Slam Poetry
No.1
My vagina, It burns
Like the fire that is within
The without of the wherever
Forever, but not never
For ever if the glove fits
But if not you must acquit
The Kissy Kissy boo boo
Of your blue suede shoe
Is on the horizon of the ocean of my bed
That renders the machine of God
Small seedlings burst into bloom
Fighting the desire
That is so rustic a tomato
or Tomahtoe
Whichever you please?
No. 2
When do you begin to finish
or finish the beginning
of the story that you started to tell
after you finished with that sandwich
that you so casually ordered at the bar
after the glass of Sam Adams which you spilled a little of
and the handfull of cashews that you eschew on the balcony of my breast
As your hand caresses the small of my back I wonder
whether I have any library books due
or what I am going to have for lunch tomorrow
Not Mexican again
Not Chinese again but my stomach says that it must be something of substance
Salty not sweet like your kiss on a Sunday afternoon
which is the end of the weekend
but the beginning of a new week
The Sabbath
do not drive
do not work
do not curse
but hold me
No. 3
The vibration at my side is beginning to annoy
But I cannot answer I am at work, after all
It is against the rules
Kraiggy Poo the mighty Thor of Valhalla
Out to battle the Leviathan as if Ishmael and the Captain
The Cassock shall be worn again
Once Odin has braved the ocean of my vast pubic hair
Sugarcoated battle axe spreads the lips of victory
My vagina, It burns
Like the fire that is within
The without of the wherever
Forever, but not never
For ever if the glove fits
But if not you must acquit
The Kissy Kissy boo boo
Of your blue suede shoe
Is on the horizon of the ocean of my bed
That renders the machine of God
Small seedlings burst into bloom
Fighting the desire
That is so rustic a tomato
or Tomahtoe
Whichever you please?
No. 2
When do you begin to finish
or finish the beginning
of the story that you started to tell
after you finished with that sandwich
that you so casually ordered at the bar
after the glass of Sam Adams which you spilled a little of
and the handfull of cashews that you eschew on the balcony of my breast
As your hand caresses the small of my back I wonder
whether I have any library books due
or what I am going to have for lunch tomorrow
Not Mexican again
Not Chinese again but my stomach says that it must be something of substance
Salty not sweet like your kiss on a Sunday afternoon
which is the end of the weekend
but the beginning of a new week
The Sabbath
do not drive
do not work
do not curse
but hold me
No. 3
The vibration at my side is beginning to annoy
But I cannot answer I am at work, after all
It is against the rules
Kraiggy Poo the mighty Thor of Valhalla
Out to battle the Leviathan as if Ishmael and the Captain
The Cassock shall be worn again
Once Odin has braved the ocean of my vast pubic hair
Sugarcoated battle axe spreads the lips of victory