a cold snap froze the world & Medusa,
overlooking the park turned to a skinny hag---
astonished at the loss her fruit,
visited everyday by Kyunghee the intern
who liked to collect her leaves
take them home & bathe in them,
the soothing water smooth as glass cutting
the yellow skin like red-ribbon---
I was there w/ her once a month,
Kyunghee in the swirling pungent
smelling tub of hot Medusa tea/rs---
I loved Kyunghee & could easily again
if she will deign accept an errant shogun---
on her island off Joseon---
there was the time I threw her out -
it was too late & the stars glittered
frailly as she wept, sorry about old man blues;
I ran out of the apartment,
going to the park---where there, there & there
Medusa's seeds had spread
& a before me stood a naked forest of her kin; her daughters really,
Sisters under the skin;
patrimony strictly mechanical,
call me the architectonic doctor of her being;
her living geometry
waving their naked branches
and forgotten fruit
shriveled like loving mothers spitting **** spent milk---
imagine butter made with spicy eggnog on pancakes
watered w/ her own sap
or oily on a young mother's pouting belly,
wrinkled like memory;
all but untouched I leapt
grabbing the low-hanging fruit----
& biting the bitter hell out of its squishy tit-like skin---
pulp filling my mouth like her mother's red tide---
the best kind, Arab blood, the tastiest---
Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
a cold snap froze the world & Medusa,
overlooking the park turned to a skinny hag---
astonished at the loss her fruit,
visited everyday by Kyunghee the intern
who liked to collect her leaves
take them home & bathe in them,
the soothing water smooth as glass cutting
the yellow skin like red-ribbon---
I was there w/ her once a month,
Kyunghee in the swirling pungent
smelling tub of hot Medusa tea/rs---
I loved Kyunghee & could easily again
if she will deign accept an errant shogun---
on her island off Joseon---
there was the time I threw her out -
it was too late & the stars glittered
frailly as she wept, sorry about old man blues;
I ran out of the apartment,
going to the park---where there, there & there
Medusa's seeds had spread
& a before me stood a naked forest of her kin; her daughters really,
Sisters under the skin;
patrimony strictly mechanical,
call me the architectonic doctor of her being;
her living geometry
waving their naked branches
and forgotten fruit
shriveled like loving mothers spitting **** spent milk---
imagine butter made with spicy eggnog on pancakes
watered w/ her own sap
or oily on a young mother's pouting belly,
wrinkled like memory;
all but untouched I leapt
grabbing the low-hanging fruit----
& biting the bitter hell out of its squishy tit-like skin---
pulp filling my mouth like her mother's red tide---
the best kind, Arab blood, the tastiest---
Request permission to use this poem