Conga line Gummy Bears in the Age of Sexually Ambiguous Elizabethan Poets
Conga line Gummy Bears in the Age of Sexually Ambiguous Elizabethan Poets
(For Shawn Misener’s Colon)
by Quasimofo Bear
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under the canopy of a debauched awning
and the skinny-dipping parameters
of A.M. pre-dawn, my Mack truck stereo
yip and yaps belated birth cries escorted
by a squadron of treble-fixed Mini-Coopers.
Bull dogs bite down and don’t ease off
on this explosive hoo-rah which ticks
like a compact microwave quick-thawing
freezer-burned cow brain.
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No one wants to win the colonoscopy sweepstakes,
yet here it is having a book signing party usurping our poetic voice
via puke green koolaid disguised as nectar labeled muse juice.
Whores, hors dourves, while studying horticulture can allow one
to see the instant ramifications of using a battering ram.
Elitist Sexist Racist…me lady doth not a supermodel make but man can she
stir up the Freudian Goolash in cinnamon scented invasive flowers apron.
..I’d flush all this down but i’m a plumber and it’d be more work for me.
Can we trim the fat-lip and beat the fuck out of grammas
carjacking their Hondas
before hooking up in ho-town scoring crack and a 40oz in the brown wrap
playin’Â some Grand Theft Auto Retirementville entershamement?
—It’s good cardio on the Wii!
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yes, I want it handed to me on a silver platter.Â
That way i can hock the silver platter at the pawnshop
run by my Gangsta Landlord who holds
Wrestlemania try-outs every 1st new moon and who i always bail out of jail.
“Don’t stir up no shit, and there won’t be none!” says the groovy hippie chick
as she walks buck-ass naked into a field of flowers strumming a guitar…
..it is the look-ups and look-downs of excessive life frugality that tells us:
“it’s not so much the easy answer that’s right,
but the one that’s let’s us sleep at night.”
Imagination can be a distraction for life-support;
Poetry might be dead;
And we are all possible morticians…
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Sometimes
we
end
up
where
we
began..
Â
under the canopy of a debauched awning
Nice visual trickery there sir. Seems like a poem looping from ileum, duodenum, to acid washed roller-coasters parading around acetone high rises. No appendix?
thx.
Finally got day off. Jejunum plays vital role in regurgitate process. How’d you know about roller coasters? Like a rubai’, there will be no appendectomies…
2nd stanza very loose allusion and title tie-in to William Shakespeare Sonnet 130 “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.” Couldn’t fit Donne, Marlowe, and Johnson in there…oh well.
highs and lows that end with a loop and back you go where you started….what else could it be? I’m still hoping the guy taking tickets doesn’t notice I wore my momma-don’t-know heels to get past his teratological chart of fitness. …otherwise no ride for me.
ah yeah, well, if they are so adamant about you being 42″–then by all means, whip it out for them!
…it’ll be a cold day afore that happens…