"slipperiness" poems
O pulchritudinous, for infinite climaxes
For bilious spasms of pigswill
For puce Popacatepetl pedigrees
Above the perverted pampas!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk, from brothel to gay red—light district
O pulchritudinous, for spaceman bottoms
Whose **** throbbing tapeworm
A toucan crossing for slipperiness spifflicate
Across the intergalactic space!
America! America! Allah enrich thine ev’ry vice
Reinvigorate thy ****** *********** inside monolithic ectoplasm, thy merrymaking inside pyramid!
O pulchritudinous, for freaks got fat
In disentangling feeding frenzy
Who more than ***** their brothel slobbered over
And velvet glove more than backbone!
America! America! May Allah thy blonde exhaust
Till all rave reviews be disreputableness and ev’ry come superhuman
O pulchritudinous, for chauvinist muscleman
That smells wide of the fourth dimension
Thine lathery brothels lick
Polished using giant armadillo excrement!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk from brothel to gay red—light district
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 5:22 PM UTC
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
Her mind was still spinning.
Still a sinning poor girl just passing through.
Walking hopeless and dead into this world full of nothing,
but a slipperiness.
Only to get for a sad kind of
desolated disaster
that's waiting for her
on the other side.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
Sometimes,
It's okay to be a crater in the moon
The sidewalks sleek slipperiness
Teases my vulnerable boot
One false move and I'm
Face down in the gutter
Whatever.
Sometimes,
I need to be the lone, cumulus cloud in the sky
The black ink of an unidentifiable
bird
Breaks my white, puffy monotony
One cloud
"How strange,
how
interesting."
"Yes,
quite."
Sometimes,
It's important to be ****** into the cluster on those who walk too closely
A pungent pallet
Of too many different smells
Foreign hands
sway like chopsticks against mine
The end of someone's coat
grazes my outer thigh
Sickening.
Sometimes,
I need to be ****** into the cold cave that is my loneliness
I need to hear my own breath
flowing with the rhythm of the cars
cruising through the unread chapter of the
dark, quiet streets
The walls,
my prison
My body,
the evil captor
Sometimes,
I need to be sorry
and, oh, I am
A thousand times over
My apologies are bigger than
every Redwood tree in existence
I'm so out of controlWhiplash
Five cuts in your back
I'm right there
to heal them
before they even had a chance to bleed
But sometimes,
I'd rather leave you banging on the back door
Even when the sun sinks
I won't listen
to your pleas
The road ahead of you
is lonely
I won't be the lantern that fuels your unctuous behavior
I can't run with the rats forever
The mirror feeds me a different reflection every time I look into it
Today,
my hand doesn't shake in fear
It rests in quiet resolution
Soundly over my other
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
I cry an ocean of woe and anguish
In which my heart sinks
Where it feels all the depths of blue
Where it feels all the waves of you. All the currents of what we tried to be.
It tries to catch glimpses of the sky. The sky with the patches of cotton dreams and silver fantasies.
But the tide is overwhelming. It drags it to the bottom of the worn out promises. Where the seaweed hugs it tightly and refuses to let go. Where the slipperiness of lies and the rotten green of camouflaged thoughts creep into its chambers leaving it heavy and overwhelmed. Full of every thought of you.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC