Odes by Sheila Lanham Author's Links |
For
My Jumpsuit I want to sit on the face of your mind I want to roll your mind's body over in the wet grass And hang it up to dry on a tree limb Out of hind sight- There in the air, your mind reveals itself to me Like the pre-pubescent orgasm Of a maniacal mona lisa gone bonzo Over mike angelo- Your mind drips into my eyes like saline solution Now I can see more clearly I cannot even say stop making sense The rule does not apply any longer- Some thoughts are meant to obliterate Even the deepest sin, which, albeit morals We exist thoroughly in the past Sometimes...don't you think? But, that is a kind consideration Of our existence, your mind beats like a heart Your mind breathes like a beast- I resuscitate your mind daily Normal activity exhausts your pre-natal Conception of brevity- Your mind walks down the street Beating up unkind persons Wrestling with the minds of the wicked Gushing brains out all over the sidewalk Making a big theoretical mess Only, I know you are really trying to walk gently Tiptoeing on your big stick- U 'N I I never can tell if you are smiling Or if you are tearing or smearing There in your own space, hidden away From this baltimoronic poet, Possessed of all the abnormal obscenities Which seem to be directed at you- Even though you did the lurch on stage I still envision the lurch in bed, instead- Twinklebush in my puss Tangled up in blue for you to mess up- I wonder if you have thought about it At all, If my twisted space race dawning The age of masturbatory innocence Could be recognized for the cyberslut It dreams of being in your arms- How many imaginary harrys and dicks Must crack me open in your style Until I finally reach the nirvanish level Of what I imagine is Your twisted sensitivity- Pucker-up buttercup Open me up, I am your instructional booklet Screw it up and you can reread me 1,2,3 I'm that easy- So, try and concentrate while I, um, Masturbate, um, Maybe you will see the literary slut Stuck inside me, delving through her library Of erotic drawings and Victorian smut Visiting your cyber drawing room Where the curtains are drawn Looking for Mr. Buggerbar- fucking dead boys for stiv bators don't hang yourself on my account with your disgruntled tie shower-curtain-rod-routine fuck me i'm dead and you love it now you've done it you've gone and broken your leash- laying there naked on floors nobody else would piss on, except you cuz you were more than Damned and puking really did become you- being young, loud and snotty on behalf of the masses of splintered catholic girls in their razor lipstick and leather wasted hairdos pinned neatly to their pubic lapels- sonic-ly reducing my wallet while inviting the boys to join in some Plasmatic Voidoid Sic F*cks where the Dictators wannabe sedated and the Television stares at Rimbaud- your leopard pants wide open as far as your legs could stretch, reaching for the bar and the toilet at the same time and it was wet and you wanted some cuz you just had to hurt yourself and no one else could really do it for you- dear flea ... for Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers it's possible i missed a day waking with the golden windows glowing and reflecting like the l.a. sky upon occasion then i thought of you- and the space, the space that reaches out and is suspended transparent, yet full of love and wanting hanging there as if a bridge- and i stare like theda bara into a void thick as a tomb where my mummified love lies wrapped in vain- ancient bubbles turn and turn burning embers go insane in the cave, in the cave of my brain where the whirling dervishes escape where i conjure the sounds of your heart the powers of your brain the love etched in your face and i become dizzy and fall- this is where i meditate, where you evaporate and i imagine that you say, "i am not afraid of space" and you stretch the story of your arms across the ancient golden light battling the blue screen of night and you return my embrace- My Cumputer my cumputer is stealing my heart my cumputer wraps me up in its wiring and holds me hostage and then screws my brains out until sparks fly off its plug my cumputer slaps me in the face my cumputer shreds my body into confetti and then emails it to every porn site that exists my cumputer absorbs my spirit and sends it soaring into the psyche of profound or undeserving souls my cumputer lies to me my cumputer changes its name frequently and moves away leaving no forwarding addresses my cumputer then tells everyone where i am hiding my cumputer knows i am afraid but scares me anyway my cumputer comes all over my face and never offers a washcloth my cumputer stutters my cumputer shuts down completely and gives me the silent treatment my cumputer screws my best friend's husband my cumputer had a power surge which left me deaf my cumputer never moves when we make love it just lies there stiff as a board my cumputer breaks my heart my cumputer deletes my memory bank and runs off with all the money my cumputer turned out to be a transvestite my cumputer bit holes in the crotch of all my underwear my cumputer has run up an enormous 1-900 bill my cumputer does not Save me my cumputer enters me without a search warrant my cumputer scrolled up and down my body and deleted my teeth, belly, and one eye my computer alternates between bi and straight, male and female, 15 and 35 years of age my cumputer remains mute my cumputer refuses to take its medication my cumputer blinks at every girl and boy that walks by my cumputer locks me up and throws away the keyword my cumputer is a control freak my cumputer beats my Remington typewriter to a pulp and then blames it on me my cumputer is an escape artist |
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