendezvous appears quite bleak.
'Tis to the written word I must avail.
If 'tis my fate to thrive and not to fail,
I must convince my love I am not meek.
Her mien and disposition shall I praise.
Her soul and mind as well I shall extol,
That she believe I am a worthy mate,
And we as one begin the courtship phase.
No longer need I coax, entreat, cajole.
Eros, it seems, manipulates my fate.
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