Ethereal Beauty #16

Funiculus of a noose, my hold on reality
Frayed to the last faded crusty sisal, I'm a ceramic pig

On a track of greyhounds looking under every divot
For my Love who barbeques my banns in lighter fluid.

I wrote her "To Beauty" while my mushrooming head, grey
Hollow, dry, spewed dust as in a tracheotomy patient’s sneeze.

My dentures are quite the hit among gumming koalas
Who pepper my pecker with peptic puckers as they play.

Four score and etcetera my granddaddy recoiled in horror
As his unborn scion appeared to him in a fleecy nightmare.

Grocery shopping in a print dress as the canteloupes I fondle,
It dismays me the Scripture does not anticipate my coming.

Second time I came, I shouted "Eustace!" into the Buy & Sell
While the twenty-watt flickered over my uncaptioned head.

Once a century a sad-sack verser with gnome's disease ingratiates
Upon a startled readership his hubris overflowing with bat plaque.

Love, though you've fallen asleep or clicked on another profile,
Give back, in a Mason or denture jar, my weakly flicking heart.

Your love was like a red, red nose on Rudolph, shining on me
Like an angry stop light at the end of a pitch-black wharf.

Fold me up, spindle me, turn my wine into water, and give
Me back my stale loaves so's I can cover them in sheepdip.

Ethereal Beauty #15

Demerol!
What a ball!
They let me go at three.
Muscatel
In the dell;
I’m on a barnyard spree.

I snagged a nurse
And read her verse
From my soiled and spineless book.
She fainted;
It's tainted,
The smell from my diapers, ook!

I'm a poet
So please stow it
You harbingers of fury.
I'd lick my balls
In Eros' halls
If I could reach. Jury!

Sentence me
To ninety-three
Years with Rod McKuen.
We'd bugger
Each other
With love odes. Here's to screwin'.

I'm the best
I must confess
At this odd game of verse.
I bite fleas;
My girlish sneeze
Makes brains leak out worse

Than cooking oil
From pots I've spoiled
By papering the copper
With poems
So ho-hum
A five-year-old could top 'er.

Viagra
Could gag ya,
But I give it to my sheep.
They wink at me
From the sea
Of grass. And they never peep.

Ethereal Beauty #14

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.

Ethereal Beauty #13

I wander nude over hill and dale, rub calomel on my shanks.
To sixteen bleaters in bashful clusters I salute, give thanks.

Barn gate open, dilapidated shed, top-heavy cloud of grey;
Upright biped trailing glory with pitchfork on display.

Circling fence lines , impatient midday, I wonder on the silence
That chafes my mind with stifled guilt. Love, you’re my reliance

When urges thick as gathered odes to anonymous chicks in fur
Plow my fallowed charms in code, in roses brown, bestirred.

Ethereal Beauty #12

Death walks around me on ridiculous little feet,
Invisible, loping foul, tamping my friar's cowl,
Groaning with an ocean’s gathered weight of amour-vomit.

Confused Love, arrested development fed my arrest.
Prattling an anthem in a choir of henroost and crickets,
I, flustered, unloaded my pencil and plunged my bare sword

In curly confines of matted domestic doll, Baaah!
Strange moons of blue edam fester in the eve's slough
Where nuts of frustrated monks the size of pumpkins suspire.

In languished language, my unread autobiography
Gathers wood ticks and fridge culture in its jaunty transport
From shed to den to cow pasture where prominent patties

Describe my verse in enthralling finale. Nurse!
Rob my cradle of fuzzy memories. Parachute
The parson on top of my sunburnt head, scowling

Like admonitions at a competitive bake-off
Fixed for the organist’s upside-down cake where palsied
Televangelists enlist my verse for sing-a-longs

At a camp for hosannah-testers. On the back deck
I circle my grief and prong those whose bicuspids
Crunch the shattered shells on a set of Lord Of The Flies.

Free me, Father! I stare and glare and say I care,
But it's only to snag that overseas wench from
Jawings of Fabio poet-puffers with AirCared hair.

I'll find my soggy loinflap buffeted by a sour wind.

Ethereal Beauty #11

Self-impresario, scary, O!, lips of ruby,
Flush with loving the cornflowers on the back forty
(Puckered and provincial), I'm full of ardour
For my one true Love on Earth as it lurches
Away from Heaven. Our Father who art
Antagonistic to mine art, I fecundate the valleys
With volleys, with antipodal wellsprings of guano.

I was in a church the other day fondling a basket
Of pansies overhanging the pulpit under the nave;
In the narthex I was oversexed, and thought the hymns
Were streaming out of chapbooks intoning hidden
Eerie chromatics of my personal Revelations.
Hymn number seventeen-seventeen was particularly
Disturbing, even unto me. Cold shivers,

My absent audience, pass through my diaphanous brain
On a one-way furlough to Eurydice’s halo cleaner.
Should we elope, my Love, in a guffaw of graffiti?
Throw pineapple rings 'round our naked protruding parts?
Quote geographical Wikipedia cut-outs to impress?
Sheathe our unsapid grout-beset haunches,
Setting them in wine casks for visiting Burma cats to lick?

Anniversaries of doom, grotesqueries abounding,
I look in my one remaining good mirror
And crack up as it cracks up when, exposed, my crack
Cracks the front cover of "Lugubrious Poets Monthly".
Now I'm on crack, and my crack-brained drivel
Needs a crack shot to ease my pain, floating
High in the tenacious weeds of my history. (Medic!)

Ethereal Beauty #10

My transverse colon is acting up again,
Wiggling like a punch-drunk eel cornered by rats
In a parade of ice on New Year's Eve.
I, a poet who fares well within boundaries

Of the obtuse, need a frayed lamp cord to play with.
Traversing Fodor’s sun-page, I read the tran verse,
But s/he stole my mottled headrug at the diner
Or pantry, it doesn't matter. What matters
Are corns on jammed toes I've shorn with a hacksaw.

Can anyone, someone, find my medication?
Someone told me I was a poet, and though
Unappreciated I toil in sewage
For grace I can rebestow on myself,

I'll quote Auden: "On a high chair alone" sums up
My childhood, Christ, my adulthood, too. Denture plates
Like rat traps snap shut when my Love refuses
To answer my mail, I emoticonning
Her wild, she may, forsooth, ignore, nulliparous
Vessel, verse translated into perfect hand wrings

In lieu of beauty. Millions of minions
Of my mirrored selves shelve green passions in my cell.
Come to me in squalid squat quarters, Love, and brook
No oblong egghead quarantining my maze-swept
Excitations in six thousand reports (full of
Noise, yes, yes).