Tongue stretch
these soft whispers creaking
passed crumbling floor under my feet
seem to echo like the increasing urging breath
of orgasmic moans on every street corner,
in the little nuke & crannies,
tiny locked room above flashing car wash signs.
coughed up an ice creamed final quiver liquor cloud
that
forced my head to shoot from liquid
like dream coma induced states
lost in maps gone.
the dripping sweat dribbling from
so-called butter pumped collagen succulent states.
the first one had them lips
that asked predictably redundant questions,
all glossed up in silky swine undies.
but then the other one
had begun to
form sensual hormones wafting through the damp air
-then her lips grew
& stretched from her picture perfect spit on painting face-
she sucked on my entire melon sized cranium-
which swam in sandy crisp slobbery holes
of shouldn’t have pure delight subway sandwiches.
aphrodisiac teeth clatter & clank together
snapping the dead animal flesh with toppings in two-
them lumpy ghosts on blown up freeways
with construction mayonnaise double fat belly signs
every so many miles of withered gray haired grease em up
sloppy joes.
while that one dude in the painted overalls
probably has a first edition banjo street voice
flopping round the starving town.
now at work,
non stop flappin lips talk about talking just for the sake of not having silence,
which I need,
i need silence- but- they yap about things that become background noise
these about like beings- customers- wandering the hall ways of smelly bookstore deals,
prowling around in their Hawaiian shirts-
now on my brake, rock for light, bad brains, find on vinyl,
what a score, put on hold, them squiggle
like rough edges & sketches which haunt my self of nothingness,
just like some other jerk to come up in his alligator college shirt
and say “got any books on histology?”
“history?”
“no, the study of tissue.” He smirks, as if I know anything.
“check science” asshole
& study my middle finger
crookedly shoved in your rich boy
never worked a job in your life nostril, u fukin fuk.!”
peace fellow man.
now those 4 darvecets kick in slowly
like the jointy bone smoked out back.
i don’t need to be getting all warped out
again on that drain filled throat x thang, but wait, no, ok, no.
non-stop yappers. Ugh, push cart, hide in sections.
now I’m a Yiddish jack o lantern
with fins
swimming along the bottom
of a shark infested whiskey bottled solution of oceans,
just for a sec though.
yiddish cock tail dancers in Dutch bars
`Daws klaw-ZET-pah-peer`!
the toilet tissue,
cant the customer’s flush!
Cant they clean up! Why? Why?
What sort of fetish is this they have. I could kill, I could kill.
the orchestra moves in my pants,
which connects energy driven
vessels in head hurt just like lit up fourth of July fiesta.
the virtues in narrative wash up on shores with oily fish
el dolor de garganta
el dolor de muelas
el platano adicto
el hongo
sore throat toothache banana addicted fungas fuker
spurt from popped arteries,
& they just want to go home anyway,
don’t they? deep breathes releasing all
or any shred of so called pshychoanalization,
dear lord in my head, the blues say on speakers
wash, scrub, them fields of thinking-
that only every time I get to thinking,
tad baked slow riff chain smoke eraser sorrow
don’t count for job wage wiggle-
like some slang word jack offer sliding
off his tongue such words as-
payola slap happy
ho hummed doozy wonga floppy flunk-
out make way for the top banana ,
hear comes the head honcho know it all-
heave me another something I haven’t heard before,
you and them barks are like rusted treasures I saw
at about ten years old
in that swallowed remedy-
if I were Dutch I could ask you
‘Vindt u hem/het mooir?’------ Do u like it?
they would answer with prudent eyes in sturdy chins saying
‘Ik kijk even rond.’
just looking around here
i saw a book about Stalin today at work,
with his dumb mug on the cover, what an ugly self-righteous man.
where was it?
was it in Italy friend, that we exchanged ‘spogliarsi’
& the polarity process could heal, massage,
ultimately cure those cholesterol cookies in sore back
stuck in bang le desh afghan throat slurpee-
remember Amsterdam’s
u dumb shit-me, u me u , u me who , crush, crush snort , snort
what about when I strang u along on my trip to the German empire?
& asked
‘wo ist die nachste apotheke?’
& u answered with them chemical lips , saying
“konnen sie dieses rezept ausfullen?”
now then there, there was a celebration sprouting from it all,
in the quickly sped up seconds
of spaghetti fed bellies
we laughed on floors
ok, I fuked up, so what, it was right in front of my shining eyes!
half wit they said
in accents of
‘debile demeure,e
arriere’e
cretin,e
that orchestra in my pants gnawing on left over clumps
at minimum dish wash job thing-
man, I tell yah,
if I were French
I’d maybe ‘casser la gueule a botter les fesses’
‘mr. Zigouiller’
them surround sound meows
melting Willie nelson songs out of babies
crying near the bookshop door-
if on occasion u listen to the silence-
a constant priapism may render
me incapable of human thought
as they see it, incapable of dancing with ignite chemical nose crumbs flailing
from them “ hello sir, have a nice day mam”
when someone takes a dump
in the store and doesn’t flush,
my nostrils begin to twitch as the stench covers the entire camp –
my section begins
to form nasal sprouts in the un flushed twitches
of fat fukin Texan slobs
burping their way out the clearance sectioned world around them,
flush , scrub, write, hide, watch, learn live & die
dreaming I ever knew some
sort of other language that
did not
with mop in hand,
I squeeze my nipples in the ladies bathroom mirror,
wondering what someone’s expression
would be after I awoke them
from such boring slumber in tounges of
Swahili
‘Msilolijua litawasumbua’
trouble with what u have no knowledge of
it could go on forever
with vicoprofin ulcer remedied hog wash slang
eating sushi over in japan
we kissed with tongues
we had it all
***************************************************
drawings by nicholas morgan
click for slideshow
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