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Poem

nature's way of saying
I love what you do with your tongue
mom used to lick her hanky 
to clean my face I want to kill her
aided by my only allies
the hobo armies of doom
resulted in a sweet tooth with no answers
for the impenetrable slits of her eyes
the crowd was aghast 
so I knew we hit the glass jaw
now back to the scheduled program
our man Swigheart Backhoe 
reports from Flat, Nebraska
on the next Heads of Kings exhibit
down at the Crusader camp
I'm trying to figure out why sperm motility
hasn't created a master race yet
The best of millions fighting upstream like 
Steelers' running back Don Quixote
over a million years and we still end up with
politicians with red putty noses that go honk
and readers of the Weekly World News
who renew their state of alarm by the minute
we're not one step closer to kingdom come for it 
sperm motility then is as effective an indicator 
of Darwinian uber selection
as a chicken on a rotisserie spit 
is an indicator of barnyard vitality
you are alive right give yourself a pinch
let's use sperm science to give the 2nd raters
and mediocrities a chance at the brass ova
the modern science of magnification
can certainly arrange for a 
shiftless layabout sperm 
to take a poke at the moon
enough with this Mother Nature swill
put the couch potato, the hysteric
the derelict pants pissing wino sperm 
up the beanpole and see who salutes
Mother Nature eats her young
and writes checks for the 
Eugenics Foundation of Savannah, Africa
does God have someone 
telling him what to think
so go for it you little tadpoles
get in there you little champions


From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/

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