by Smokey Farris
There she sits alongside the herbal oils
and homeopathic medicine store.
She’s saying a sentence while adjusting her
awkward and milking the affection of
Painted white like the background of a naval officer.
She displays features such as,
sandy earth tones of hair and flesh.
Wine colored eyebrows.
Grey skin like a pigeons
And satellites resembling teeth.
A storm threatens as I catch a glimpse
of her chartreuse, lavender and plum printed silk panties.
Hiding behind the shadow of her legs.
I habitually do this.
The image followed me as nude chickens gather,
Seeking out warmth and companionship.
Morosely catapulting vague simulations,
of female forms as if made of mated
phosphors and colored dough.
Determined to overrun the best of my
sketch book for the next three weeks
Angry images of conically distorted
Female features blurts out grave images of
Horndoggers and Angels
Collapsing onto hot trampolines
And forgoing foreplay.
I squirt honey from my golden breastplate,
Like I always do.
Withdraw my most nickel plated and enamel
coated flicker of torture.
I then Put it back into the glove box.
Begin to descend into third gear and
Connect my cassette tape to the head
Of the stereo deck.
Forget about taking my laundry out of the dryer
And wear shoes that smell like mildew.