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 *****

Hauling hard together
Sweat stream in the eyes,
Sinews stretch like whipcord,
Tongue saliva dries.

Key man at the pivot point
Reliant on a lead,
To call the shots decisively
Whilst calloused fingers bleed.

Whites of eyes are bulging
And stress climbs to a strain
And the need for trust's reliance
Tests the mettle in the pain.

Dependable this long day through?
Pedantic to a tee?
When the crunch impacts upon him
When the tensions fly for free?

That's where the game is won or lost
As each is forced to bend
Then the last thing on your wishlist
Is for a fair weather friend!


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
Auckland NZ
2 February 2011

Delightfully disproportionate features
form the basis of your face;
For your ears are neither here nor there –
they’re lost in the forest of your lustrous hair;
Whilst your eyes are disguised
by brows of deep brown,
that creep together when you frown
across the bridge that exists on the ridge of your nose,
where they greet each other with a rigid kiss
that just grows and grows and grows…

And on your cheeks your crow’s
feet lie listlessly, yet move their toes insistently
to show the world explicitly
that of course they don’t agree with
all that applesauce you speak of
with that mumbling mouth of yours, that’s
flanked by fading lips which still gaily get to grips
with a jumble of uncouth words
all hung on a whipcord tongue that can suddenly become
as soft and smooth as spun silk.

Cause you’re the only one of your ilk;
A defective manifestation
of a masterpiece of creation;
A random representation
and a precise personification.
You’re a filter-free reflection
of every furtive fault in me, drawn
with delectable imperfection –
and that’s just how you should be.

The whipcord strength of the last thread that tethers you to her, is yours to cut if you could but find the edge.