"I"
I
I tried to write some poetry, but London
got in my way with her flashing
lights and happening scenes. Someone
teach me how to network with the white man.
I fucked a virgin in the ass and
she creamed - I was unsure
but she burned beef incense
and slowly trimmed my pubic hairs.
I read Eliot, Ginsberg, Shakespeare
Dylan, Poe, Plato, Nietzsche
and Wittgenstein - yet still
knew nothing at all about Love.
I sang really badly in my bedroom;
earphones crackling Melodic
Death Metal made in Sweden
by the New Aeterna Deus.
I listened to Zeppelin and The Beatles - a
bunch of white guys ripping off
the Negroes. Monsterous Guitar
Solos then blew my mind, thanks Jimi.
II
I called to Glasgow, I went to Glasgow
I died in Glasgow, ressurrected
in Glasgow, Glasgow was kind
to me, I <3 Glasgow.
I fell platonically for Kings Sutton, I went
to Kings Sutton - Kings Sutton
spoke to me in three different
dialects, each were exactly the same.
I used to be with Oxford where the red
shone brightly, now all is a faded
burgundy and relocated to Birmingham
for impossible musical inventories.
I listened to Croydon with a bass-slap-pop and
furious political alignments and the
souls of British Ska and Grindcore
kicking down the doors of a Dutch girl.
I read Dutch Canadians on the
internet, and wept, because
they looked like distant cousins
from California.
I conversed with Canadian Negroes about
everything and nothing. And we
misspelt words for fun, slightly
homophobic but never really angry.
I punched Whitby in the face repeatedly
until it became Leicester. Bitter
green clouds of absynthe, laced
with the cunt juices of Rotherham.
I wrote to Malaysia, Malaysia wrote me back
with dirty fragments of genius sparkling
like stolen diamonds in hookah-smoke
from the mouth of an iconoclastic dreamer.
I dreamed about Gulfport; flickers of Flaming Red
engulf my field of vision in a haze of
emoting. Untold ecstasies await
via a new innovation - Audiorgasms.
I masturbated furiously over Kentucky and never
stopped once to think of its impossibility:
Vibrant sapphires. Green popsicles.
Towels. Opeth! Sex! Cum!
III
I finished writing some poetry, London in the
end only enhancing my lucid crack-
-house stoner breed hallucinatory
fantasies in which I and my three
cocks impregnate Monica Bellucci,
Adriana Lima and Angelina Jolie
all at the same time. I then came
around some fifteen hours after
bleeding from my balls, with the
final traces of orgasmic residue
dribbling down Your Chin.
© Muhammad Butt 2005
(6/11/05)
I tried to write some poetry, but London
got in my way with her flashing
lights and happening scenes. Someone
teach me how to network with the white man.
I fucked a virgin in the ass and
she creamed - I was unsure
but she burned beef incense
and slowly trimmed my pubic hairs.
I read Eliot, Ginsberg, Shakespeare
Dylan, Poe, Plato, Nietzsche
and Wittgenstein - yet still
knew nothing at all about Love.
I sang really badly in my bedroom;
earphones crackling Melodic
Death Metal made in Sweden
by the New Aeterna Deus.
I listened to Zeppelin and The Beatles - a
bunch of white guys ripping off
the Negroes. Monsterous Guitar
Solos then blew my mind, thanks Jimi.
II
I called to Glasgow, I went to Glasgow
I died in Glasgow, ressurrected
in Glasgow, Glasgow was kind
to me, I <3 Glasgow.
I fell platonically for Kings Sutton, I went
to Kings Sutton - Kings Sutton
spoke to me in three different
dialects, each were exactly the same.
I used to be with Oxford where the red
shone brightly, now all is a faded
burgundy and relocated to Birmingham
for impossible musical inventories.
I listened to Croydon with a bass-slap-pop and
furious political alignments and the
souls of British Ska and Grindcore
kicking down the doors of a Dutch girl.
I read Dutch Canadians on the
internet, and wept, because
they looked like distant cousins
from California.
I conversed with Canadian Negroes about
everything and nothing. And we
misspelt words for fun, slightly
homophobic but never really angry.
I punched Whitby in the face repeatedly
until it became Leicester. Bitter
green clouds of absynthe, laced
with the cunt juices of Rotherham.
I wrote to Malaysia, Malaysia wrote me back
with dirty fragments of genius sparkling
like stolen diamonds in hookah-smoke
from the mouth of an iconoclastic dreamer.
I dreamed about Gulfport; flickers of Flaming Red
engulf my field of vision in a haze of
emoting. Untold ecstasies await
via a new innovation - Audiorgasms.
I masturbated furiously over Kentucky and never
stopped once to think of its impossibility:
Vibrant sapphires. Green popsicles.
Towels. Opeth! Sex! Cum!
III
I finished writing some poetry, London in the
end only enhancing my lucid crack-
-house stoner breed hallucinatory
fantasies in which I and my three
cocks impregnate Monica Bellucci,
Adriana Lima and Angelina Jolie
all at the same time. I then came
around some fifteen hours after
bleeding from my balls, with the
final traces of orgasmic residue
dribbling down Your Chin.
© Muhammad Butt 2005
(6/11/05)