Lamet!
is what she hears first
him, screaming her second name
as he descends upon her
no time to process
gravity
a thud, tearing her core to shavings
Maiweeeee! She is puzzled.
His baritone dropping the 'n'
agitation
a wooden scrabble.
Nothing is left between her
and Pee, not a grain
all’s crushed
smothering their screams
interlocking their groans.
He is a pawn, no saphead
giving it to her, a pounding
her splinters
putting him on like a glove
a blood-wood
fragments of his body all over her.
She, a Mortal
(he notes the ‘r’ replacement)
implodes in silence, his pain.
She is deep
no winnowing basket
Her pleas chaff going with the wind
consummating with eyes
but she, too dry to go gunky.
Left to recline in the tree shade, heaves
silent sighs among groundnut sheaves
“You know I l-o-v-e you,”
“Yet it spells p-a-i-n, right?”
“We are just pieces of a g-a-m-e dear,”
he sighs rolling onto his back.
Categories:
saphead, africa, allegory, pain, word
Form: Free verse
If heaven is a rest for the imbeciles,
the banes of hell my portion must be.
If cloud nine is a bordello,
and the streets of gold are carved along the red-light-district,
then god must be a panderer.
Am I not already rewarded?
My woman is: an orange, perfect in the sun;
a watermelon, succulent;
a mango with sweet nectar;
a passion fruit, freshly plucked.
One woman is ecstasy,
two is hell’s gate.
A saphead is a glutton for pure virgins.
Lives foolishly forfeit for peculiar sayings.
Let not this bird fly,
for the two that is promised?
When god became a sexist,
it came to pass that man recreate himself, a lunatic,
and the woman he objectified became the dominant sex.
Covet not the splendor of paradise,
where the mansions in my father’s house are brothels
perfumed with the scent of intercourse.
A gift of seventy-two maidens
is an everlasting punishment.
Categories:
saphead, education, peace, political, religion,
Form: Free verse