WHEN I WAS UNWINTERING
you entered into my year,
the thaw that unsealed the snow,
that undammed the ice,
the thaw that paroled the seeds
BALLAD OF THE KNYGHT
Itts no mair redd,
the daye is donne.
The sonne is sett,
the stars are cum.
The knyght doth ryde
strong yonge mare. Oh,
the broadswords wide,
the scabbards narrow.
The cocke grows bold
and lifts itts hedd.
The knyghts gone cold,
and darks turned redd.
A new sonnes born.
The quests now donne,
the knyght hees worn,
and mares undunne.
IN MUNSTER
“Multiply. Be fruitful.” And God gave man a tool. But Eve, she conceived and brought forth the slide rule. Before ever we knew what old Galle saw, we arranged us our love life by Bode’s own law. It really did pain us to get past Uranus and let Neptune discover us our flaw.
A sexy realtor from Nice quoted me her terms for a piece. When I found out her price I told her, “Au regretment, no dice.” (I wasn’t looking to buy, just lease.) I met a pedantic old whore from Bombay who quibbled over being labeled that way. She said, “While it’s true I get paid by the screw, I work in Mumbai not Bombay.” Dish washers from Amarillo had pubes the texture of Brillo. Though they made quite a scene, she got the plates really clean and gave the waiter a thrill. Oh! Smilingly, Sue said over minces, “The feeling of packing ten inches must be like squeezing your feet into a pair of cute shoes that don’t fit — so tight that it pinches!” Said I, “Oh, size tens! Rather a bore if compared to my wee four.” Sue smiled (no pleasure in it, till she learned I’m measuring it “from the tip” I told her “to the floor”). A prison scholar was subtly candid as his fellows he Homerically branded; one boomerang con he dubbed Rosy-fingered Don ’cause he was caught so often red-handed. A persistent narcissist from Tacoma would diddle himself into comas. Though warned he’d go blind, he had it in mind to stop when he got to glaucoma. One disgruntled lover of Venus rubbed down to a nubbin his penis. The goddess said, “Friend! We’ve come to the end of the source of the friction between us.”
KINGSTON
8 DAYS! 7 NIGHTS!
Son, dey
moan
day to day
when dey
thirsty.
Fried, dey
sat ern de sun.
Deh!
FISHERS AT HOME
you’re
the sinker,
and you’re
the bobber,
and I’m the other, the provider of the worm and the
wait