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Hot Stanzas Seemingly At Odds Are Not
by Philip F De Pinto
a
surfer
named Jones
craves
waves
moans
pines for nill
in his Xmas sock save a
moderate sized tsunami
to impress not his girl Lil
but his mommy
night shift
finds stars
clocking
in
clad
nearly as scantily
as walkers of street
but more discreet
if stars had limbs
they would be as dead on their feet
alas
with the dawning
there are no urns
for fading stars
and street walkers
to take hiatus in
while stars burn
tricks turn
everything turns
turns turns
now is Venus's
turn
then the fly's
turn to turn the trick
on the goddess of love not so slick
as to spot a fly
trapping its host
with her own stickum
and the ghost
of the fly
goes so far as to rise
from the fly paper
to rape her
her not so wise
then drapes o'er her an excuse
which doesn't fly
txixt the s. screen
and us
and other fogged up cars
hung bushels of darkness
to unload
lick the pie ala mode leave dictum - delirium where it lies
set the stage for the conflagration - the perfect match game
given our striking appearance - given our combined incendiary age
suffer not the juvenility of shame
adjacent
to our flame
and others on the make
a dark complexioned lake
o'er which hovered
the fair
horned moon
tipping its mead - click-
ing skipping away
in the watery groove
lured there
not for our sake
alone
to play
to repeat the same ole same ole flirtation
for hyperbole's sake
solely their mutual attraction to prove
beyond unreasonable certainties
other turn turn turnings
will see us
do as none see fit - do as we please
parlay a d. disease
into hale - pray
down on our knees
Lord!
let not dawn
arrive too soon
off their bean and ripple take a load
tuck - stretch - toast naked feet neath dashboard
while stars
and other lights not so discreet
flash dance in cars
blinding us where we lay
back as far as yesterday
knocking off a
film noire
or ream by eleven p.m.
01/18/2013 Posted on 01/18/2013
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
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