How in the long cascading days should I, Love, call you?
On a drunken spree
On bended knee?
I've pined so long, foreigners put mistletoe on my nose,
Forgiving when, at crashed parties, I bend in panty hose.
Stroke my warty pores through fragile fabric of maroon.
On roller blades
I pinch bums, shades,
Pen pathetic dirges to molls in the state pen
With pent-up emotion, French kissing stamps in the glen.
Stirrings in loins occlude the visionary preamble.
My Love, lick me
And never stick me
In max security where thugs pick teeth with razors.
They'd pick my ass when seeing pics of me in blue blazers.
So onward, Sweet, rain is singing in gutters of limp verse.
I'm appalled at once
And always the dunce
When tourists ask directions and I shoot a paged beaut instead.
I'll read to the crossing-guard cutie, lie in my fireproof bed.
Help! The druggists have finally arrived in teams of ten.
I'm signing off.
My clothes I doff.
Go to the cemetery, I'll dress like Daffy Duck.
I'll belch out a weeper. Then flatten me in a Mac truck.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
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