As I exit toward the light
does it show – is it too obvious
my distaste for swarms anthills...?
cast out outcast
filtering the saccharine garbage
the parochial sanctimonious fecal prurient rampage
of snorting blurred shapes
that scabrous ambiguous lurked.
the angry giggles that snaggedly flowed from the dumb assholes
the toiling maggots underground
their meaningless jottings
their pinguid pigments splattered on the pungent spice of the floor
as they shuffled and shuffled along
chatting and chatting no end.
also the girls – their wombs
their wombs – uttering those excruciating screams
of weeping sarcasm against the teeming crotches
and then the blinding objects foolishly deemed to protect them
those bogus wedges athwart their transpierced chests
them chorally groaning against the weight
of so much unuttered script above their thoraxes.
agape and thrall-less their sparkling cunts
crusading in a barrage of squeals of blasphemy for the ultimate victory
of their outlawed god.
breathing hard now
as my polished cock boldly thaws
all their icy scorn – layers upon frozen layers
accumulated over centuries of forced burial
and accelerated spoilage on bended knees
shivering for fear and...
for fear and cold
crushed on the corners
on the corners of the underground.
we fought with our backs against the ceiling
listlessly wooing disaster
tottering tortoises of a doomed world
speeding toward an exploding sun
our wills won – here it stood unscrambled our ceiling
our dissipated traits
as though after a too protracted orgasm
collapsing into the faces of gargoyles...
they muttered first and then openly barked
fingering my marmorean face that “I’m too willful
aloof” the censorious women
rebuking my stance – their udders steadily pawed during the alarms
now deflated by safety.
no longer dazzled by their meretricious beauty
chug along worthless rake
and lift your cyprian eyes toward the exit
from whence the sky hangs...
for there’s nothing else for you to do down here
now that the bombs have stopped and the women won’t pawn
their replenishing vitality for a bit of skillfully provided venting
of their jammed triggers
the haven has sunk to the sorry sight of levels ordinary
I’m too bored with normal people
this subterranean setting
formerly if fleetingly so exciting now lacks all...
lacks all kind of enticement
has got no lushness and no...
goading nor spurring nor...
I came out of the bombed tunnel
ran shrill the cats – no longer awed and silent
and I had left my dad dead
leaning on a wall of the subway
he had become suddenly incoherent
talking about almonds – his rambling phrases
how it was not entirely proper to eat almonds in bed
the gnawing the sticky crumbs
I realized he was dying – I had opened my questioning mouth
he was looking at me without a trace of recognition
and as I went to hold him he was already dead
a lump leaning on a wall
with the oblivious women crumpled all around
yearning for hands
for thirsty eager hands
and me slithering
a cat silent and industrious
to a fault...
For Every Tib and Tom Cat
36. tacky fingers and all
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