Lie Prone

Lie Prone
by Smokey Farris


Lie prone and relax
your back.
Wear an evening gown first.
Wear a spider ring from
the Halloween before last year.
Caress your breast with talc.
Dry your eyes with
opium smoke
and crumble the remains
of the cheese.
I want to lay down with you.
And go through my basic


There she sits alongside the herbal oils
and homeopathic medicine store.
She’s saying a sentence while adjusting her
akward skeleton and milking the affection of
the seated.

Painted white like the background of a naval officer.
She displays features such as,
wine colored eyebrows.
Grey skin like a pigeons.
And satellites resembling teeth.

A storm threatens as I catch a glimpse
of her charuse, lavender and plum printed silk panties
hiding behind the shadow of her legs.
With Flowers outlined in black
and ashed out gray whiskers
hanging around.

I respond.

I habitually do this.

The images follow me as nude chickens gather,
Seeking out warmth and companionship.
Morosely catapulting vague simulations,
of female form
as if made of mated
phosphors and colored cookie dough.

Determined to overrun the best of my
sketch book for the next three weeks
Angry images of conically distorted
girly facial features blurt out
horndoggers and angels
that collapse onto hot trampolines
and forgoing foreplay
they fornicate in weird ways.

I squirt honey from my golden breastplate,
like I always do.

I withdraw my most nickel-plated and enamel
coated flicker of torture, my belt buckle.
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.


I kick back and watch the leather whips
and lapping of fire red sausage that causes
a case of diarrhea.
I know that I only eat guacamole
and I wont get it.

I judge American values as a pop icons.
Bashfully except the exchange policy
on good old fashioned wide eyed
grinning pussycats.
Smiling Jack Cheese burgers,
and frumpy bent over women
that sell Skill-saws
and tell time by alarm clock.
Even in the confines
of a late model sedans.

I want out of here
so I can jack up my Jaguar
in the hen house
that I watered down
with urine during the night.
I Shit near the daisies.
So, I can see the moonlight
and let the night grow bigger
than a movie screen.
I went via the rose bud,
the ash and the Junebug.

So, I can forgive the easy dilly dally
of my orange dinghy, and dunk
a donut
in memory of my high school
brother doing loop de loops
while hunting for
apricot brandy
and triple sec.
Fried chicken and
Ann’s sweet porcupine.

1 thought on “Lie Prone

  1. Shucks, Smokey, I wanted you to stay with her and make love to the dead, but you trail off into your free associations, which includes some brilliance (“and let the night grow bigger than a movie screen”) but not penetrating, revelatory insight. Quasimofo, good to see you back. Maybe your empathic understanding can help out.

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