L'EXQUISISME DES SEINS DU TARA

Or, The Exquisite Nature of the Breasts of The Tara

NOT
that her hair
is not a ropy black jungle
of vines which the bravest of men
may attempt to breach
if only to find themselves
tethered hopelessly within
or twisted by
or hung to strangulation
across distances vast and woesome.
NOT THAT IT IS
that her eyes be gorgeous
dark depthless ponds
which the most enigmatic
of militaries
may be driven to ford
or bridge or conquer
in the name of their god
or homeland
if only to find their troops hacked and raving;
their navies drowned bloated and sunk
below endless murky leagues.

IF IT WERE ONLY

to be considered beyond
the fact
that her nose
poses a tight, speckled,
and deceivingly sparse pinnacle
as worthy as ANY of the most demanding;
towering
over the brawniest of mountain ranges-
spanning their earthen shoulders
across the eastern world.
A precipice whose form alone
inspires rumors
careening down thoroughfares
and hightailing like a luge through alleyways
hitting ALL ears
of young and old;
from the most dismally downtrodden
to the loftiest of birthrights.
Rumors
indicating a cache of scriptures
the mere exposure to which
will impart timeless wisdom
and fantastical healing properties
and whose contents details the location
of certain
immense chunks of emerald
hidden within the infinite walls of a fortress
-lost to the world ages ago-
guilded by nine crystal spires
which, in their day, may
have scraped the clouds
and fooled birds
that flew to their death
against the perfect clarity
of their structure.
Towers built and continually polished
by a clan of pious and aggressively independent
Essenes
who coveted their green minerals
and also were known
to perhaps drain their seed
into an enormous
brass cauldron
whose base stretched the distance
of at least one prosperous orchard
and LEVITATED
because of the intense power
of their collectively stored
life force energy.
IF IT COULD BE FORGOTTEN
but for a moment
that the areas
at the top
of her legs
-which might
loose themselves
occasionally
from their delicate perch
at the elastics
of her undergarments
and hang unintentionally, both
bald-faced and harmless
left exposed
to our commonly-breathed air
and as prone as naked babes-
may excite one's intentions to the point
of marathonning the globe
by way of a DIRECT LINE;
whereby ally physical obstacles
are individually hollowed by the fist alone
-be they mountains
or walls of homes
or of cities-
all waters rafted, swam or bridged.
IF IT BE POSSIBLE
that in one infinite
instant of wordless wisdom
one may be given
the opportunity
to solely contemplate
the twin dollops
of finely folded mousse
topped, each, by a small
yet generous
corner of pure chocolate
perched cozily at either center
of a similarly colored
reflecting pool;
as if melted partially
by some invisible fire
at the core of her torso
or by the sun's rays
(be they yet not godly enough)
as they would melt such candies
along a sidewalk
on a mid-morning of early summer;
left carelessly behind
by childhood
on a romp toward some bright playground.
BECAUSE her skin GIVES
the summer light.
Because to glimpse this shape,
should she recline,
as at her bath,
one might witness their slope
forming clean arcs;
such as if cut
by the most precise
of skating athletes.
BECAUSE A MERE SLIVER OF THIS CONCEPT ALONE
is enough
to know
a thousand lifetimes of true love.
 

 

"00"

pronounced
"dubble-o";
Or,
"Two Golden Eggs Clutch Each Other and Float To The Sun"
 
AH

Sweet golden pie, my crudest of lovelies,
Ours is a velvet-tone arena
rife with memory; polluted
by the sound of each other's voice.
In the event of triviality
Please to touch my surface.
Our affection is blind
yet complete.
Blind as the wooded winds
complete as the trumpet hill.
As final as the resonant bass
bellowing at us from the pit-darkened lake.
IT to us poses as enemy.
Its thunder reveals our shadow
and threatens to bring us
back
to original nothingness.
But I believe
and I will
That our two may become
many more
than birds.
 
 

 

OFELIA'S CHONERS

 

Words
composed (on a napkin of course)
at the museum cafe
to be indiscreetly passed
to "miss smarty pants"
who studies god knows what every single day;
looks at no one, talks to no one,
whose skin is far too brown for her own good,
who's a little black glasses wearin'
bouncy bum-cakes sportin'
and little pert titties type:

"OOH , GOD
YOU SO HOT
AND so SMART!
ME NON PLUS
PILLOW STEP To it
I'LL MAKE
SLAP DIDDY - WINKLE
With you
DO YOU PERMIT
CON BESOS"

"ILLITERATI"

that's it!