I saw a great teapot I wanted to get you this stupendous 100% cotton royal blue and black checked shirt, There was a red and black striped one too Then I saw these boots at a place called Chuckles They laced up to about two inches above your ankles All leather and in red, black or purple It was hard to have no money today I won't even speak about the possible flowers and kinds of lingerie All linen and silk with not-yet-perfumed laces Brilliant enough for any of the Graces Full of luxury, grace notes, prosperousness and charm But I can only praise you with this poem— Its being is the sa
I write this love as all transition
As if I'm in instinctual flight,
a small lady bug
With only two black dots on its back
Climbs like a blind turtle on my pen
And begins to drink ink in the light
of tradition
We're allowed to crowd love in
Like a significant myth
resting still on paper
I remember being bitten by a spider
It was like feeling what they call
the life of the mind
Stinging my thigh like Dante
the penis is something that fits into the vagina so's the tampax or sponge therefore Aristotle never thought of women at all the penis like a tree fits into mouth, hands and asshole too it can be the subject of an academic poem disguised as a sloop, catapult or catamaran's mastpole never the monthly menstruation will she belie tradition's bloody demagoguery enough to appear in the rough in a poem in a monthly I dream I had a deep cut on my finger filled with a delicious tofu cake and when you took off your clothes your penis was among them hanging by a cord on a hook I took it down hopi