¡Shazbot! The Recipe’s good

¡Shazbot! The Recipe’s good–it was the Goddamned cooks; or i was a teenage Mephistopheles
pedo-stash bastard of Hetaira bingeing on Gelato Stracciatella and Miller High Life

by Quasimofo

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
–William Shakespeare, The Tempest–

act 1/Elusedate:
Gerry rig the atom after appeals for recreation
end in yet another party craze on the gaming isle.
Baroque rock hits the Looney Daze of your      SE        LE
fast food sociology.
Touchstones are poor subs for tits.
Ernie’s not psychologically equipped to pitch
but he can certainly catch for Bert.
Like a flattened 12 0z careening thru bug haze in your rearview
like a lover who cums twice before you do
like sin grilled poopsickle
like koolaidesiac hairetical sexually frustrated dolphin week
like bungie-tailed tomcats shoved off the heights of water towers
like the likenesses of lichens lie king lycanthropy in Lichtenstein
like giving the Devil his Mountain Dew…

Tutelage/Shade seeks shade:
Mexican Hipsters of nonce chequy calumnies
sit on the commode listening to Depeche Mode
‘I once flew this dishwasher to Jupiter’.
[the domestic trumps the foreign rumplesmoothdraught]
+if statues of Greek Goddesses came to life
+they’d say: “Where’s my motherfucking arms?”
–As long as it’s not hurting anybody but ourselves,
why can’t we be left alone to do what we want?
–Cause someone got horny.

3 frog/Ex-pulsed from eDennies/Commentary on a Cocteau poem:
These two words {‘tendaberry’ and ‘wind-sheer’} plus ‘mess’ sort of leaves me with the impression that this piece may be Cocteau’s Fodor’s guide to the wild frontier of his inner mindcraft metropolis complete with multicultural big bang expansion fleshing out reverse-engineered environs and a pantheon of cultural influences ready to philosophize, sing, dance, make you laugh, fight evil, and do kung fu. Is your name “T’ang Leung”? Yeah, it damn well is. So step onto the dream trolley and join in the adventures of this drunken style frolicking folly. [the cool type of folly, that is].

Fyodor/rosebud no. 6
pisspot day break on broke spine dot matrix politico
i luv the acadaemonic trash can with the foot pedal kick starting err ant th ink splatts
no the peoplelation don’t know
at least be brief to spare grief
hexagrams on BMW buttons
it’s just the tip of the ice-machine
stoned white how’s mobile beachhouses r the rage atop jags of sea god’s morning wood
The Germans–they can win a world cup, just not a world war
batbox on the eyelash awaiting water
get back in the godsgrace by making halos with cell phone lights
double sided dildos on old typecasts with airport security fuzz lickers
the unfairness is the point, created in his own hindness
foil faced deadmaus poverty in the RR we monopolized with scotty dog
quest onion the goat head love dollars pagun icing on the cake
veiled maidenhead sex sells coffins–i like the ‘Bordo Oro Fiori’
chart the errr th and give Princess Eugenie redneck teeth STP cap
it was all spelled out on the sofa while you were passed-out dreaming of the mysteries in mounds

fiefdom/Francis Bacon and Bauhaus &
Joy Division Warsaw rattler:
he may have ripped off Dali’s melted gig and rebuilt Davey Faustian’s loft
take your umbrella into the meatlocker and find the dentist
Beauty fucked him over so he developed a fetish for hard spankings and jack-off assistance
get ’em before they get your blobster
gassy fur angelatin and one more blow-hard for Battleship Potempkin
kill the pope in an electric chair throne of Christendominatrix
fuck inside ur cube and skewer flesh face peals
The Walking Dead meets Monet
stress your stress and murder all the rest
idiots with woodblocks arc 2 X 2 in 4 X 4
Satantric scripture vultures make photos and artsy Teutonic postcards
a fancy teacup re-imagines the world or distracts for 40 seconds
i have to p P p P p P p P p P p P p P p P p P p P p P p P p P
sorry, that new position you and your wife like does not look relaxed
my application to unity just got axed

4 thoughts on “¡Shazbot! The Recipe’s good

    1. Thx Randall. i luv the fun. When there’s so much seriousness in life, looming death and that biz, i try to express some, escape some, confront/make sense of some, pick myself up, dust off, recover, uncover, and hand glide. Love to throw in a mix of indirect metaphoric and themed writing with occasional concrete bluntness, aphoristic notes and spontaneous bebop, experimental with traditional.

  1. This is after Robin Williams free-association rants that induce the ‘can’t look away’ response. What I like best in this is the absolute fear I would launch from going up to perform a reading of this in front of a crowd. Well beyond my comfort zone; I kind of have to now.

    I expect finger clicks to break decorum into snickering with such potent quotables as,”double sided dildos on old typecasts with airport security fuzz lickers”. They can’t not respond. I might get booed, laughed at….I will not get an “ignored patiently while I finish” indulgence reaction…this is not that kind of poem.

    1. Yeah, was sad to hear of Robin passing. Loved ‘Mork’ from when i was a kid living with just my mom in South Houston going way back to late 70’s early 80’s.

      Speak of readings–i had this idea for a Hipster poetry gathering. i’m gonna have to track down another turtle neck and some tight cuorduroys along with an e-cigar. Grow out my goat-tee/beard. I’ll have to run it by the bookstore lady. We can have some wine and smoked salmon like Finn McCouls!

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