I Always Put My Penis
(Or, called by my friends “The Odyssey of Masculinity and Mind-Altering Drugs“)
(Or, why to never try to masturbate when you’re fucked up on mushrooms)
I always put my penis deep
in the willow trees, amongst the wispy
boughs that sway lightly amid my knees,
they tap and tickle my bandied pubic hair
and my hangings balls are pleased.
That they have been not ignored!
I am thankful to the Delsanct, the Goddess of all things Sexy,
that my balls be cuffed and swatted…gently…
She allows some breeze to freshen the region called my taint.
“Give me head!” I shout to the sky.
She gives me no reply but the faint, summery rain of LSD
ticking on an algae pond, catching on the sullied socks,
that were used in yore to catch my seed.
I sniff once. Twice. Lick and go. The sky lights up
and a Mexican girl feeds me grapes.
Oh, such supple grapes!
She forms fast into an uncle–my Uncle Bill–and I am disgusted.
But oh the grapes! No! I mustn’t eat those grapes.
They are but furry purple testicles of Grimace now. Alas!
They taste of Fish Filet!
Where is my dog? I ask, but find
that there is no dog.
Nothing
to lick the peanut butter
that has formed around my cock.
Where are you Fido? Ralph? Pikachu? Where are you Davis?
Where are you Sergeant Jeffries?
Have you all gone to war?
Make love, not war!
Come back to Delilah, she misses your musky odor so!
Where are all the milky jugs?
Has my maid stolen them too?
I swear to Christ when she gets back to America I’ll dock her pay by two!
And the Venus, the blade, Abraham Lincoln’s hat?
Have them starched and cleaned and placed under the rotating bed and strap-ons my wife has bought from Matt!
I can’t help it I lost the job at the Sewage Plant!
The girders were hotter than I expected
I couldn’t Jones above that shit-filled water for as long as I projected!
(He died a noble death, at least, with a hard-on in his hand as the water splattered. The men spoke of his fetish for feet, but did not mention fecal matter.)
Ah sunlight! You are the best of friends of dick!
I sit and wonder and yearn for an elvish woman of your ginger hue.
A canvassback of the mosses, her eyes a Smurfette blue.
There will be a bow strapped upon her linen-sallow flank,
a dripping brass liquid from her cloth-ed muff, dangled out of view.
I will press her against a shire rock,
she shall beg for a bitter root called dogbane,
that it might be shoved within her anal void and rubbed–circularly–
within its putrid mane.
“Roat! Roat!” She yalp again!
I’ll take this plea as “Rotate! Rotate!“ in English and to this I will gratify,
smacking my lips like from that tartest Sherry I tasted in a try
on my tongue when I was twelve,
masturbating to the deltoids of a polar bear
on a yacht in the Caspian Sea.
She will leave me to the willows, there, I think,
but nevertheless see my penis, warm, alone and recalcitrant
and return to me for more.
There! The crest of ocean waves upon my sheets!
My bed, my boat!
Like an oar I row
my penis through the bluest filament
to the grainy sand below.
I get little grains stuck in my urethra, but fear not because
I know that I may jizz them out, that they shall stick in a girl’s bikini.
The gannets hover erstwhile, admire my man-linguini.
One will swoop down–oh how fast and curious that!–
and she will grab the pinkish helmet and try to tip off my “hat“!
I will swat, stand my ground and push it towards the sky!
“Why! Why!” It will cry as its pinions kiss the clouds.
I will not address this bugbear, only cover in multiple shrouds.
Toenails! How I figured you out last week. I see you now from beneath
that waving wool cloth. Each of you a sparkling scepter, implanted on a cheek!
Oh Penis! Like a sad whip you dangle there beside them
from this angle!
Why not speak up and join me in the land of Moth Country
and sing the star spangled banner?!
There we will dine on labias as thick and pink
as the eye can see–over the horizon they swell and think
so highly of you and me!
They will touch like this, like this and eventually
you will sneeze
but that’s okay, they have a Marriot and those give out free towels
like they‘re candy, seriously.
(remember to say please!)
Oh, don’t you love me anymore penis?
Won’t you remember the ages of thirteen
to eighteen?
Don’t you remember the time
you snuck your GameBoy Camera under your sister’s friends’ skirts
and took really grainy photos of their panties? And
adjusted the contrast and brightness to the optimal degrees?
Remember that? Yeah you do. Yeah you–
And there we go. I see you highest mast!
I could hang wet beach towels from you, back
into the past!
There you are.
And here I am too.
What a coincidence to see you here,
whatever shall we do?
I know! I know!
Let’s play Scrabble
until this high passes.
Then you can think of your best friend’s sister,
the owner of the best of asses!
Draw the letters, seven if you wish!
R
T
T
O
P
I
Q.
A Q without a U?
Fuck this stupid game.
Finis!