Ethereal Beauty #36

Core of pus, corpulent ego, tired corpuscles,
I sit on my high stool and prop my muscles.
I'm tired of versing, initiating tussles.

Black-garbed Greek women with pimento eyes turn
On faltering stone steps, and beckon as I burn
In decades of pent-up lust. From them I may learn

That flowery insincere abstract nouns were laughed at
By women with high libidos wearing funky hats,
Who only used my words as paper for seven shats.

Toughen up, caring one, let's go and wipe the tears
From dam-burst ducts over unimagined fucks, strong beer
I'll start with to allay my published nasty fears.

Bird of omen soaring free and circling far across,
Are you my friend, a corrective for constant loss?
Hail! It glides closer -- aaak! A fat albatross!

Ethereal Beauty #35

Snow on upturned ass,
Inspecting earthworms.
Knock! Knock! Who’s there? Chris.
Chris who? Chris Kringle.
Roof’s plugged. Set the rum.

Six thousand presents
Wrapped in dull muslin,
One for each of my
Personalities.

Red hat, red nose. Choo!
An elf with the pelf
Of poetic bids
Constructs sentences
Served with cloying mates.

Self-immolation.
Scarily tight my smile.
Put coppers in my cup,
Friends of inanity.

Ethereal Beauty #34

Tennis with Olivia's powder-room janitoress.
She aces me, maces me when I drop Pinnochio shorts
Past knee-high tartans, baby boots, on sizzling asphalt.

Away, roisterers of mocking tinderbox guffaws
In sunny bleachers. Channelling the Holy Goat,
I put my ad in, and forfeit love behind the chalk line.

This racket comes undone, meshed form once nylon bars
Stringing along the easy, too-many sighers
Of sired schlock shaking heads slowly at the ball’s fling.

Umpires of doom, atheistic athletes. Stenographers
Of verse off court, net cinched by a modern winch,
Cleaning lady behind the diamonded grating.

I flee the blacktop and note every farm border post
Stapleshot with beryllium-protected photos
Of my backside (backhanded drakes!), alerting

The innocent. Tell me, servers of legerdemain,
When the score resets to zero. I’ll lick frost
From my opus, flood the empty stadium with paper.

Ethereal Beauty #33

God, I follow your promise at the shallow cratch
In darkness where chickens sleep on eggs unhatched.
Forehead bloodied, bowing violently on cement
While swift crows pock my pointy head, I lament.

Pluvious depressions in ruts, constant downward glance
As I fiddle and fondle and fuss in my pants.
The Last Upper in night huddle of turmoil
Embedded in fat phlegm like an unlanced boil.

Dreams of amour gone like posts in the ether,
Saccharine sallies shorted; I need a breather
From vile verse. Pray, where are those mounds of glory
I can mount in sly sermons? What's the story,

Preachers of my young years, when, fresh from the field,
I'd see musky angels in pink leotards? Sealed
In a pewter thermos, God’s verdict a chaos.
I sucked up your mildness, toga-tosser, but, hey boss,

I never thought they’d catch on after forty threads
Of hypocrisy. In the next act, I’m dead,
Martyrizing my manhood, a manx’ matted guts,
Exposed, sticky, trailing, a sour slug with cuts.

Ethereal Beauty #32

Quiet, voices, I pray to my ethereal wreck.
“Beauty in a flower, milk of kindness,

Gentle heart at rest with God ….”. What’s the use?
Time to converse with the rubbing alcohol.

O the fire-juice burns my lungs, criss-crossing
Eyes now alight on bosomy hills. Tight,

I evaporate in a slough of inertia.
I tried for brotherhood of one -- me -- but

Was self-rebuffed. Forgotten blandishments
From a childhood sidekick, sick with insistence,

Causes this cribbing, the stall sash splintered.
There’s a word, a mantra given, I think,

Advancing like a papal bull in a
Nun’s strongbox, over and over and over.

Breathing spasmodically, something’s wrong.
Hymnal pages flutter like parade awnings,

Insouciant, extending spines. I’ll continue
To mate marriage proposals with charred lust.

Ethereal Beauty #31

Beached and barnacled, I'm back on my back,
Lidless jitters trailing light ceiling shadows
Of the aquarium. Platyrrhine
Tropical swimmers pucker, giving me
The wet come-on. I fidget below, O sad day.

The bushynose placo haunts, wriggling back,
Ransacking the turbid water for a friend.
I see myself in you, ferrous-coat. Shave
Currents in your madcap measle-display,
Submerged topiary-link in prism folds.

I drift to sere shoals in fevered dreams
Smacking mackerel, ingesting Apple Jack,
Capping the child-proof Rx in an hour.
Post-it notes addressed from me to me
Surprise and delight with unexpected warmth.

Shovelnosed bristle, I can’t follow
Your message. Deluged freedom fingers me,
Crook and sashay, collagen coyness.
Rubber hose (not of nurse) filters water,
Correcting every sunless mistake.

Frisk me, suckerfish, roquet my left ball
Into my right, release my venom
Into sun, searing peonies and ponies
And Pekinese (wanna peek in these?).
All hands on deck for the detention dreck

Rodomontading from my bile-soaked fingertips.
The aquarium’s blue lights dim, and glum
With constipated faces of Andy Rooney,
The panaques flip impatiently. I freeze,
Afraid of scurfy follicle fallout,

As I peer over the metal brim and wince
When the upturned faces, winkless, caper
In sardonic avoidance. Kissing the glass,
I mimic the water-jail wishers.
Tame and repetitive, I sink.

Bushynose of open cube, find me out
Before I take an ax to the glass borders
And flood the floor with floppers. Imagine!
I’ll take ‘Famous Sheep’ for six thousand, Alex.
Where’s the nurse with the little pink biscuits?

Ethereal Beauty #30

I've banished myself to the engine room
And need a pikestaff to catch toilet crabs
In this claustrophobic murky makeshift.

Some amour-antagonist would, no doubt,
Rejig a mod castellated galleass
Busted out of a child’s milk bottle
To set screaming over the warped poop boards.

Viscid insider of Lord’s domination
With a metal plate head full of screws
(Screw off, breaching ghosts), I’ll snort Visine Plus
Up my finger-tested left nostril

And see cilia up close and personal
Hula-hip-hullabaloo, frond fracas,
Plankton bow over the bow (wow! wow!),
Avoiding the cresting warship prominent

As a black thumbprint on the tessellated
Horizon. I cannonball, jettisoning
Foul flotsam of flabby verse into the wake,
Munching bean crullers as I descend.

O bloated spleen! Forward! Anchor rheum. Bones
Of the neglected strike like blind tappets
In camshafts crapping out in engine bowels below.
Gulls slice in gusts like varicose-veined scribbles.

Tarry me away, bared memories, I love something.
Some …. tends her autumnal shrubs. I’m such a schlub
For neglecting feelings of others, so
Many missed poems, brevity of a lyric

Encrusting its strange code, ho!, but not for me
Because it’s a dead-white-man’s game I was never
Invited to join. They know my genius,
I’d have them genuflect like oil rig heads

Pecking earth’s cinders, but this international
Surf divvies me up in apportioned tears.
Warden invisible, I’m lost and must
Needs flush my six thousandth verse down this metal

Toilet brig. Seasick I glide over my past.