The Art of Getting Laid
Less divine destiny,
More predator's ambush,
We found each other
By cab-shared ride.
First lecture made record speed
Coming as a hesitating,
Tempered verbal slap
For the foolish overpaying crime
Done toward the hapless taxi guy.
Name exchange went smooth
In the air of our mutual flirting.
Luck got my back,
She said her plans tonight
Were still lying prone in shade
Unassembled, unmade.
Making like California,
Pulling freestyle surfboard moves;
Instilling reasurrance that her night's catch
Was a real keeper,
Steal of a deal,
Spoken with the provided cool evidence
Found in my presence.
I pulled the pocketed whiskey flask out
Joking, it was my zombie bite antidote,
A pinch startled, I was,
Seeing a third disappear
Down her lust-worthy throat.
Are you down for skipping
All those steps,
Lame traditional ones,
To stop immediate satisfaction
For what it is we really want?
With head down she nodded,
I caught her grinning
In the reflection of her shoes.
Inside I was beaming
Knowing I just beamed myself
Straight to master class.
The Lady's Answer
Mona Lisa
Knew it all along
And the paint chipped paragon
Of the sly-knowing
Provoked the aches
Of a pitch-perfect choir.
The harmonious
Drum,
Drilling,
Droning;
Continuous
With that sharp,
Melodious comradrie.
Untoward clearing the man-structures,
The circling condor
Rained fits of solid menace
And liquid drops
Of a most daunting morosity.
Classroom authorities
Had promised the promises,
Painted with incredible effulgence,
But nuanced lectures such as these
Were too obvious
Before the street-smart eyes;
The sight-sensed,
Afluent students
With their after-school high-jinx,
Kidney shaped pool,
Heaped with foolable felons
And comedic miscreants.
Joys and now-ism
Could defeat the funereal,
Leaving it the hurt paltry foe;
The marauder
Of skin-scarred
And the visibly accursed.
Held hard,
Inviolate...
Light years from the insolent,
Wanton,
Pawing of an unworthy mob.
There is solace in those lips
Of our Lady of the Knowing.
The Morning of The Request
His brain crawled
With the ants of inquiry;
A somewhat pleasant mennace
To solace's boring song.
As the horizontal plane
Mirrored his listless frame,
Feet belonging to him alone
Began to revolt
Against imprisoning sheets
Finding a slip stream
Going gravity's direction,
The vertical plane
Made its acquaintance.
How deep was the wound
Made in the pockebook
Of the parents burdened
With financing a college student's
Imprudent endulgence
Of brand name energy drinks
And poker night buy-ins?
A wrestling conscience
Quelled beneath
The youth's will to sacrifice
His hatred of charity,
Maternal,
Paternal,
...or otherwise.
The Sigil
Carding teens at the Liquor Bay;
The last grind on Monterrey;
Pigeon squaller
Among leafstalk and quitch;
The effervescent means
To the melancholy end.
As I strained for the heartwood
The inner sanctum
Of our childhood's introverted mole,
What Denny and Kit would act
With twitchy nose
And finger claws;
Escapist role play
Of the miniature societal lock-step submission.
I nearly died
When I found what seeped
From the ignition
Of my skull-white limousine.
On the thirteenth matter-skinned street,
The old lane once called
When Murray walked that beat,
I dared not remove
The tempting sigil,
Adamant to rebel
And leave it for the effective car thief.
I felt with my nose-sense
That redolent mischief
In my pile of shirts behind the door
On the second floor
Below Mrs. Penstone,
A womanfolk
Who applied patchouli to her gums;
Said
It made her future right
A bribe that worked on God.
