With Gusto

Caution - Gross, Insensitive Poetry

1

I’d Like More Stuff Please

I’d like more stuff please
knitting-wheels or masks from New Zealand. Stilettos,
halter tops and open graves imported off a pig farm. Some
money with a goofy Korean on the front. Mayan
artifacts, smuggled unawares, cursed, and delivered. Bring me a man’s
toe from Black Lake, Hungary. A stein and stolen carpenter’s
toys, but please leave Thomas Mann behind. A bottle of Czech
Republic absinth, and some Plastic People. Prized
Lithuanian midgets, a rain barrel. A Japanese suicide note, his
shoelaces pulled under a train. I want a Gulag’s
rafters, a can of meat hidden in St. Petersburg. I don’t need
paintings or autographs signed by a well to do ballet dancer. I want
sugar cane harvested in Africa, and natural flavour engineered
in New Jersey. Dubya’s dick flayed and spread over
roasted peppers. I’d like a Spaniard’s pubic-hair, a maid’s
laced robe. Checkers stripped off taxicabs. A decayed
pump-organ in a friend’s basement. Bricks slid out of a Palestinian
fountain, or an old wall. A rotary blade purchased in Israel.

I’d like more
stuff please. I collect
things that go into storage. Don’t bring
mirrors. Bring blankets, filthy
or clean, fostered from an accumulation.
A thunderhead sucking moisture.
A pissing, hungover bladder.

2
Dirty Turtles Kill Themselves

Like a turtle, he had stubbed legs,
cracked arms and a mushed, bored face. His
intestines sinking into his testicles. He taught
chemistry and after class, retired to his thong
collection hidden in a desk drawer and formaldehyde
for lube. He made me learn, some said. He made a girl
slap her face with his dick all night long. She squealed
on him. He drove to the lake, stuck
a potato in his exhaust-pipe and leaned
towards a castle the size of a tooth picketing
the night, spires sending him onward.

And what about history teacher?
A turtle with brown cords and a missing pancreas.
His penchant for cheerleader pornography rests
secure in the video store. He pats lithe heads,
hugs a tight body after class. His wife
left. He’s cheerful, they
say. A nice man.

Posted by matty-b at January 21, 2004 11:36 AM