The Violence

A poem from another series called The Lewd Tales, from another corner of my mind, inspired mostly by texts to a friend, where in the confined closed-door sessions of those dialogues my degenerate art flows like honey in a hot kettle to my fingertips on the touch pad...

Be a sweet tiger pushing your furry cock and balls 

     through a thick plate glass window,

Thought you were the bones of Michael Jackson dancing 

     moon-style to the smooth jazz crescendo,

Heron turned heroine in the thick black lips of my labia laden libido 

     slurping up the last blood stained cum from the carpet 

          next to the year-old bag of Cheeto’s,

Slush puppy,

Slush puppy,

Hush puppy naw,

Took ya’ titties from your chest and made coffee cups 

     with the milk skin and the exposed tissue mess,

Told me that you hate the word and begged my penance to 

     from now on call them breasts,

Using yellowed semen to fill in the circles on my scantron test taken 

     in the rear of the restaurant where we use the eyes of homeless men 

          as marbles to beat each other’s best,

Slush puppy,

Slush puppy,

Mush puppy naw,

Would you dare drop two sharp copper pennies into a 

     scrotum full of worms and expect spaghetti,

A hooker’s nipples in my mouth and blood farts on the wall 

     like glistening globules of crimson confetti,

Headed somewhere south tomorrow with a rusted and unsteady machete 

     in a sheath of rotting sheep’s skin to wander willy-nilly upon 

          those bastard plains of the Serengeti,

Slush puppy,

Slush puppy,

Don’t rush puppy naw.

2.24.2012