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7/4/13 Is it the Fourth of July yet? So who should I shoot now? Dude, can I jerk off your flag? You’re welcome to stroke mine, Then we can both massage The Constitution, you know, Roll it up, like this, and stuff It up the Liberty Bell’s ass. Man, I feel like voting again. It’s like eating bad Chinese. Did you elect this emoticon? I’m bored, let’s waterboard A whistleblower or two. Global warming is cool, So let’s all sleep naked, Just like Bradley Manning. I’ve never heard of him either. You know what kicks ass? A flag tattoo on a corpse, Or guys pissing on a corpse. Let’s snag some Army chicks And make a naked pyramid. Don’t join if you don’t want some. Air Duct to Air Duct To kiss is to threaten To eat someone without Actually chewing and swallowing. It is also to wed digestive tracts, Meaning the ultimate expression Of intimacy, no less than Having two assholes welded Together, otherwise Known as marriage. Whits Before he could tongue her, one of his teeth Fell out. “That's OK,” he winked at his stale Yet chirpy stablemate, “I still have plenty left.” As if to prove it, he spat out a stringy and Bloody assortment, then counted to ten Before losing interest. He popped them back. They kissed for the longest time, maybe even A bit longer, since they had already paid too much, You see, and had to get the most out of this swindle. They had to milk it by any means necessary. “This Is way overrated,” she grimaced. “Aren’t you gonna Ask what I’ve been reading? It’s not Jonathan Swift, That’s for sure. I mean, I like poetry and everything, But soon as I bite into one... ” “You just wish you hadn’t,” He finished the sentence for her. Speaking of sentences, Some should be as long as the most tedious bridge You will ever encounter, while others could be as brief As this sunshiny life, and it always matters. Many whits. Make it Swift Many insist that the modern toilet Is a male figure, a middle-aged grump Complaining endlessly about what did Or didn’t happen in his sighful life. Others Will counter that the commode is actually Quite a lovely lady, with enviable curves. But what about that lid on her mouth? “Other women are so envious of me. I can’t sleep a wink, without worrying That your wife, for example, will sneak In here to steal my lid, and snap it onto Her own lovely yet incomplete mouth.” This poem is so full of it. And I’m so full of it, being a Sighful middle-aged creep. Ah! But why do we read and digest At the same time, desecrating Both reasonably excusable acts? So put this non-poem down, please, And finish musing in relative peace. Wrong Tool Man Out of some desperate Political, philosophical And moral conviction, he uses Scissors as toothpicks, Books as footrests or chairs, Hotels as sexy morgues, Genitals as ghost limbs, Brain as bowels, Shakespeare as André Breton, Life as afterlife, Earth as moon.
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