sort of streaming. . .


How Many People Does It Take To Screw. . .



a light bulb
three way
switch
medium
low is out
high is out of sight
while one hundred. . .
watt is it that I am missing?

Damned, I remember last night
cold cream dripping like frozen
stalactites from warm hand
on my hot, eager back. . .
and I was going to get him back for that,
but, that light bulb and his computer
are all to blame for my demise
and his surprise when I coldcocked him
with ice water
and found myself
(was I lost?)
sitting on that frozen stalagmite
in my hot cave
oozing with
my own
sweet syrup
and he smiled wanly between
the oohs and ahhs of my deep pleasure
which he couldn't hear from the moans
in his own aethereal zones I measure
with my own,
I looking back at him swooning
I mooning him as I have been wont to do
for as long as I have known him, his tune,
since June,
I being able
rather than that surname Cain,
and it worked, that icy glass,
my naked. . .
ask me what I did with it
and I will answer with a mouthful of him
until I turned him inside out
most unexpectedly
and I fell for him
first my heart
and soul,
then,
head over heels
as he tried in vain to disengage himself
from choking shorts of sorts
and I threatened to help him out of his pure disarray
and fell again for him again
in one sweet instant of gravitational pull
my cigarette launched into oblivion
and he and I both helpless to stop the magnetic pull
that slammed me to the carpet, chair and all,
and first the warped picture seemed out of place
as my legs still hanging horizontally
defied mere movement
till I could see if I were well enough to continue
looking for the light
that still mattered,
and I laughed at the incumbent pain that waited
in the wings for me
whose wings took flying not at all
and I spread eagles all my ancient limbs
as if aerobics were my game
or ying yang were my name
and the future was in doubt
if I might be knocked out
or not;
he looked surprised
as his hole life lay open to his scrutiny
and she showed him both Moana Lisa smile
on her Mona Lisa face
and he liked and licked it, what he saw,
but, now, it was time to change the light bulb
which shattered in a conflagration of sparks that flew
when lamp and shade came tumbling down
and left them both in silent dimness
to the daylight on a crimson rug,
the ultimate coitus interruptus
of their desperate meat
hanging hot and waiting
in this August heat. . .

and he lived a different life because of me




Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 1103 times
Written on 2007-08-16 at 19:52

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Lea Foverskov
i like this rambling text of images and words and feelings. because although it rambles it still sticks to a point (which is often where i fail). one is left not quite sure how to feel, and perhaps a litlle emotionally tired from all the impressions. great work!

-Lea
2007-10-13