Poetry: August 10, 2010

So then Woody, now a woodpecker free as a bird, turns to his tree-mate, Late Night Nate, the owl he now had a band with, and asks: “So, what do you think of these lyrics for my new song: 
I was Kubla Khan
with his dress shoes on 
thumbing his nose
at his bishop's pawns 
and sweating the long game 
frozen in my long johns. 
She followed cocaine 
'til her money were gone 
and beat me hard 'cause she's 
a battle axe, 
I had to wear contacts 
because my cataracts 
otherwise counteract 
how I like to drive my 
Cadillacs. 
A 'Seville', if you will, 
though, as long as I'm 
not pushing, the steering 
is all the same still. 
So like a cold beer bottle, 
I sweat, and haven't even gotten 
to her nipples yet. 
The bottle cap pops and 
I foam. 
I shake her before using 
then limp my way home. 
In a straight line 
more or less, 
unless I'm too stoned. 
Which leaves me with a 
headache, like a Bedouin 
who lies in bed awake 
riding paperback riddles 
until the cusp of dawn, 
after which
comes: ZOOATHALON, 
which helps me keep
my grip on. As thick as the 
earth's crust is my desire to 
reach beyond its' dust, 
and if I'm 
feeling Japanese, it helps me 
keep my Nippon.”

 


COPYRIGHT SANANDA MAITREYA
MILANO 10th AUGUST 2010
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