Flyin’ Out the Roundabouts and Side Roads
Dastardly. Drawn-out. Cockleshelled. Shame-faced. Reprehensibled scribbled and shammed. Teased and fore-pleased and for never thanks, ma’am.
Take out the trash the back way, Samantha. The world might see. Just wait you fifty years and slap that soakin-sex there on the mount ‘n’ flat-chumped TV screen. Digitize your mother’s milk. Shave your silk. Turn outways upward of soured outcha ilk.
Crank it up! Oh, crank it up! Chig up the chipstunk and naked cup. Release the bondage that we can’t see. Flip out your devil on bended knees.
Pretend when you can that time enough is time without. Sit in a corner and milk the pout. Spit about. Motor clout. Day of in and days of out. Suppered by. Panty spout.
Diggin’ up the dancer.
I called the answer prancer.
He well endowed me through the shroud and
Now I feigned advancer.
We shot a marble with our eyes closed–distant space–and missed the mark by generations of severely astro-laughspans. Gape the mouth and throw it out and grasped the sea
a water can.