Daniel BORZUTZKY
Maybe I Swerve You
Maybe it's the big neon smock in the grammar of the
lexicographical beast of the insufferable
sagacious Orpheus of the invented noises in the
poverty of your disappearing mythological anti-
language, maybe. Or maybe it's the jealous pool of transplanted
exiles in the angel wings of your nightgown or the
incidental development of narrative in your eyeballs
or the unrecognizable crystalline horizon in the
inaudible echo caused by the friction of your tongue on the
roof of your mouth. Maybe I swerve you for the rapacious
foreshadowing of the incisive propagandistic marshland
in the ascetic lips of your utopian third sex envy.
Or maybe I swerve you for the atavistic wanderer in
your adorable capacity for revenge. Maybe I swerve
the feverishness of the almost touched death-jerk in the
momentary trousers of the hermaphroditic egg shells
broken in the purgatorial blades of grass stored in the
erudite anonymity of the trampling neo-logic
of the drowsy foliage of your soft and ominous cheekbones.
Maybe I swerve you for these reasons and for the anointed
abandon of the defenseless pheasant plunging into the
crocodile mouth of the swamp in the silk worm mountains hanging
in the beard on the invisible cum visible deity
in which you and I are but a strand of hair. Yes I most
definitely swerve you for this and for the disjointed
transcendency of the undetectable motion in the
bleeding gladioli warming in the parasitic shadow
of the convalescent sun of your oh so ambiguous bosom.
Sunday on La Grande Jattee
While there are no direct references to masturbation in cave
Paintings or other prehistoric artifacts, the practice of
Masturbation by baboons, who share 98% of our
DNA, provides some confirmation that masturbation has likely
Been practiced since the dawn of mankind. In an old tale, a man dreams he is
A baboon. "I am a God," he cries, as he ejaculates into the
Earth. His seed strikes dry ground, and soon a river forms. Then he turns back into
A man, with the all-too real notion that he has done something
Terrible. ("I will do Such things---what are they yet I know not, but they shall
Be the terrors of art.") He creates a river, which brings water to
Those in need. But it is a river of death, for the bodies of hundreds
Of insects and small animals float to the surface and flow downstream. It
Is much easier to go back to sleep after a dream in which we are
Murdered, than a dream in which we are the murderer. Thus he stays awake
For the rest of his life. Many animals have supposedly made
Sexual advances to humans. But it is the baboon who is most
Often represented as a seducer of women, as in "The King's
Daughter and the Ape," from One Thousand and One Nights. Additionally,
Many animals were trained by Romans to copulate with women and
To have anal intercourse with men. Monkeys and baboons played with the
Genitals of both sexes. The Romans also used dogs, goats, geese, turkeys
And small horses. Several theorists have speculated as to whether
Or not the animals enjoyed these encounters. An impossible
Project, true, thus it is best represented with the logic of a dream,
As in the journals of Elias Mardoni, an early
Zoologist, who imagines a sort of support group for animals
Forced to copulate in the arena. It is much easier to know
What we don't like, says a zebra, than what we do like. All my life I have
Wanted to be an animal, says a trapeze artist in a tree. All
The animals laugh.
Open Letter
"We have no king but Jesus"
---Attorney General John Ashcroft at Bob Jones University
Plucky, as much as my asparagus is green, there is no doubt: there are many dudes who are little lonesome tonight, for they have no queen but Jezebel.
You have endured a lot of chickens, you have fingered a lot of Barbies, but when it comes to your flimsy tea bag, most of us feel: you enjoy it more with armor.
And on that score alone, Plucky, you have fluttered better than the Cartesians, better than the Greeks and Hindus. Your neckties have made our jobs more enjoyable, and your donkeys, your donkeys, your donkeys.
And so for the clowns you have fun-housed, and the ghosts you have banished, you can be prouder than a tax man with a sac full of Caesar's roses.
Endowed by the creator with a long stick, you release it with the infinite, and that's crucial in this work, old Plucky.
You're popular with your colleagues, because of your penguins, your pretty eyes and tongue.
There's a saying that applies here:
The making of enemies, who are real enemies, is the best token we have of a person's success in life.
Plucky, your tulips are whistling and your oysters are pooping. And when you go, you'll take your sanitary napkins with you. And you'll leave memories of something delicate, and we'll pray to your parasol when it stops the sun from grinning.
a room in a pile of papers is where a man does not sleep
How come or however near hell or however
How hell comes to sever the ever in never
He came to the door like a rat to a tart
But went straight to my ear like the heart in my art
He came to my fest with his fist in my fitness
He came to my nest with the wine of my witness
I sat him not far from my ten cent encasement
He looked like the beast in the east of my basement
His mouth was the arse of the reason in treason
His lips were the sea in the son of my season
I asked him to tap on the trap of my parrot
He looked like the rot on the arc of my carrot
He looked like the dust in the sty of my study
His odor was old and his body was bloody
He said I'm the mist in the misery of your mystery
He said I'm the it in the shit of your history
How come or however near hell or however
How hell comes to sever the ever in never
I am the it in the shit of your history
I am the mist in the misery of your mystery
My odor is old and my body is bloody
I am the dust in the sty of your study
I look like the rot on the arc of your carrot
Don't ask me to tap on the trap of your parrot
I am the sea in the son of your season
My mouth is the arse of the reason in treason
I am the beast in the east of your basement
I sit not from your ten cent encasement
I come to your nest with the wine of your witness
I come to your fest with my fist in your fitness
I come to your door like a rat to a tart
I come to your ear like the art in your heart
How come or how ever how hell or however
How hell how sever however how never
How I how it how hit however
How I how it how never how ever
How odor how mist how body how bloody
How how is the dust in the sty of your study
How how is the dust in the arc of your carrot
How how is the tap on the trap of your parrot
How hell is the sea in the son of your season
How mouth is the arse of the reason in treason
How come is the beast in the east of your basement
How sit me now far from your ten cent encasement
How come how ever how hell however
How hell how sever however how never
How I how it how hit however
How I how never how never however
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