February 24, 2009

bacon lips

by The Poet Spiel

pink floyd slams
my right brain
against my left
with what god wants, god gets
any minute now
they’ll drive me
to the crypt
of no return
where i don’t have to worry
about keeping milk on the table
for six kids
or wonder if i’ve knocked up celeste
one more time
in drunken stupidity

when it comes to chalking up
what i’ve got that’s valuable in life,
celeste is it

and now i’m wasting her

turn it down, you fucker, she hollers
ain’t you got nothing asides of floyd to play?
git outside an mow the grass
you need some air

but i’m too stupidified to get up
too pissed at god for handing me this heavy plate

god is holy, god is good, celeste says
as she delivers me a half bag of oreos
she stoops over with her big bazooms
rubbing against my chin
she tongue-kisses me
her lips taste like bacon grease
and I believe maybe
what she says is true

*The Poet Spiel's website is http://www.thepoetspiel.name/


RC Miller said...

This is excellent shit Spiel. A very thoughtful and engaging poem. Can't recall if I've ever seen the word "bazooms" incorporated into a poem. You beat us all to that image. Well done.

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