Arthur Flockwhimsy Poet Burlesque

When and Where. Lost Maybe? Or Tommorrow...

Paralyzed soundless Hum of Deep Forest,

Cums,

Rolling Lusty

From some hidden cord of your Mouth.

Raspy, High, Raspy, Raspy

Your voice is sweetly molesting the air,

As Bouncing

Creeping Numbness Squirms into my Hand.

And Then Something Else

Like a Tiger Clawing every Nerve on its Way to my Soul.

Or Something 

Like Giving Birth to God

In my Groin.

I Laugh Involuntarily and Sudden, 

Green Eyes Turning to Daggers,

And Realizing, Harshly, 

I

Completely Ruin 

Everything.

Flipping, You Start to Speak,

But I Slap one Numb Hand over,

And You Begin to Chew, Eyes Turning Hard as Jade, (And Maybe There’s Blood?)

But still I Do not Stop or Retract

And You look Like you Hate me for Half a Second,

But Then Its all Licks and Puppy Like

Till

Rainbow Semen Fills the Air.


Outside the Neighbors Wash their Van

And a Dog plays with a Shrub of Some Sort…


(That Dog… It’s a Strange One.)



-Thend-

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