(no subject)
ars poetica
i’ve written little bits before
about the apostles’ problems and their flippant new york God
posited ideas dead and dying
deplorable but with that last sprawl in them
(you see, sometimes i like to watch.)
i’ve been a priest, an aztec, heart in hand, hand in air
moribundity seeming astraddle profundity
sprinting a quickie in before the finish
but let’s remember, last rites are still a prayer
i’ve posed and prodded, genuflected
before the frank, the genuine,
the feast of fleshly lusts and wine
my tongue has touched on tastelessness
played the host to guests of sachet and little else
whose wakes smell of too much cologne
and the telltale hidings of endeavoring alone
i’ve defiled demitasse, defrocked demeter
called her sugar and slapped her ass
on the way to my den of sin
my studio kitchen
where i make my coffee saccharined
and it feels like those gorgeous satin-hemmed
pajamas that i’ve seen hanging hefneresque
in the shopping books
(she only likes me for my looks)
i’ve written little bits before
about the apostles’ problems and their flippant new york God
posited ideas dead and dying
deplorable but with that last sprawl in them
(you see, sometimes i like to watch.)
i’ve been a priest, an aztec, heart in hand, hand in air
moribundity seeming astraddle profundity
sprinting a quickie in before the finish
but let’s remember, last rites are still a prayer
i’ve posed and prodded, genuflected
before the frank, the genuine,
the feast of fleshly lusts and wine
my tongue has touched on tastelessness
played the host to guests of sachet and little else
whose wakes smell of too much cologne
and the telltale hidings of endeavoring alone
i’ve defiled demitasse, defrocked demeter
called her sugar and slapped her ass
on the way to my den of sin
my studio kitchen
where i make my coffee saccharined
and it feels like those gorgeous satin-hemmed
pajamas that i’ve seen hanging hefneresque
in the shopping books
(she only likes me for my looks)