Satan's Little Lemur

I command, Speak your spinal humor,
fanged, fingernailed and nailed!
Poor lemur, now your curve is
likened to your heel-crushed
contemporary, or compatriot perhaps?
Maiden-thrust to the wall, no doubt,
Your missing penis-bone astounds!
Aside: I have one query, here,
Did you find her little heart?
Was it dappled red, and did it beat?

Tag

"Here you go." I handed one of my partners
a pear. I had conquered it five minutes before
at morning market.
"How was this morning's run?"
"A few young ones were gone quick,
like normal. The bird was a bit later than usual,
so its got a head start. I saw one middler who just
got unlucky." I winked. I avoided apples.
Everyone went for apples. I liked pears more anyway.
"Bravo. Anything special?"
"Pulled a loaf and a beer, we'll split 'em."
"A month tomorrow, man."
"I know, little worried, I've heard when you're not it
for enough time, you run out of something you get
every time the bird picks you up."
"What happens then?"
"Dunno, scared to find out though."

Somebody must have Fucked a Crone

Gnarl-skinned, knocked up,
and wither-scrying to earn,
ennui-combat-boots and trailer-trash
flame encrusted head.
Clutching cans of whatever,
Three white periods end, or interrupt
her gently widening smile.

Blindness, Deafness

This is water, W-A-T-E-R.
This means what, her eighteenth?
This hat, it's menswear.
This light! Unbearable!
This man's overweight.
This land, your land, mine.
This time, with your left hand.
This kind of work is tiring.
This stark portrait, in it
This lame beggar prayed that
this day would be his last, saying
"This, too, shall pass."
This tall glass, should I?
This court should respect
this common right of people.
This population, third-world, caused
this unexpected economic push.
This revolution ousted the corrupt.
This beast generally behaves.
"This," she interrupts, "seems absurd,"
This disappearance, find the cause.
This color cannot be the one for
this room, forty by twenty by twelve.
This loud noise won't be tolerated.
This pillow goes well, though.
This ugly mug. You don't like
this rug? No, that's fine, I said
This mug, this M-U-G.

Seven Men Read Newspapers in a Field, Circularly

Line by line, each one's eyes
slowly rolled over stories.
Undulating like the weeds
and greenery they sat on,
floored perhaps, by terror
or boredom (or fatigue, who
knew that endless back-and-
forth well enough to tell?).

Crumpling, rising, for a moment
they lost their loneliness but,
being far too late to fall in love,
had to return (remember, shoes for
the baby) home. And a lucky flower
sprung up and so pretentiously
claimed the land they'd kept.