Portmanteau Girlfriends on the Side in Unexpected Days off Altered World Outlook

Portmanteau Girlfriends on the Side
in Unexpected Days off Altered World Outlook

by quasimofo
i. (is the horniest number)
Get more virtuosic bang for your buck
at brothels having sex in a sedan
coupling in a coupe cranking that curiosity throttle
circumsalivating the global intercourse positioning
saddled sate-night-lite…
…umm mama, all i need is a minute
with your hourglass figure—ooolala!
But this poem isn’t about sex and love
as a burning i n f e r n o
as much as it’s about
Sex and Love as a fire-escape.
Suit up at this uncouth line of scrimmage
if you triple doggie-style dare.
There is a terse flab of 2nd puberty yowch
on overcast days scrounged from gaunt heaps memoreasons
sulking custom glutton nipple ring cheerios in this vico-den-of-sin.
Yo is the disgruntler nerd at a geekfest getting dork-style physical
with the existfiscal – ‘i’ll show you mine if you show me yours” –
backscratching that we long to atone for in this
                   missed -              out -              on
         checklist/            chicklist/            bucketlist.
But it’s time to face the music of a goddamned symphony blaring
out sour-candied-shoot-an-apple-off-the-head-post-it-notes:
“I’m not good enough, I’m not supposed to be here,
I surely don’t belong cause all of this is so awe and all-fully wrong.”
Ahhh, Thank god for
Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Therapy!

ii. –delete me again, yada yada yada…–
Pippi Barbarella befriends you on some social networking site
growing weed on Farmville to bake you special brownies
in Cafe World telling you yer her favorite Potato gun pistolier.
“Look at me! Look at me! in my lonely spinster soliloquy!” she blathers
with flower panty power & pom-pom bespeckled lacodaisies.
It feels like a match-stick ‘made in heathen’ you could love till death do us particles…
—cause you take love where you can find it sputters the cerebral vortex
..and you call it your go-to safe-haven P-A-R-A-D-I-S-O
just floating air-stream elatedly along
in her hot-air balloon between moral ground and aesthetic heaven
fancy-free traveling the fucking world
in 80 fucking days ablaze with a happy harpy flavor-of-the-weak-minded fury—
That’s when the fair-weather ends and i’m cut loose
like a deadweight sandbag…
..i find myself whooshing reflecting deeply next to descending body length mirrors—
the split-pea personalities break off holding hands forming
ski-diving hoops midst turbulence destined to desecrate
fresh urban art concrete but i pull paper hearts parachutes and plunge into abstract bubble bath with mermaid barmaids who serve me cold beer and give me
sponge massages healing life-long wounds and worries.
Your loss fly girl!
Whatever floats your boat jostles like subtactically
strategic shit cause loose lips sinks relationships, babey!
We are all in the same boat until someone rocks it and someone jumps it.
Being tough doesn’t matter if your heart gets hard.
But don’t fret on your weeping guitar, Princess Goddess, u need no beauty sleep since beauty’s only skin deep—and lord knows you put on enough make-up to fool a raccoon.

iii. {conciliatory filthy minded-ness}
Masturbating mastodons peder out as you
desperately sling on your big-boy panties.
I’d rather be laid than laid-off in this
unending rat amazing 24 hour fitness finesse club.
Save me Saint Joan of Arcade!
Take me under your wing
oh Pirate Lass of the Adventuresque
High-School Seas[onings]!
I’m the only one who can give a candy-gram
with a mammogram in this flick
where all you need is two fingers
below and a tongue in the top—
yes, i’d rather be finger painting
than finger pointing
(just stay away from the eschatological excrement)!
..chap stick after the lapstick please.

iv. (fluids)
A romantic get-a-way needs to be a place, not a person,
and this surely is a time when i’m so open-minded it’s like i’m close-minded.
All i ever wanted out of life was a Camaro and a camera.
i want one waterfall afternoon with quilted blanket wicker picnic
sharing secret thoughts & questions with a deathbedbuddy.
We all micromanage to keep ourselves in adoration—
Pummel your kindred spirit lover into grovel heckler secretary
interpersonal code for let me go.
When you’re put on the shelf dust yourself off;
take a hot shower for that cold shoulder;
if you’re avoided like the plague visit the morgue and play dress-up.
There is a one in a million chance your glass will break
so make a million preventative procedures and plan for it.
Those who get first dibs often need first aid.

v.[deep breaths]
Pull the string to your ego doll
and Tickle-me Ozypanzias Chumpanzee will say:
“Look upon the dust that jumped my bones!”
You’ve got to live like you’d rather be dead
like you’d rather be living and just decide
that life’s death is a choice .
In the meantime,
i’ll have a Corndog with a Capricorn,
uproar with Leos,
bullshit with the Taurus,
and ponder as i pander.
…try as i may, i cannot for the life of me & you
find a refill cartridge
for this pen-pal p u r g a t o r i o,
but then again—
that’s what i get for using
you as an excuse
for living,
and not living
for myself.

0 thoughts on “Portmanteau Girlfriends on the Side in Unexpected Days off Altered World Outlook

  1. Explosive. You can blow up small foreign villages with this. This is so good, I am bashing my head on the coffee table. Blood is coming out of my ears. I am eating broken glass. I am doing self-acupuncture with dirty needles and rusty scissors. Well Done.
    This is so good, they won’t let you take it on an airplane with you.

  2. I never know what to say except. . . brilliant. Hey, Quasi, David LaBounty and I are loosely planning a poetry reading in Michigan, maybe this fall. . . you should make your way up. I want to collect all these good writers I only know “virtually” and put us all in one place, drinking beer and reading poems and exploding the universe. Everyone is invited.

  3. Your style is like a violin infused guitar solo setting the human experience on fire when it threatens me with stagnation. These smack-beat scribbles rain discordant excellence, which then flow through the streets in rhythmic sentience, and those shacks on the banks of what is now street rivers disassemble themselves willingly though they had a few feet in leeway before the flow took then anyway. So. Damn. Good.

  4. “A portmanteau or portmanteau word is used broadly to mean a blend of two (or more) words or morphemes and their meanings into one new word. In linguistics fields, a portmanteau is defined as a blend of two or more function words.”
    Wow! Glad you guys got something from it. I’ve never had anyone bash their head and eat glass from reading my stuff (lol) or say [these] “smack-beat scribbles rain discordant excellence”–man, what a compliment, thanks.
    Yeah, i’d love to leave Texas and go to Michigan if only for a while–that’d be way cool. If money permits, we’ll see. Thanks for the invite.

  5. I like this.
    Lines like this “desperately sling on your big-boy panties” and “Sex and Love as a fire-escape” and I could keep listing others… there are a lot of good ones. Catchy.
    This writing leads the reader along a curving path. You never know what to expect around the next corner. cool

    1. thanks Sandra, i don’t think i have my settings on right with the new website here so i’m not getting e-mails when comments are made on my stuff. Glad to see ya on H & H.
      Your comment on the curviness and unpredictability is in keeping with some other feedback i received. We used to have a Poet’s meeting at the local bookstore long ago and there was this old guy who’d come and read Whitman and various older material and i always enjoyed listening to his selections but wondered: ‘hmm, i’ll bet he just hates this stream of consciousness punk poetry of mine’. To my surprise he spoke up one night and compared it to riding a roller coaster in the dark–you never know what to expect and that he enjoyed hearing my poems. I never would have guessed. lol. thanks for the feedback!

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