"bascombe" poems
Cranky from the lack of sleep,
I twist my fin
into a knot of agony
Swoosh!!
The-... An-...
Aw, the **** with it...
Lately
I’ve been thinking
that all men are cremated
equally crisp.
But my next door neighbor
still smolders darkly
in his backyard grill pit,
his dogs frantic in their drooling lust
to lick his charred flanks.
Dear grieving widow –
would you honor me
by dropping in for a cup of tea?
She wails and moans,
her pelvis slack
and canted downwards.
It will be a chore
to get her to loosen up enough
to hurl a ****
heavenwards.
The specifics of our last conversation
escape me.
But I do remember calling you
an angelic ****
with the personality
of a rabid piranha.
You responded, with a dreamy smile,
“But, my dear Rudolf!
I do select my prey
by their spread and heft!
After all,
I just love to hear
that gristly pop
when they open up
for my sanguine delectation...”
Aurora, CO – May 1995
Derek Bascombe
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
Bloodknots of fried pain
coursing through my veins –
a mid-day scouring of hands, of soul.
Ah, the beast whines mournfully...
Many moons ago I chased you
through charred thickets,
through sooty caverns,
under the scalding Sirius,
blue and swollen.
The scents of our past
clung heavy in my mouth.
Then I saw you again,
small and still:
tatters of your pride
hugged your gaunt ***** –
- where my muzzle used to graze and slobber.
I want ta... my... tha... mmMM...
You cringe there, witless and numb –
and I am upon you now...
Then I wake up,
soundless screams choking me...
I lie shivering,
blinking through stinging sweat:
Oh, your tender throat in my teeth...
Ssssh... rrrww... This mmMM....!
Strands of pure love
bind me to you,
as I gnaw on my cloven hoof
in wordless fury.
I feel your heat.
I smell your fear.
I will drive my fist
into your longings and hopes.
We shall be one again.
Aurora CO – April 1995
COPYRIGHT 1995 Derek Bascombe
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC