© 1990
I Know Why I’m Here, How ‘bout You?
By FlatDaddy
I’ve got this friend who says she wouldn’t
sit up here with her action verbs all hangin’ out
for the world to see no more than she would
pull her pants down on “60 Minutes.”
But that’s what we do here.
Here I sit — my braincoat spread wide —
and there you sit,
admiring all my private parts.
“Wow!” you whisper to a friend. “Look at
the balls on that metaphor, will you?
“Check out the size of that adjective!”
I engage in linguistic onanism
for your voyeuristic pleasure and
you lean a little closer as
I get into a quick and easy rhythm,
faster,
stronger,
building toward an encyclopedic climax and
now, yes NOW!
Oh, God, it feels so good,
and you and I and
Roget
all lie panting, reeling, our senses drained!
You’ve been Mind Fucked.
It’s what I do best,
what I like best:
to stick my Bic inside some sweet maiden head
and see her tremble,
smile, and gee —
she even thanks me when I’m through! and
“That’s the longest alliteration I’ve ever seen!”
she says in awe.
“Yeah, baby,” I reply. “And I can
keep it up all night, too!”
Aural sex. We all come
to get an earful.
This pack of peeping poets
sneaking peeks beneath the sheets,
between the lines,
comparing meter length and size —
whipping out our felt tips,
our ball points,
our number 2 hard, hot lead.
It’s an iambic orgy, egos stroking right and left,
forebrain, hindbrain, midbrain — it doesn’t matter —
swollen synonyms are stuffed in every crack.
Grunting gerunds, naked nouns with lewd prepositions,
adjectives ejaculated at warp factor eight,
infinitives split wide in all their pink glory!
tumescent type, turgid thought slick with ink,
slides into gaping minds;
copulative couplets squirm on yellowed tablets,
double dactyl dildos plunge into wild refrains.
For good measure
we leave sonnets sodomized upon the floor,
bloodied sheets of violated verse weeping in the corner,
limp limericks, screwed stanzas, buggered ballads,
fellated folios scattered on the table tops —
all in search of that one great piece,
that great head job,
that coming together of the minds.
It’s an orgasmic opus omniumgatherum,
a piece meal,
a conflux of cantolingus,
tongued snatches of heated posey,
a lexeroticon of vibrating verse,
a rodeo of rhyme in rut,
ongoing, never ending phrasal fornication —
and you wonder why I do this?
Like Koop says though, it’s not entirely safe.
those of you without rubbers pulled down over your ears
might catch some diseased idea
or break out in some rash decision
or wake up to find some strange growth sprouting
just below your hair line.
Yeah, well, that’s the price you pay
going out to get a little strange, now isn’t it?
And me?
Hell, I’ll just get what I can from you,
roll up my black mesh prose,
pull up my read pentameter,
and slide into the darkness,
waiting for the next sailor
to make it to my pad.
First, though,
let’s all have a cigarette.
This is one hell of an introduction here. Wow. Love the way you framed this to make it sound as if the words are the ones being exposed. I guess they are. Welcome to Stars Rite.
Thanks you SO MUCH, Fia. I just made the audio today and I plan to “fiddle with it” to enhance it. I’ve tried some things I think will work well. Stay tuned.
This is a superb piece of poetry, Mr. FD.
Aw, shukums, m’am, it’s’ just some little thing that slipped outa my head one day; I am very glad you like it, Val.
No wham bam, thank you ma’am here, just an orgasmic, naked noun mind fuck!!! And I gave up smoking, Damn!! I can see those pages ‘burn’ as I listened! SLAM!! And then the mic….BAM!!
Hello, my name is redzone (Curt), that was slick and quite a tome. But I have to admit, I picked up the sonnet and walked her home, since she had lost her ‘bonnet’.
FlatDaddy, one hellova intro, Go FD GO!!!
Curt, you got me laughing now, and by damn, you strap that bonnet right back on that sonnet — and you sing her safely to sleep. To sleep, perhaps to dream of one day being a star. But perhaps being a sonnet is enough. I know a certain dead Englishman who would agree. My backyard is not for everyone, Curt, but you are always welcome to climb over my fence and give it a try. And, if you prefer, you can continue to lead the cheer. As long as you stay my friend here, and send silly messages to me from time to time.
LOL That’s some interesting introduction! I’m more of a Pushkin poetry lover, however, I can appreciate bold and funny things like this wonderful piece of art! 😀
Al
Ah! Yes, thank you! Finally, someone called it a “Piece of Art”! I have made it, mother! I am an ‘Artiste”! At last, at last!. Now, if I can only find and kill a large white fish, my life will be complete! Thank you, Al.