lady i swear by all flowers
Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn
I hear America singing
The varied carols I hear,—
A killer bee that’s stinging
My inner inner ear.
I see you, Allen Ginsberg, in a supermarket in California,
fondling nakedly a pair of hairy kiwis,
smoking a cigarette with dirty fingers and a gratified expression,
fantasizing about Walt Whitman fantasizing about grocery boys
fantasizing about free bananas,
farting windily from your often-plugged-up-with-cocks asshole,
smelling like the unvenilated bathroom at Joe’s Greasy Sandwiches,
squeezing goop from a volcanic & holy pimple on your forearm,
weirding out the children who see NAMBLA written in your eyes,
scandalizing the squares who can’t handle their fruit in public,
waiting for the police to come give you a happy ending.
420 days a year,
Eight days a week,
I climb high trees
& live in canopies.
I water, divined,
My vegetable mind,
& reach my peak
Where clouds career.
The Secret Sits
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.
Ring around the rosie,
A pocket full of knowsie.
Are we, and be
Unknown to us.
We roundly play.
The music airs,
We circle away.
The music sounds.
The beats, they drop.
We ring in rounds
Without a stop.
A man from Nantucket named Pym
Once spotted where peng-u-ins swim
Some seals he attested
Were left unmolested,
(At least, that's according to him.)
A limerick is laid link by link.
It falls like a chain down a sink.
It goes down the drain
Like a free-falling train,
And lands with a twist and a kink.
There once was a man from Green Bay
Who made it a habit each day
To fondle an udder
And churn his own butter,
Then go for a nap in the hay.
Receiving a blast from the pass,
He runs down the field at full gas.
He runs to the end zone:
His guys leave the friend zone,—
Come slapping and tapping his ass.