Slave

Slave                            December 18, 2013

She lock'd me in her Bastille with her shackles

As her subito coitus slave and her rodeo ride:
With ev'ry erection, she just lets off evil cackles,

Ne'er will I be able to ensure my phallis can hide.

Swirling her lather'd tongue, musing what it takes,

To arouse and beckon me: "Come, Baby Cakes!"

I feel half-baked, buried amid my flaccid tire's mire,

Thy soul is smoldering, tho', inside her warm fire.

What shall I do to achieve for Saint Peter a lil' rest

As all I do is submit to her to be laid at her behest?

Honest Abe allegedly ne'er lied, but what about me?

He died ensconced amid thespians once 'pon a time,

He ne'er proclaim'd nor even said he'd emancipate me:

For if there'll be Spinning Jenny, it'll never be a crime!

Till thy secretions with thy soldiers fill her with need,

Thy head is so tired, pound'd purple post thy discharge.

'Tis I, Zeus the deus, and I shall spill to you thy seed!

And she, a libertine, loves Saint Peter since he is large!

I live at her plantation, playing in her muff my way,

Always on thy back for when she wants to come, to lay.

To her chambers, I shall go to thee! Salacity doth await!

I am ne'er paid till shot: all o' us mutual slaves copulate! 

I sip her sweat o' the flesh; she plays my fish o' the sea;

Drop thy anchor in her unchaste port a dead cherry!

May we make war in bed! Two arms, 'tis our genitalia  

From blackest o' nightly fun till the break o' sunlit dawn:

Let her spasm peak thee to her climatic mount'd regalia;

Till she sips thy milt o' thy dong's Big Bang's spawn!

Fly Away, My Brother!

Fly Away, My Brother!                    December 18, 2013

A life wanton o' a rich treasure chest,

And I wish for a change o' your behest:

As I tumble 'pon the rocks, 'tis I, the sot,

I tip thy empty bottle, till I've sadly forgot.

But 'tis thee, my brother! Amid thee arms,

Watching o'er as I sail at setting off alarms.

What shall I say to thee at the day's twilight

 Upon Zero Hour amid darkest eternal night?

The wings o' cherubs seem o' so near,

And I see the light, but feel much fear.

I live for our talks o' the common cause,

The well, tho', is sans a contract clause.

I wish to bid this world fare thee well,

As I leave o' a life once within my shell.

I celebrate in our tidings o' our fraternity,

As you doth smile, tho' I sob the Lost Sea.

Sail to Atlantis for a Mephistophelian Waltz:

Let the inferno lock me within Hell's vaults!

O' My Brother, 'tis still hope for you,

'Tis not one cloud! May ye sail Baby Blue!

Do you see sultry Solis and her erotic rays
As ye sail her coquette sky, dock at her bays?

Fly away, my brother! You must be free!

Life is now dead, and you need not be!

When the newspapers claim God is dead,

We're doom'd, Fellow; the Devil hath said.

Seek your salvation! O' Brother to me!

'Tis too late for I; thy democide shall be....

May I Drive Your Car?

May I Drive Your Car?                     December 17, 2013

Are you to quiver in your leather seat

As you ride my purple head'd beef?

My loin doth burn; 'tis I in sheer heat,

Fornicating as one licentious ol' thief

To rob thy hearts as birds and bees,
We'll rock the boat, sipping 'pon tea!

Rolling the waves o' deep blue seas.

We coquette debauchees amid intimacy:
Sailing libertine skies unto Salacity!

May I drive hard to your car?
Surely 'tis not immoral to ask?

A trip to Snatch, our pickup bar,
And we, the sots, sip a coital flask.

Why surprised? Are we estranged

Upon our erotic nocturnal deluge,

When so much carnal has changed

Amid salacity, 'tis our sin's refuge?

May I press against thy right foot

Fast 'pon your drench'd gas pedal?

Shall ye come home safe at my root

When I slam it hard in your metal?

Let me reach to your alluring heart
As I shall ride thee coital spirit free!

You've upset Eden's bad apple cart,

And I'm under arrest, lock and key!

May I drive hard to your car?

May we go to that country star,

The first shiny one 'pon the right

Till we reach her light post night?

You shall always be my heartbeat,
And the bull ride 'pon your seat!

Thy hot rod'll rev 'tween thee legs:

Ye sip thy seed till so tipsy o' kegs!

Sinful Promenade

Sinful Promenade                  December 16, 2013

Crossing the bridge o'er the gulf's River Styx,

I tuned into jazz, grooved, and got me some kicks.

The Causeway stretch'd from Pontchartrain a-far,

To N'Awluns we drove, in our decadent sinful car.

Upon arrival, I look'd for a bit o' fun on Rue Bourbon,

A week o' debauchery, knowing we shan't recall,

Our eyes would be in pain as vampires in the sun;

Yet we would howl as wolves amid the moonlit ball!

 Le quartier français décadent dans les mœurs! 

Wild Cyprians et leurs beaux seins on parade!

'Tis Mardi Gras! We shall feast 'pon wet beaver!

Arousing sights, beads a-flying with ev'ry flash,

 And I ne'er have seen a fun sight any sweeter; 

'Tis our engross'd indulgence amid our masquerade

This delicious and fun: this Sinful Promenade!

Inebriated we are, we grabb'd hold of our tarts,
Intent 'pon pounding and eating their gash,

Vamoosed to our room with those horny, wet sots!
T'was the night that was young, the fun was lots!

Our big wooden totem poles peak'd so high,

And they ne'er bother'd to breathe even one sigh

Before they devour'd our blood-fill'd coqs 

Till our geysers shot their faces with our white rocks!

Their eyes were blind'd by our protein shakes, 

Loving deeply salty rewards o' a creamy daze! 

Those dames meant little to we drunken blokes; 

T'were Cyprians, that our tallywackers soak'd!

'Tis true I ne'er knew and do not care nor recall 

And after ev'ry midnight ride as if the silversmith Paul.

We'd loved our night with bull rides and rodeos,

But now the moon hath descent; 'tis now a new day.

Our wild debauchery is now amid the clock's decay:

But we still know not who rode us to this day!

Fly Away to Neverland, My Loves!

Fly Away to Neverland, My Loves!                       December 16, 2013

'Tis I, the pigeon, flying South for Winter,

Amid the final breath of Fall and a dark new day,

Looking 'pon the souls running 'round, each a sprinter,

Looking for light, but the sun died; 'tis now so gray.

My feathers are frigid, the icicles stifling my life,

And I live amid Jack Frost's latest darkest o' night.

The concrete jungles and nature's calls amid my strife:

 A dying world amid painful wist, reading their last rite.

And I shall fly away to Neverland, my loves,

Till I see another Summer, so hot amid the sunlight,

And my soul, so very lost, and I? Looking at the doves

At peace with their prosperity, poor in greens, rich in delight,

A season where the diamond kings play, my nat'l pastime,

T'will fly away to Neverland, and the green fields o' thy mind!

South o' the Equator, 'tis I amid the palmettos,

Villagers so happy, yet not one with many dimes.

Children running 'round, performing a veritable libretto;

An impoverish'd banana republic, yet so amid happy times.

My loves to the North! Shall ye see the new light o'day?

Your spirits must coast the skies; baby blues killing the gray!

And I shall fly away to Neverland, my loves,

To a new posterity amid the sunlit sublime,

Where sea gulls are in unison with doves,

Where there is no avarice nor crime!

My soul is bitter cold watching the ivy die again:

The walls o' the outfield sans joy, and I always cry,

When I toss another paper wad into the round bin;

The symbolism so clear; my soul may well die.

Allow me, O' Mighty God! Let me fly away!

I shall pray to thee most fervently, with love, urgency,

And I, the pigeon, residing in the Windy City jungle's gray:
To the South, I must fly! To a new Summer's day!

Holy Moses! (Shall We See the View?)

Holy Moses! (Shall We Oversee the View?)           December 16, 2013

When I look into your eyes, mon amour,

And I see those baby blue skies, the dove

Doth fall 'pon my burden'd shoulders

As I have push'd those giant boulders.

When I see the light o' my sunrise,

I only notice you, and amid my rise

I pray 'pon the pulpit o' my heart

As God paints, and you are His art!

Holy Moses! My lover, my doll!

Shall we oversee the view o' it all?

Looking on o'er the Seven States,

And I? We shall forever live our fates

As one in unison with God's Nature,

O' our love's nuances, the nomenclature

Forever to thrive amid cotton blue skies:
I love you, doll, always breathing sighs!

Let us sprout wings and fly away

To our Xanadu and Eternity, fair Mae!

My harp and your arrows, Cupid's tools,
Our harmony to create, we poetic fools!

Our posterity so bright, 'tis so blinding,

Our ardors 'tween us, our contract binding
Our love 'tis eternal, we conjugate our tryst,

And as we exchange vows, 'tis our wist,

A covenant o' with our God, 'tis so Divine:

Till we cross River Jordan, always in line.

A Rainy Day into the December Night

A Rainy Day into the December Night                        December 14, 2013

A rainy December morn 'pon
The death of Winter's resurrection:

A chill in the air, most certainly
 Burning the smoke o' my despair;

And I, the once-proud diamond king,
 Nine pros smile 'pon a kiss by the sun,

As summer died two months hither,
And I am now resign'd to go on the run. 

As many "V"-shaped formations
Fly unto another sunshine beach,

And I, blind'd; the rheumatic hands pray,
 A Julian quadrant's last reprieve.

No longer am I virile, my easy plebiens,
For I am bereft o' my life's sunshine;
And I seek to find Life's new meaning, 

The morning now always o' blackest night;

But what do I recall o' the sweet sunrises
My eternal Spring shall by April bequeath,

When the grass is green, the girls smoking; and
Mosquitoes so thirsty, they slip by my sheath;
As I beg for a last stand 'pon wounded knees,
The Wurlitzer shall always compel me to "Charge!"

Christmas will be crow'd in 11 days hence,
 But the rooster hasn't danced, it makes no sense:

Another day, more cloudy amid His Gray,
And I linger as its victim and have no say.

But I seem stuck with a flat 'pon the paved creek
 The gray beaver creek, as we quote the quarterback:

I'm a slugger begging for her four bagger bases,
 My sole wish to round her third and head for her home.

I desire to drive, to score as I penetrate the path,
And I shall slide home as I lube her gears a bath!

'Tis another rainy day, my loves, and I am worn,
 And all I see is the cold wretch o' a December morn:

A rainy quietus into Winter's night amid my discontent,
 Tho' I ask if there was even a day when I had a mint.

As the rain shall ne'er die, I must fight this bout
Did Mudville lose once Mighty Casey struck out?