My Phizog
Strange what one remembers?
after looking through ******* magazine and skipping
the dreary articles, written by it founder
I came across this quote: “every man over forty is
responsible for his own face.”
at the time when reading it I was thirty and was not
unduly worried, but now nearly 50 years later I recalled
the saying.  I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, no
I didn’t look anything near forty, hair gone and sagging the skin.
Face-lift? Out of the question, I had no desire to look like
yesterday’s refry. I smiled, the face in the mirror too smiled,
two old mates accepting each other’s elderliness and I came
to the conclusion that I’m rather fond of my face.

There is only solace within the silenced bird who had the wanton thoughts of singing
And clarity within the cold dead hands of the mangled bodies who lay beneath
The soft black soil held inside the pliable folds of the Presidents hands.
As he lobs it into the impoverished child's grits to feed upon
Suckling from the **** of a democratic mans ideology
He heaves it into their frantic phizog, because he has got the green from cultured trees
And all they own within possession are his feces, to be buried within the waste of his decisions.
But no matter
As we have always evolved to strive within the muck of poverty.

Darkness wriggles in my body like grape vines,
With their skin not so pellucid
And eyes all bloodshot,
They cosset my body gently,
Only to inspect my phizog bounteous with torment.

Bucketing their malevolence charisma into me,
They beam.
I could feel my heart crushing
And my breath slowing down.
I try to breathe
Only to find myself
Choking into the deadly littoral of darkness.
-Khushi:)

Jumping around to the rhythm of music begets sweat
The baseline vibrates and my shirt drenched in sweat
Flossing to the ditty with a pretty lady both dripping sweat
We both slide to the left pouring with sweat
Stop on the beat wiggle & twist ****** in sweat
We both slide to the right pouring with sweat
Break on the beat wiggle & contort in sweat
We roar to the chorus & dripping in a cocoon of sweat
Coming up my hands on her waist damp in sweat
Dip to the cadence her hands on my waist moist in sweat
The melody pumps & we prance our hair damp in sweat
Body temperature hot phizog flowing in sweat
Cheek to cheek buxom ***** enmesh in sweat
Belly to belly we wine lower back in rainy sweat
Electric slide in floor droplets of sweat
Transition into the shuffle then glissade in sweat
End the party twerking trickling in sweat