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bennu Mar 2021
pudenda.

pudenda, pudenda

pudenda pudding.

pudendal masterpiece.

pudendal mistress.

putting on tha' pudenda.

praise pudenda!

preach pudenda

"pudendally disturbed"

pudenda potential.

pawing at my pudenda.

"pretty much just pudenda."

pick at my pudenda

i wasn't pudendally prepared...!

please stop with the pudenda.

promised you my pudenda.

a pudendal predilection.

the precious, precious, perfect pudenda
comment with more!!
Mike T Minehan Feb 2013
Poor little octopus.
Big head and eight tentacles
but no *****, ***** or testicles.

What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods
buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda
and they don't have any pudenda?

Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle
and what do you suppose?
She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose!

Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage,
she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure
this is an amazing olfactory aperture.

So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process.
When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky.
Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a *******.

Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act,
that we should court. Compared to the octopus,
the human nose is naught.
It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.  

Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.  
A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort
and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well
receive a rude retort. Or even worse!

I say herein lies food for thought.
                                                        ­                             Mike T Minehan
zebra Dec 2018
i like it ickity split
mad to exceed the world
in dark dreams ******

to evoke blood wet mouths
insertions paradise of fluorescents
in a dark aperture

her pudenda
a rolling hill
gaudy wound like a smash mouth crying
split torn tearing, pink estuary
for gluttonies' joyride
that can hardly be endured
twisted tongue spice melts and glitters raw

the sheets soaked through
matted hair in saliva
blood and eggs
the screams of monsters rapture

oh feral abandon
every thing else a toil

winged genitals
hell toys for mama
like heaven cant know

his *****
like hanging bats

Nagasaki goes off in her ***
bodies; quake in silence
the bedroom; a chaotic bathroom
tulips shrill flutter
gulp and swallow milks flame
rosy welts laughing
flushing ******'s

shoved urns
all spilled libations
touching and *******
crimson **** runnels
in bathhouse foam
down the drain
to earthen bowels din
where the dead push up daisies

i am the worm in the fruit
zebra Sep 2020
princess blood cult
throne of tethers
rumor's of frazzle drip murders
and blood spatters
on a bed of grinning hooks

X
marks the *******
she bled they fed
in love in bed

torn dress and flutter ******
form her squandered torso
as bare feet dangled
while skies shrieked knotted eyes
watching her get it hard

wet **** drunk
she tumbled
in this little black house of madness
****** her in a sack of sins
while **** buckarooed  
in a wood shed paradise

welcoming death by sexicide
she backstroked head over heels
exposed
flirting in the graveyard hacked and black

beckoning orchards that
caressed her by squirming *****

she adored the mole that snuggled her
while thighs shuddered with anticipation
hurricane tongued
she licked grinning *****
for pudenda's pillow
shimmed black light disco daggers
down her lips
to ****
to thighs
to drooling
raw lips

her ****
like a shucked oyster

whimpering disciple
of enticing wounds
bloom in gloom
she tasted like taffy panicked *******

erotomaniac
from head
to lips
to feet
chanting squeals
of infernal opera
in the throws of blood *******
and weeping barbarous 
stammer
beezel blaba blaba
Beelzebub

her body stained labyrinth floors
in soiled cathedrals of desire
while growing phantasm babies
he whispered death music
in grottos of legs over head
that made her hotter than
boiled fish eyes

chopped her in two
she  squirmed
shivering inkblots of madness
cu cu cu cu cu cu
*******

swing the scythe
and
get the knife
she shrilled

pump the ****
split the bone
smudge the lips
spit and blood
moon eyes turn blood gauze
and heads swivels hula

the **** yields
a spooled mouth contortion

her *** crack
a smile of accomplishment
and tormented ballet feet
stretched tickle toes
for heavens edge

she panted rolling away dark air
in an uneasy creeping
and widened thighs
she lost her head
like a chopped carrot
for the miracle of oblivion

you could hear the last thump
falling as silence falls

she spread like bat a wing umbrella
Clone re Eatery Jan 2015
Thee Artiste Carvó's "The Odor of Logbrain Crappó"*

Lógbrain yóur **** is oh so ASSinine...
It is of course malign...

Yóu are the cón artist of the moronic chimERA...

Yóu are of course a resigned, all inferiór, cón artist that becraps the mind, body and soul, as well as the very nether realms...

óh óh óh.... Lógbrain yóu are lonely while taking care of yóur flock in the fields... óh óh óh...

Yóu ascend the flock...
ascending and mounting the sheep, one by one
Yóu are on top...
on top from behind... yes, óh Yes, Óh YEs, ÓH YES, YES, YESSS...
Óh soiinf osiujh8adabyghueyhiu rnolkm

Touching the heart...
Touching the soul...
Touching the woolly pudenda…

and thus issueth the "I"s, the "óh"s and the ewes from the egómaniacal shepherd ,
Crappó, the manna of the banana I-gód <> the delusion of illusions and confusions of a sick putrid sub-mind...

****, that only yóu and the sheep yóu have so deeply touched can feel it in the end... óh óh óh

Óh Lógbrain Crappó, óh please óh please óh please crap some more fine **** for yóur lessers, if any there be...
with yet another one of yóur masterPIECES in the fields of ewe.

Yes, Crappó, BÓTTÓM feeder, yóu and yóur fine **** are a pain in the *** to all...
This fine piece goes out to the greatest cón artist alive.


Original ('An Ode To Loghain Carvó') by:      Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by:    CrE aka Trollminator
This is the ninth in a series of reconstructions of the drivel of "Thee Artiste" aka Logbrain Crappó which has been previously posted on HP.

True, nothing could possibly make Thee's mindless nonsense less lousy, but at least it can be put into a neater, though still steaming, pile...
Donall Dempsey Nov 2015
THE DEVIL'S ****

He straps her
to the table

before him

(a sacrifice on an altar)

of the Arrogance
of his Ignorance.

Turns to the tools
of his trade

neatly & almost
piously arranged

on the table
behind him

still stained
with the chicken’s blood

from this morning’s
preparation

bubbling in the ***
... forgotten now.

He is a master
Pricker

as they call him
about here

half in awe & fear

of the Witchfinder General
and all his kind.


He is angry
at her resistance

tears off
the ragged burlap shift

that covers her

shaves her

from head to pudenda

examines
her

from top
to toe

with the aid of
a giant magnifying glass

for any blemish
or birth mark

(an oddly shaped wart)

that will betray her
in all its innocence

pricking her both
with the long needle
and the short

and ahhh...

the birthmark
refuses to bleed.

He smiles
at such

an obvious sign.

Her denials
screaming uselessly

against the locked
door of his mind.

but now his fingers
probe

sensitively searching
for the Devil’s ******

concealed
within her

to nourish
to suckle

her
toad familiar.

And yes how proud he feels

to discover
hidden within her

privy
shaft

obscured by her
female *****

but not to the
empirical mechanics

of his fingers
probing...probing

as plain as the sun
that goes around

this Godly Earth

...the Devil’s ****.

And so, by this
fleshly

mark of
being

Woman

she is
condemned to be
witch.

And so it is
so

in these
“the burning years.”

I cry for her
as I reclaim her

from History

(so many thousands
of her)

hold them
all

(in their holy terror)

all such suffering
beings

in my arms
in the dawn

of this new
morning

keening
for them

stroking their hair
(closing their eyes)

as tenderly
as if

they were my child.
GoldenBoii Aug 2015
be the emulsifier between my tong & your liquid - become the highlight of the unspoken diversity in colours  

                 - take life as an underestimation of the darkest light - rewind against the self-proclaimed goodness of a super hero

                - stay vicious towards the muted fury of a volcano - frenzy beyond the rage of a divorced mermaid

               - dare to inhale Indian cricket sounds while shaving death himself (by the *****) - Loose the unlovable spice baptised in a pile of modern mud called space

              - generate a weapon dissolving an imprisoned flying carpet facing the smell of freedom - jump fronting an orchestra of snake leather balloons in search for your nickname

             - buzz the alarm & punch the clock drowned into a bottle of ****** Mary’s pudenda juice ... and then... and only then I will Marry you!
zebra Sep 2017
Bind me up today, Sir.
Please!
I am begging you, now,
down on my knees.
Doe-eyed, sweet, looking up at you
I am your total love-slave,
through and through

trussed thighs  ******* and belly
on the alter of sacrifice
and drink from your warm plumb belly
dark mulberry waters
your bound feet held steady
yet trembling
as you are unwound
loved, furrowed
your mouth sealed
that your eyes may scream bright

I am here to do your darkest bidding
your basest perversions,
high morals slipping
my **** is soaked and my heart
on fire
I am quivering, so ready
with  unsheathed  desire

you, a melting candle
a  drooling ******* warped
opened and parted
splayed
on a white pearl alter
where you danced and prayed
cooing to be drubbed
your mouth wet and thick
from a thousand glittering *****

and so Sir. I plead in devotion
devour me tonight
consume my body of delights
I am your servant of appetites
both wild and bizarre
I crave what you want
and want what you are
and this savagery, piercing
will wash through my soul
as you penetrate my world
my secretions in flow
a fiery glow

your naked mouth begging
for slow mortal wounds
spread wide
you embrace dark snakes
for languid bites
who set you reeling
goddess forms
tremble and wither
a voluptuous agony
a confetti of *******
pain so dear
it only doubles ardor

Let us fly as we open
and you rip asunder
all silk shreds
and make me complete
I lay down my sword
supplicate
polish me hard
reach the jewel
of my soul
aching pulsations
from labyrinths motes
and lighted palaces*

dilating
you tremble and perspire
the ordeal merciless
your legs lassoed and stretched
protracted
heals above head
a pungent fruit weeping

crying to be hollowed out
a gushing tempest
lover of the slow sword
oh, a naked chaos
your face a wild zoo
torso weak
a writhing stew

i cradle you in my arms
a conjugation of tender mercies
yet diabolical
crazed with greed to devour

you appeal
strike me
sure and determined
this very second
a whirlpool en-flamed

i bind you in spitting distance
you bare your throat
a dare
glare a nymphets smile
whispering come on
now
now
now
and as we pour our ******* into each other
i pull your head back hard
your face  bright for a wild paradise
as i wound you wide
oh oh oh oh you squeal
undulating underneath my grasp

i drink from pulsing arteries
consume frenzy spasms
milky pudenda howling
in heaping waves
staring at me
while spiraling into darkness
your hair drenched
a crimson baby doll
gone mad
a thousand eyes raptured
and then darken
you fall like silk off a foot
a broken oozing creel
the gorgeous breathless
to be wept over
for
all
eternity
anonymous collaboration
sadomasochistic adult *** explicit
zebra Nov 2022
Needled fingered hematologists prepare our dinner. Her name, Mercy, all body candy, tattooed with a snake ****. Her ******* pierced with rose paved sparkles and ******* stabbed with bat shaped studs. Nurses sharpen knives while quack doctors tend to little plastic dolls and blood bathers with crossed femurs in hospital beds where they are cultivated as condiments. Between the umbilicus of limbo, and the theater of cruelty the rational world remains a derelict void. Welcome are hallucinations that abolish reason, that give meaning to blood shot gazing eyes beyond the limits of sanity, where madness cannot be opposed in a world of tug a war monsters and gods. Lyrical voices of demons shoot through Mercy's nerve membranes, while a marching army of squat shadows move like flames in a vacant lot of burning violets. Monsters groan. A snake head eats its own tail in graves of scattered voices and speechless tongues. Arteries pulse vermillion, naked and wanton waiting to be pierced for sanity's release in a lyric of dread's desire. A tidal force lifts a dirigible from hell in a fountain of blood while Jesus has a cheeseburger moonstruck in torn *******. A spreading bride dissolves hoop-armed around a formless shadow hallucinating her beloved killers foot stones kiss. Mercy Kneels on the Dias subserviently. She is sumptuous and a willing betrothal in a gauzy white gown. Happily, headed for death, she disrobes and centers herself on the long knotty table spreading wide smiling, as if a performing dancer, a naked contortionist in a shadow that flickers. Her knees bent to her chest, ******* heaving, her red rose toes pointed, feet arched. She is ready for the final churning and dispatch. Vampires with moonish eyes crouch on all fours like ancient bushman with black wings like hovering capes to eat her with little teasing bites and licks before kissing hisses and insinuating their bifurcated tongues followed by needling punctures that look like spider holes with reddish volcanic mounds and a leaking web of blood rivulets on her pink primrose pudenda "blood on a sugar cube" mouths, feeding mouths, feeding mouths, licking each other's claret tongues mixed with foot kissing adorations and pinkish toes red blooms and  mad mumblings about the grace of Satan while burning black sabbath candles and incense, uncrossing themselves in cosmic Goetic rituals during devotional masturbations and copulations to give thanks and pay homage for fear that their god would take their girl away, their lovely girl food dressed in hemoglobin crystals, their sweet bleeding lover at fangs point, their peaches and cream, robe of blood and starve them.
Vampires are like the rest of us, hunger always wins, hunger for beauty, hunger for love, attention and shelter, hunger for every ******* thing. The vampires wept tears of gratitude licking torn sumptuous flesh like wild cats on the Savana. The pain of their bites excited Mercy, oh it hurt so, while they filled blood goblets of her, weeping and tumbling downwards in her honeymoon crypt like a spooling galaxy as they ate her belly, throat, eyes, and **** with their switchblade kisses. Mercy drugged on ketamine pushed passed the unendurable limits past limitless pain, like a burning witch laughing thinking in fractured clouds, and hot *** heaping ******* at the site of her depraved condition before sinking into an impenetrable dark water labyrinth of death. Her lips glossed black, the color of the grave, her hair dyed red and purple, her thighs and belly trussed in white gauze by ladies in waiting. Her areoles scorched and punctured as incense holders. Vampires coalesce, with fangs and ravaging kisses, biting Mercy like wild hyenas with panicked raw mouths of red saliva diamonds. Mercy gushes blood like a red river banquet, chained and strapped, legs stirrup wide, her feet beautifully arched and just so, glistening for fiendish kisses. In a candlelight ritual she is copulated by both sexes and fed upon. Mercy laughs like a loon screaming as she is lapped up by the wicked gift of ravenous tongues. Half devoured she emerges, a blood perfume delirium. Mercy arches upward and writhes in a blistering frenzy. Her eyes glare like a tempest then go vacant in loop tee loops in and out of focus. Her mouth, a red licorice lipstick smudge, gapes like twisted wire and pierced blood-soaked lips. In a ghastly shriek Mercy's belly oozes while the very last of her falters. Mercy surrenders her remains in a last hideous lament. Her hair looks like matted steel wool, her nostrils wet with mucousy brine. Her eyes bulge from their sockets, while a single smoldering finger in flames still burns as if it is a candle. Mercy tumbles downwards like a spooling galaxy as they eat her belly, throat, eyes, *** **** and nibble on her toes while she lays prone on a worn blood-stained porcelain Dias and spreads wide exposing whats left of her innocent bottom and smiling like a bewitched demon.
Over the discus moon I shoot my last, furry mink while I primp & I
prink, when 1 toe bone's bad & ***** ***** are more gray than pink
(ah...ah...ah...ham eye white...???)

***,... and he looks...
     SAY WHAT??? just like me???,...
     absolutely NO WAY!!!,
would this sensitive,
     respectful, "FAKE" veejay
quiet-natured, mindful,
     loving, kind, underplay
justice invoking, hew today

mainly, gentle, friendly, "I say"
enlightened, democratic chap redisplay
any besotted abominable,
     blamable, culpable, quay
esse chin hubble
     despicable, execrable prey
dot door formidable,
     inhospitable...overplay

ying faux indulgent,
     NOR be mistaken
     to assay, betray, convey,
display, expressway more fay
     writ his'm to
     gainsay hearsay, inveigh
jaw dropping "FAKE"
     yuge weak accusations

(by a long shot), sans
     basket of conspiring deplorables
     attempting to assassinate
bigly believe me tubby "stupid"
     winning loser to berate,
who doth unequivocally create
mine substantial vocabulary rumor,
     versus 4th grade reading level

     trumpeting librettist - thee great
test Don Quixote
     (as falsely sung with hate
full sotto voce), and ramped up
     as ill suited mate
a minus [sic] zero *****,
     which doth hapt
     tubby incredibly tremendous

     disservice to bona fide classy idiots
     with a lot of money
     (like the millions and billions
     of my golfing confrères)
given bent iron golf clubs
     used by crooked Hillary,
     when former Secretary of State
     ideal for Putin on the Ritz

by far less exciting, with
     Bill Clinton's flirtatious flits
trained pudenda purse
     sin null property
     of intern (NO FALLACY)
     topped as southern delicacy dish
consume mated with buttered grits
     pricked prurient peccadilloes licks

suddenly recalling seminal kicks
starting, how with Little Rock kits
he received assistance,
     sans starts and fits,
eventually then nubile
     ingenue Monica Lewinsky
     called time out, cuz at her wits
end once assisting helping

     express his "naughty bits,"
when done completing
     *** mincecd secrete mission
     blue dress draped
     expensively furred

(i.e. tricked out) in her
     "FAKE" minx hiding
     sable animal spirits,
when animal rights
     activists vehemently protested
     out-coming result
     slapping former president
     with a PETA file.
Walter Alter Aug 2023
Act 1
a notarized copy of this testament
is on file with my attorney
in case of my untimely earthing
by the invisible x-ray background
driving another stake through my bleeding heart
but back to our semiotically comatose narrative
The Eel king rips off Bobby's latex facade
at last I have you captive Bandwidth
Eel's eyes narrow a smile edges his mandible
Bobby's eyes gone wide with no exit
prepared to submit to his conspicuous doom
humid vistas from the Matto Grosso
panned luridly before his convulsing eyes
ars pharmacopia little muffin went Eel
the time has come for your loving torment
Bobby was dragged to the Cistern of Woe
by a busload of nuns from Santa Pudenda
and tied into one of Escher's inhibition pretzels
above a pit of staring human eyeballs
Bobby had a plan murky at first
but with a blurred urgency that unveiled
his guardian cosmetician's skin graft
from the last 3 alarm conflagration epic
it had finally healed abused and maligned
tho still on oxygen or was it toxigen
no one knew much less the narrator
too harried by Fate for detail work
but I digress to a distressing degree
Bobby stared into the cesspool of his mind
illumined now by a wan spark of hope
he would gambit judiciously
the ancient and terrible pherome defense
as the squish of rain forest footsteps
and little gasps of manual stimulation
graced with wanton overtones came closer
it was LeMona the Eel King's daughter
a beauty that all the aniline dyes in the jungle
could not extinguish in a waterfall's fog
marched with retinue straight up to Bobby
he was instantly and cleanly detrousered by
her wheezing steam engine of debauchery
within microseconds seconds her tongue
was down his throat to the car park
he heard the bell in her navel ringing
and went limp like a doomed weasel
in the talons of a swooping Mongolian bercut
the Eel King became visibly ill humored
contain your infantile carnality
mischievously insistent pride of my *****
(to be continued)

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon
Donall Dempsey Oct 2023
THE DEVIL'S ****

He straps her to the table
before him

(a sacrifice on an altar)

of the Arrogance
of his Ignorance.

Turns to the tools of his trade
neatly & almost piously arranged

on the table
behind him

still stained
with the chicken’s blood

from this morning’s preparation
bubbling in the ***... forgotten now.

He is a masterPricker
as they call his sort about here

half in awe & fear

of the Witchfinder General
and all his kind.

He is angry at her resistance

tears off the ragged burlap shift
that covers her

shaves her
from head to pudenda

examines
her

from top
to toe

with the aid of
a giant magnifying glass

for any blemish or birth mark
(an oddly shaped wart)

that will betray her
in all its innocence

pricking her both
with the long needle and the short

and ahhh...

the birthmark
refuses to bleed.

He smiles at such
an obvious sign.

Her denials
screaming uselessly

against the locked
door of his mind.

but now his fingers
probe

sensitively searching
for the Devil’s ******

concealed within her
to nourish to suckle

her
toad familiar.

And yes how proud he feels

to discover hidden within her
privy shaft

obscured by her
female *****

but not to the
empirical mechanics

of his fingers
probing...probing

as plain as the sun that goes around
this Godly Earth

...the Devil’s ****.

And so, by this fleshly
mark of being

Woman

she is
condemned to be
witch.

And so it is so
in these “the burning years.”

I cry for her
as I reclaim her

from History

(so many thousands of her)

hold them
all

(in their holy terror)

all such suffering
beings

in my arms
in the dawn

of this new
morning

keening
for them

stroking their hair
(closing their eyes)

as tenderly
as if

they were my child.
Walter Alter Jul 2023
The serene people whose ease of manner
once made him yearn and confabulate
are laughable cartoonish and piteous now
could have been much worse he said
as his last breath left his scarred throat
feral hand closing his own eyes
St. Pudenda greeted him at the tall gates
under the lights at Checkpoint Charlie
Mariachi trumpets rolled out the mauve carpet
and a dog barked from behind the garbage bins
from all infinity we end up with this
a realm of syntax governed by ambiguity
she read from a large ledger atop a marble pedestal
why a ledger rather than a laptop is anyone's guess
apparently the vanguard party had been evicted
by Frankie Boxcars and the Hollywood mafia
many clouded eons ago in the great schism
over the digitization of paradise
no jury of his peers he noted with unease
nothing of telling import she imparted casually
eyes darting up and down the pages
as if something previously detected
had been airbrushed from history
arrested for self amplification she went on
and sorcery and coughing in quiet places
getting enough sleep she asked with a beaming smile
I don't know I was asleep he intoned
I suppose we can reveal the joke she mused
but I WAS dreaming he countered
backed into a tight corner by snarling lap dogs
tossed into a kidnap taxi with a sack over my head
marched with a gun in my back
through a forest of clichés
fed lines from a hideous new sitcom
about *** among the homeless
a weekly broadcast on the Piñata Vision Network
but what choice did I have knowing what I know
poor dear thing she continued
there is a better version of everything
a law of nature completely natural
and yes it is densely beautiful and
smoldering with awe like a corpse in the bathtub
try to avoid the truly grotesque
in favor of the marginally grotesque
we love having you in our science department
with the state secrets and ****** **** videos
masquerading as the way things actually are
where the misty cows moo in contentment
and the Vaseline runs hot behind sanctuary doors
horrors altering the course of suns
between the here and the there
every bit of it needless she giggled

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Walter Alter Aug 2023
my agent grew nervous when he discovered
like the rising sun on a sea of shark fins
that one must gauge and become the gauge
what is it that heralds an improved model
claiming to have superior knowledge
my hospital masturbates immobilized patients
the cure rate is astounding
it’s all in how we conceive ourselves
the oil and tincture panaceas
were giving me intestinal upheaval
but my inner cephalopod still had
a couple of pots of ink in him
and swore by his mother's *******
when info comes a-knocking
best let it find a seat unaided
everyone rigs the game of perception
permanently defiled by propaganda
we all want to be authentic
so gimme the straight story for once
the world may not owe us a living
but it does owe us an explanation
I think it all has to do with
branching cascades and nested infinities
is it rain on the roof or radio static
reports are that it's a burlesque sitcom
there's a lady in the front row
bearing her profuse ******* at me
I am made dizzy and quickly hypnotized
turns out the dowser was right she’s KGB
and I'm hoping to be the lucky stud
that gets to climb her endorphin ladder
in an experimental courtship ritual
so we rubbed pudenda to dawn
and she let me hear her secret name
it's still secret
her guillotine blade warm and wet
cut through me like a 3 dollar car wash
must have been the stoning squad's day off
tarred and feathered instead
OK why 3 d's for you double meaning fetishists
I'll tell you but you must obey my commands
they are buried throughout this message
because 3 is the logo of the ta tas of Venus
and he'd rather be thundering back at Zeus
which got him everything he wanted
not so much money clothes concubines
since he didn't set out to establish

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
an empire of invisible *******
but he was a free man
free to disintegrate periodically
which is why my advice is to keep
something for yourself no matter what
Walter Alter Jul 2023
The serene people whose ease of manner
once made him yearn and confabulate
are laughable cartoonish and piteous now
could have been much worse he said
as his last breath left his scarred throat
feral hand closing his own eyes
St. Pudenda greeted him at the tall gates
under the lights at Checkpoint Charlie
Mariachi trumpets rolled out the mauve carpet
and a dog barked from behind the garbage bins
from all infinity we end up with this
a realm of syntax governed by ambiguity
she read from a large ledger atop a marble pedestal
why a ledger rather than a laptop is anyone's guess
apparently the vanguard party had been evicted
by Frankie Boxcars and the Hollywood mafia
many clouded eons ago in the great schism
over the digitization of paradise
no jury of his peers he noted with unease
nothing of telling import she imparted casually
eyes darting up and down the pages
as if something previously detected
had been airbrushed from history
arrested for self amplification she went on
and sorcery and coughing in quiet places
getting enough sleep she asked with a beaming smile
I don't know I was asleep he intoned
I suppose we can reveal the joke she mused
but I WAS dreaming he countered
backed into a tight corner by snarling lap dogs
tossed into a kidnap taxi with a sack over my head
marched with a gun in my back
through a forest of clichés
fed lines from a hideous new sitcom
about *** among the homeless
a weekly broadcast on the Piñata Vision Network
but what choice did I have knowing what I know
poor dear thing she continued
there is a better version of everything
a law of nature completely natural
and yes it is densely beautiful and
smoldering with awe like a corpse in the bathtub
try to avoid the truly grotesque
in favor of the marginally grotesque
we love having you in our science department
with the state secrets and ****** **** videos
masquerading as the way things actually are
where the misty cows moo in contentment
and the Vaseline runs hot behind sanctuary doors
horrors altering the course of suns
between the here and the there
every bit of it needless she giggled

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
THE DEVIL'S ****

He straps her to the table
before him

(a sacrifice on an altar)

of the Arrogance
of his Ignorance.

Turns to the tools of his trade
neatly & almost piously arranged

on the table
behind him

still stained
with the chicken’s blood

from this morning’s preparation
bubbling in the ***... forgotten now.

He is a masterPricker
as they call his sort about here

half in awe & fear

of the Witchfinder General
and all his kind.

He is angry at her resistance

tears off the ragged burlap shift
that covers her

shaves her
from head to pudenda

examines
her

from top
to toe

with the aid of
a giant magnifying glass

for any blemish or birth mark
(an oddly shaped wart)

that will betray her
in all its innocence

pricking her both
with the long needle and the short

and ahhh...

the birthmark
refuses to bleed.

He smiles at such
an obvious sign.

Her denials
screaming uselessly

against the locked
door of his mind.

but now his fingers
probe

sensitively searching
for the Devil’s ******

concealed within her
to nourish to suckle

her
toad familiar.

And yes how proud he feels

to discover hidden within her
privy shaft

obscured by her
female *****

but not to the
empirical mechanics

of his fingers
probing...probing

as plain as the sun that goes around
this Godly Earth

...the Devil’s ****.

And so, by this fleshly
mark of being

Woman

she is
condemned to be
witch.

And so it is so
in these “the burning years.”

I cry for her
as I reclaim her

from History

(so many thousands of her)

hold them
all

(in their holy terror)

all such suffering
beings

in my arms
in the dawn

of this new
morning

keening
for them

stroking their hair
(closing their eyes)

as tenderly
as if

they were my child.

— The End —