Three-Toed Sloth vs. Harpy Eagle; or The BackDrop PopArt application
of Maybelline Dream Nude Airfoam while Drinking Japanese Shirayuki
Nama Sake in a Confederate Kepi
For J. Claudius Cloyd
i didn’t show up on the radar
but she sure as hell noticed me on the sonar–
odd, actually, given i was 100 feet high
snacking on pleasure-rinds like the gimicry
of preakness climbing out the womb, snatched,
eaten, laid, and placed in the tomb–
i got a tiki helping slice of life and had
98 stitches–yes, its best song is not indicative
of the album. they said ‘nothing lasts’,
i just didn’t think it would pass so fast.
Snorkel to new and nude heights addicted to a drilled down save-point and some secular cruise voyage to parochial islands. It all has the feel of a required course at the community college where you can’t wait till the end and hope you guessed right enough to pass the grade…but we gotta get over getting bent over, right? The cliqueish makes me squeamish.
While i was possessed by overpriced theatre candy,
she pulled herself up by the pubestraps and
cocoa-cocooned into the kind of butterfly
that hangs out in trash cans.
i rolled the wheels before closing the lid, though.
(Yeppers, writing poetry is somewhat like hocking
v o m i t–you feel better once you do it
[even on the computer]).
Her credentials and skills raised hell
in a sorta unasked-for cultural correctness that fed
the human need to knock down others
from their lazy loft of tv dinners/generic sodas
to feel better about herself…
or was it from too much dark chocolate?
It’s a fresh take on the ebb and flow of the world–
it might make Confucius wince but Bacchus has been
drinking ever since…
What ‘gets us by’ will end up killing us.
Between absolute certainty and absolute doubt is Absolut Vodka!
Oftentimes i look around and say ‘how could there not be a God?’ He lets us do what we want and that’s why we at least believe in the Devil. We have freewill to do what he wants us to or we suffer more than we already suffer when we do right–Cosmic design=Little Debbie Cosmic brownies=Cosmic bowling where my balls are busted black and blue with split pins. Obligatory sex is like a substitute sugar that will sink its honey-dipped talons into the soft meat of your hips and when it kums it’s a smoking gun.
Genie us. Before i got old, i was
on the 8 fold path following
the 10 commandments when i came
upon a zen tao shinto fork in Muhammed’s
hangout and had great awakenings reformations
schisms whirling dervishes ruminating on Rumi,
Blake, for heaven’s sake and japanese sake,
paddy rice cakes…and figured i was trying
too hard and that genius edition 1.0008 rests
with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ which is the epitome
of an epiphany of a simpleton hobo.
The last of the Neanderthals, it is said,
holed up in the caves of Gibraltar eating
blue-med fishies, fucking their brains out,
painting on the floor, and staring deeply
into the fires. i can’t quite put my finger
onto it cause i played with firecrackers
when i was a kid but Miss Moonfire says
there’s nothing like blasting music off
the wallsÂ and you feel underwater.
I can only envision a world that has two porta potties
[always go to the one farthest away, by the way],
and one where i wonder at the possibilities of training
a dog to shit right in front of the judges at a dogshow.
Just cause beauty sells doesn’t mean truth is ugliness.
3-toed sloth : harpy eagle — poet : god.
*At this juncture the reader will make a metaphorical connection and will wonder if it was the author’s intention or mere coincidence. The truth is that thereÂ are no accidents–everything is random. This idea is merely to be compounded gracelessly by the last line of the poem:
Even if i believed in Goddess, i wouldn’t worship her–I’d just jack-off to the clouds.