Palimpsests on the nuns’ tummies
I’ve seen the iron-willed pencil
with which my busy umbrella striates
its delirium tremens on the tarnished buttocks
of all those clouds so pregnant with malice
– all of them rostrums embellished
with twee tackiness and average abjection
from where stultified heads of preachers preach
their claustrophobia into spirals of pocks
that rain on earth and roam the men’s-rooms
where mopey moan the moraines.
Pocky are the morbid buttocks
every pock a stemma that oozes semens
as if it were another Roman nun’s navel.
Ah the semens – nemeses of my mama!
Would she pester against the establishment!
An establishment that allows the demeaning of the female
(like the podophthalmic antennae of the crabs that haunt the merkins
the stilted gems whose meaningful wet samaras fall
like omens on the ludicrous wobbly cobbles
where the manhoods of men trot larval and writhing)
an establishment vile enough to wallow
on the ruins of the vulnerable female made then as labile
as the dry striated semens the nuns umbilically store
stunning sluts seen from a distance...
Wiry by the wayside
sheltered by some rusty eaves from the slums
tried as an awkward obstetrician to read the new wisdom written
by the pencil of my umbrella on the bankrupted marrow of the sky...
It was like trying to read luggies and snot
collapsed on the hilt of my hand
a semen cru of a dispirited vintage gone to pot.
My mom was right
musclemen emboss with their fist the welkins
as if the welkins were the walls of their dens
where they mate and sputter
and scatter the entrails and whittle the skulls.
And the morbid clouds are the foolhardy buttocks
where the fists collided
the teasing asses
harnessed in poisonous chill where the noses snooped
and later the mops erased the names of the mimes that came to cry
their semens entanglements of resented writings done
with pricks that were fists.
Pops like a van carrying fireworks and exploding midway
a bolt of lightning.
(my eyes on stilts burning like squibs)
to nil comes my cavil
I only know that
the sky’s the puppet ass of a worthless fat whore also.
For Every Tib and Tom Cat
26. burning like squibs
- ► 2008 (22)
- ▼ d’octubre (7)
- ► 2006 (20)
- ► 2005 (39)