Limbs sway suggestively in the wind

just like shapely human hips.

How your leaves scatter here & there

as humanoids fling their loose hair.

If roughness were treasure, I’d invest

in your trunk o’er the hairiest chest;

for I know your bronze wood’s renowned

& e’en supplements my own.

I know your wide black hole holds mo’

nuts that any human’s could hope;

& Sweeter the sap sucked from your branches

than butter splattered from the beefiest phallus.

So, oak, I dedicate this song to you;

for I know when the years suck all o’ my skin’s juice,

you’ll still look no older than 22.

Maybe I shouldn’t feed myself so much regret

when there were so many different animals I got to pet.

Accompanying music.

Blues wash boughs but black still keeps

in the kitchen ‘spite the lights

toasting coffee donut creams;

when bird portraits lost come ‘live,

when the slumber cinemas

play still, till they’re suddenly

breached by scents o’ cinnamon

& the neon digit 3.

Walk across the sweating grass,

through the chilly wind o’ glass—

soon skies take off beauty masks.

I have a festering blister on the inside o' my mouth...
    That wasn't a metaphor.
        I truly do.
            & it hurts quite a lot, too.
                D'you know how to get rid o' it, please?

Accompanying music.

Though I wrench you off your tree,

‘least I get to feel your flesh…?

No, that’s not the way to treat

sauce that grows right off the stem.

Itch my nose with pepper smells,

spread your veins all over me.

I need sap mo’ than all elms

—I’m the 1 who’s looking green.

Rain just gives you free refreshments,

zephyrs make you dance so festive

—tastes will linger like a fresh mint.

‘Twas lovely wandering summer evening parks.

‘Twas in Gelat’nousboulder¹ where I saw

trash all scattered ‘long the vomit lawn, accomp’nied by

globs o’ doggie shit & feel-good posters taped on tree

boughs. ¡How nice o’ nature, serving such important needs!

Surely tacky clip-art betters boring orchids. ¡Phhh!

Luckily I saw the man whose dog improved the park

with its priceless art. Enraptured, I went up to him,

carrying the excrement in question, & I said,

I said to him,

& he’s all like,

—¿You like it? I just whipped them up this morning in FrontPage. I think the kitten in the box saying, «Cat in winter box. Pondering meaning of life. ¿What’s it all mean, cat?» is the funniest part—.

I jammed them down the man’s esophagus;

& that’s why I’m in jail for 60 months.

Footnotes

• [1] Slogan: “Supports iambicish pentameter.”

El oscuro octubre y el claro inverno

ambos son gris.

¿Por qué los anuncios de películas

me bombardean a tantas bombásticas citas?

El octubre y el invierno no se enfocan en el ruido;

no, son tranquilo y suave como la crema de cacahuate.

Dark October & bright Winter

both are gray.

Why do movie commercials

bombard me with so many bombastic quotes?

October & Winter don’t focus on such noise;

no, they’re calm & smooth like peanut butter.

Ripples in my glass o’ tea,

how I could forever gaze

& forget society,

live my perfect holidays,

breed my perfect memories,

just to laugh into my face

‘bout the myth eternity.

O, tart tea, give me a break.

I try gathering all your rings,

but they just slip down the sink,

followed soon by mo’ ear rings.