Old Pantaloons, a Chiasmus
by Michael R. Burch

Old pantaloons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to feel
that which they long most to steal.

Old ***** loons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to steal
that which they long most to feel.

Keywords/Tags: chiasmus, pantaloons, *****, loons, *******, pun, wordplay, underwear, fetish, lingerie, pervert, perverts, *******

Chickens
clucking
white
feathered
pantaloons
Cute
I don't want to eat you
cute chickens
in crisp pantaloons
Not hungry
Drumsticks
Wings
Two ******* please
Cole slaw
Biscuits and honey
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Confused
I don't want to eat you
Chickens
clucking
white
feathered
pantaloons
Cute
I don't want to eat you
Popeyes,Lee’s, KFC-
Are your chickens this pretty?

1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.

A birthday party,
I turn as I lift this velvet curtain
unveil this night for you,
Sixty circus freaks unravel down the hill
like a coloured handkerchief
of liquid laughter,
all singing the circus theme.
The only tears are drawn on
and the smiles cut up to the ears,
a tap dance in a bathroom,
manic movements,
a tumble back up the hill.
Cherry liquor is juggled, smuggled around the room
to a clown sporting harlequin pantaloons.
I laugh, drink, talk,
like a mime I copy the idea of human.
A sudden disconnection of sometimes weirdness envelops,
I become an audience member,
able only to watch the show,
a speechless mime with my face in shadow.
A desire to shout into empty biscuit barrel silences
I test ringmaster reactions,
to get back in I perform in a freak show.

But my eyes catch eyes, a timed grasping on a social trapeze,
we swing above a net of old ties.

The foretold episode is ripe
And the childless dawn is now flowering,
The awesome parrots of Africa
Have began swimming in the heavens

And singing the verses of the paraded bees,
For the warrior of South Africa
Has ultimately impregnated the Godsbaa
Without violating her divine virginity,

The black star arouse from Ghana,
Journeyed gorgeously through Zimbabwe
And has decisively descended on South Africa,
Bu this is just the divine seed

Yet to grow into a full black African moon,
For the black star of the black man
Is the religious light yet to radiate on
The colourless naivete of mankind,

Ah, the premise behind this
Exhibition makes a perfect sense,
We did begin it all,
Pilgrimage through it all
And shall end it all,

For the wreckage of
Humanity flies with time
And the megapower status
Of the African is a fact of life,

Today, a new voice has been
Added to the joy of the black women,
Causing the dry bamboo flutes to buzz
With the pantaloons of the ancestors,

Adorn our emerald embryonic pride with
The ambrosial smiles charms of the sunrise,
For he pelts of the peerless mid-night
Has been remodeled with our dark gore.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

There once was a man
Who wore pantaloons
His exotic tastes also
Included baboons
He took them to the city
To make them look pretty
Now he's locked up with the loons

Sewer rats bottleneck into a Carnival of Depravity. Due to the bizarre circumstance of their fingers, they allow their limbs to become limp. As Valkyries, they are aware of the juxtaposition of their clown pantaloons and their hobnailed mudboots. In this benefit carnival, a ferris wheel runs amok. Within it, GI’s holler their way through the vermillion skyway, zippoing the dented carapace with their M16s. In a true practice of youthful bliss, the 5.56 returns to the cosmos. However, the bullets, streaming out and homewards, are soon constrained to the circular path of the wheel itself.
“Centripetal farce!” goes Lance.
“Hey what, man?” whimpers Mr. Clean.
“Well, y’see: centripetal fOrce makes an overwhelming amount of sense. So much so, that when superimposed on the Carnival Cavalcade™, it must make no sense, for it’d shake us all up something mad.”
“So, the bullets aren’t real?”
“Oh, they’re plenty real. Just touch it, it’d melt you, starting with the neurons, cat. Other than little blue reality though, it’s out there. Its dancers are not chained to any concrete block of nature.”
“Oh, they’re sufferin’?”

If I start to write a poem, will I finish it this time
Or will I give up midway through, because there aren't enough rhymes
In this old dreadful, awful language born of brutal feudal swine
Wearing wigs and pantaloons, and saying words like 'thee' and 'thine'?

If I have a hazy thought, will I succeed in making clear,
That murky bit of intuition felt, or will it disappear,
The minute I put ink to paper and begin to toy around
With all the scattered bits of insight that implicitly abound?

If I find myself inspired all the sudden by a muse,
Will she hastily retire before I can spread the news
Of all her wondrous gifts to me, that I so luckily did capture
In a transcendental state of exaltation, joy, and rapture?

If I have a vivid vision, flowing freer than the stream
Of a river, clear as crystal, and as dazzling as a dream
Will my will be of such power that I'll succeed to convey
It, or just fall flat in defeat and then retreat into dismay?

If I see sumptuous fruits that hang atop the mighty tree
That's down the road of human intellect and creativity
Will my reach extend sufficiently to gather them and bring
Them back into...into... oh, **** it! I can't think of anything.

                                                (╯°□°）­╯︵ ┻━┻

A bee whistles past his ear
He feels the sound . . he doesn’t care
Averts his eyes in case there’s others
Raises his hands to fix his hair

Divorced from reality somewhat: from feeling.
Or at least extremes of:
Never exceeding amounts unfeasible:
Pertaining to the limits thereof:
Plateaued at governable levels in present:
Exempt from enth
Kept in check
His whistle wet & he’s well fed

Real words strewn along the ground
Discarded leaves fallen
Left decaying: mostly forgotten

His pants look to him pantaloons
For the good they do representing him
the man chases an end necessary; resenting
not waning, he feigns stoicism
then his creeping cynicism clouds his eyes

‘u know what buddy, u can honestly get ******’ he says ‘the 1st world cries the loudest; but is softest.  Thinks it is toughest; it is weakest, smoothest, creamiest.’
‘u know what buddy u are honestly right’ he says to himself not wanting to admit to himself that he agrees with himself,
but despite this all, his gaze’s focus still lowers
the edges become softer
& he does what he does

he wraps up in his blanky
with his bottle; safe under cover
among some big ******* to feel warm
but the swarm of bees they circle
twitching fever; rippling waves

hope to god that they don’t sting you
as u hide & feel their sway
lapping closer swooping hawk like
collective wind; they rearrange

and then

they push left !swoop! they raise u up,
( a cloud of black and brown and yellow arches and hums, hums like a razor on steroids, seeping potent purpose, pushing, coming: close your eyes for impending hell)
leaving bumps that swell and burn, they grab, they encase, they consume, they drive, they raise and they push
and they deliver u
and u obey them
and u relinquish; u fold enslaved
they push u forward  !the buzz! it wakes
it makes u groan,
u can’t ignore it
u know u need it
u’ve got to do it
u need to go


toil on & reap the spoils
another set with the walking beige

go here go there: be happy
u have no reason to not this day
just keep on going, mate my mate
lulling deep into the beige

Let us sink and seek the miraculous,
steal from the clothesline of nostalgia.
The crushing weight of a pith helmet.
The quandary that every exit out opens in.
What is not remembered still exists;
the song never plucked rings still.
Cease stifling epistemological *******.
In the end, very few will comprehend.
Hard feet on a bare-wood floor. Then flush.
Iced sausages and cold blood for breakfast.
French toast boasts an aftertaste of paper.
Sign on cafe: Enter ye and be devoured.
It is always eat up or be eaten up.
What is the reference of it in that sentence.
Converse with horses in a dingy sushi bar.
Horoscopes promise passionate promiscuity.
Sometimes cigars can act like ******.
Two hours of smoke an extended ******.
Purchase a pack of Godzillas. Enjoy.
You are responsible for whatever you read.
Do not assault my ears for explanations.
Pluck pantaloons from that nostalgic rope.
Wear them well where you will wear them.
Feel the miraculous swell and understand.

I said it was not meant for me,
But what did I mean?
For any youth, any love,
Whose prey who might be,
On whom you’d lean,

In your semi-corseted skirt,
Or dressed full fig.,
Stalking into town,
Shocking men in wigs,
Luring them into false love,
As others had been?

Would you capture me,
Chaining my soul to your heart,
So I must carry on playing
At your command?
I see your dress under the piano,
And your boots and pantaloons;
The piano is not my voice,
Though you insist it is.

I shot a drunken man for you,
Which made me more your slave.
You woke urges I suppressed,
Too strong for one so frail.
With words you pushed me
But caused music to pour
From me as love did.

A storm of disapproval raged all round
Our Paris nest of love and art,
You came and went like a soldier, shielding us,
And at home you urged me on,
To impromptu inventions,
Yet causing us to depart.

Packed into a cabochon,
You shanghaied me,
Away to Majorca
And the wintry sea.
Your searing love and the island’s cold
Were too much for me,
And I escaped with my art.

From the moment I first saw her
I knew she was the girl for me.
Sun freckled skin and auburn hair;
Her eyes laughed Merrily .
Intelligent and focused
with a smile forever young.
I doubted not a moment
that she would be "the one"

"I love thee, I love but thee
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold
And the stars grow old." -
I'll be your special guy!

She looked at me, perhaps askance,
When I had said those lines.
I think she knew their provenance
was another place and time.
" Unless you're wearing Pantaloons
and have a balding pate
don't be quoting Shakespeare at me
if you expect a second date."

Unabashedly ashamed was I-
caught stealing others' lines.
I longed to be her Romeo
with balconies to climb.

To lie with her beneath the stars
to share Love's sweet delights-
these days its but a memory
that keeps me warm at nights.

Oh joyous noise!

Slam the door
loud as you like,

the old Finn
is awake again.

Let language
like rivers,
only deeper, flow
in torrents
upon sidewalks
of sound.

We are hereby
delivered from
the tyranny
of definition.

Measure your moons
in red pantaloons.

Let fat pigeons
feed breadless
old men
in lost parks.

Clarity is but
self-abuse.

how hathfanespanned
most high heaven
the skysign of
soft advertisement!

Where mystery is
find mirth also.

Steer by
your ears.

Oh joyous noise!

Come on now,
make some...

Quiet now, settle down
there is a test to take
I look around with a frown
from a tummy ache

I know I need to use the loo
so I politely raise my hand
I wonder if she'll construe
my need without command

Look up she does, but ignores
my look of desperation
Returning to her desk drawers
adding to my frustration

I stretch my arm as high as I can
and begin to wave and bounce
She lifts her head, another scan
and cares not one ounce

***** this I think, I need to go
and that's just what I'll do
As I stand my bowels say WHOA!
and let loose right on cue

Leave I did, straight out the door
for now I must get clean
To the office I implored
to call mom for my hygiene

She arrived, straight away
with questions myriad
Once in the car she did survey
"You started your period!"

I hung my head, face all red
embarrassed through and through
I had to let her know instead
I shat my pantaloons

blooms of daffodils petunias roses red
as autumn days shrink shorter
closing in the cold
like the pantaloons
fell to the floor in June
hot passion wafted to the ten-foot ceilings
fan slowly spinning
blades knifing air cutting sexes
scent making it incense
as we drifted into
fall
fell apart like orange red leaves
blown to the
distants
everywhere
spread
showed displayed
for an instant
glory
and then...

Defenses
by Michael R. Burch

Beyond the silhouettes of trees
stark, naked and defenseless
there stand long rows of sentinels:
these pert white picket fences.

Now whom they guard and how they guard,
the good Lord only knows;
but savages would have to laugh
observing the tidy rows.



Teach me to love:
to fly beyond sterile Mars
to percolating Venus.
—Michael R. Burch



What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of the winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Privilege
by Michael R. Burch

This poem is dedicated to Harvey Stanbrough, an ex-marine who has written eloquently about the horror and absurdity of war in Lessons for a Barren Population.

No, I will never know
what you saw or what you felt,
****** into the maw of Eternity,

watching the mortars nightly
greedily making their rounds,
hearing the soft damp hiss

of men’s souls like helium escaping
their collapsing torn bodies,
or lying alone, feeling the great roar

of your own heart.
But I know:
there is a bitter knowledge

of death I have not achieved,
and in thankful ignorance,
and especially for my son

and for all who benefit so easily
at so unthinkable a price,
I thank you.



Mending
by Michael R. Burch

for the survivors of 9-11

I am besieged with kindnesses;
sometimes I laugh,
delighted for a moment,
then resume
the more seemly occupation of my craft.

I do not taste the candies;
the perfume
of roses is uplifted
in a draft
that vanishes into the ceiling’s fans

that spin like old propellers
till the room
is full of ghostly bits of yarn . . .
My task
is not to knit,

but not to end too soon.



Performing Art
by Michael R. Burch

Who teaches the wren
in its drab existence
to explode into song?

What parodies of irony
does the jay espouse
with its sharp-edged tongue?

What instinctual memories
lend stunning brightness
to the strange dreams

of the dull gray slug
—spinning its chrysalis,
gluing rough seams—

abiding in darkness
its transformation,
till, waving damp wings,

it applauds its performance?
I am done with irony.
Life itself sings.



Shock and Awe
by Michael R. Burch

With megatons of “wonder,”
we make our godhead clear:
Death. Destruction. Fear.

The world’s heart ripped asunder,
its dying pulse we hear:
Death. Destruction. Fear.

Strange Trinity! We ponder
this God we hold so dear:
Death. Destruction. Fear.

The vulture and the condor
proclaim: The feast is near!—
Death. Destruction. Fear.

Soon He will plow us under;
the Anti-Christ is here:
Death. Destruction. Fear.

We love to hear Him thunder!
With Shock and Awe, appear!—
Death. Destruction. Fear.

For God can never blunder;
we know He holds US dear:
Death. Destruction. Fear.



Salve
by Michael R. Burch

for the victims and survivors of 9-11

The world is unsalvageable ...

but as we lie here
in bed
stricken to the heart by love
despite war’s
flickering images,

sometimes we still touch,

laughing, amazed,
that our flesh
does not despair
of love
as we do,

that our bodies are wise

in ways we refuse
to comprehend,
still insisting we eat,
drink ...
even multiply.

And so we touch ...

touch, and only imagine
ourselves immune:
two among billions

in this night of wished-on stars,

caresses,
kisses,
and condolences.

We are not lovers of irony,

we
who imagine ourselves
beyond the redemption
of tears
because we have salvaged
so few
for ourselves ...

and so we laugh
at our predicament,
fumbling for the ointment.



Revision
by Michael R. Burch

I found a stone
ablaze in a streambed,
honed to a flickering jewel
by all the clear,
swiftly-flowing
millennia of water . . .

and as I kneeled
to do it obeisance,
the homage of retrieval,
it occurred to me
that perhaps its muddied
underbelly

rooted precariously
in the muck
and excrescence
of its slow loosening
upward . . .
might not be finished,

like a poem
brilliantly faceted
but only half revised,
which sparkles
seductively
but is not yet worth

ecstatic digging.



The Trouble with Poets
by Michael R. Burch

This morning the neighborhood girls were helping their mothers with chores, but one odd little girl went out picking roses by herself, looking very small and lonely.

Suddenly the odd one refused to pick roses anymore because it occurred to her that being plucked might “hurt” them. Now she just sits beside the bushes, rocking gently back and forth, weeping and consoling the vegetation!

Now she’s lost all interest in nature, which she finds “appalling.” She dresses in black “like Rilke” and murmurs that she prefers the “roses of the imagination”! Intermittently she mumbles something about being “pricked in conscience” and being “pricked to death.” What on earth can she mean? Does she plan to have *** until she dies?

For chrissake, now she’s locked herself in her room and refuses to come out until she “conjures” the “perfect rose of the imagination”! We haven’t seen her for days. Her only communications are texts punctuated liberally with dashes. They appear to be badly-rhymed poems. She signs them “starving artist” in lower-case. What on earth can she mean? Is she anorexic, or bulimic, or is this just another phase she’ll outgrow?



Her Grace Flows Freely
by Michael R. Burch

July 7, 2007

Her love is always chaste, and pure.
    This I vow. This I aver.
If she shows me her grace, I will honor her.
    This I vow. This I aver.
Her grace flows freely, like her hair.
    This I vow. This I aver.
For her generousness, I would worship her.
    This I vow. This I aver.
I will not **** her for what I bear
    This I vow. This I aver.
like a most precious incense–desire for her,
    This I vow. This I aver.
nor call her “wh-re” where I seek to repair.
    This I vow. This I aver.
I will not wink, nor smirk, nor stare
    This I vow. This I aver.
like a foolish child at the foot of a stair
    This I vow. This I aver.
where I long to go, should another be there.
    This I vow. This I aver.
I’ll rejoice in her freedom, and always dare
    This I vow. This I aver.
the chance that she’ll flee me–my starling rare.
    This I vow. This I aver.
And then, if she stays, without stays, I swear
    This I vow. This I aver.
that I will joy in her grace beyond compare.
    This I vow. This I aver.



Old Pantaloons, a Chiasmus
by Michael R. Burch

Old pantaloons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to feel
that which they long most to steal.

Old ***** loons are soft and white,
prudent days, imprudent nights
when fingers slip through drawers to steal
that which they long most to feel.



America's Riches
by Michael R. Burch

Balboa's dream
was bitter folly—
no El Dorado near, nor far,
though seas beguiled
and rivers smiled
from beds of gold and silver ore.

Drake retreated
rich with plunder
as Incan fled Conquistador.
Aztecs died
when Spaniards lied,
then slew them for an ingot more.

The pilgrims came
and died or lived
in fealty to an oath they swore,
and bought with pain
the precious grain
that made them rich though they were poor.

Apache blood,
Comanche tears
were shed, and still they went to war;
they fought to be
unbowed and free—
such were Her riches, and still are.



Reason Without Rhyme
by Michael R. Burch

I once was averse
to free verse,
but now freely admit
that your rhyming is worse!

But alas, in the end,
it’s a losing game:
all verse is unpaid
and a crying shame.



jesus hates me, this i know
by michael r. burch

jesus hates me, this I know,
for Church libel tells me so:
“little ones to him belong”
but if they touch themselves, so long!
     yes, jesus hates me!
     yes, jesus baits me!
     yes, he berates me!
    Church libel tells me so!

jesus fleeces us, i know,
for Religion scams us so:
little ones are brainwashed to
believe god saves the Chosen Few!
yes, jesus fleeces!
yes, he deceases
the bunny and the rhesus
because he’s mad at you!

jesus hates me—christ who died
so i might be crucified:
for if i use my active brain,
that will drive the “lord” insane!
     yes, jesus hates me!
     yes, jesus baits me!
     yes, he berates me!
    Church libel tells me so!

jesus hates me, this I know,
for Church libel tells me so:
first fools tell me “look above,”
that christ’s the lamb and god’s the dove,
but then they sentence me to Hell
for using my big brain too well!
     yes, jesus hates me!
     yes, jesus baits me!
     yes, he berates me!
    Church libel tells me so!

Keywords/Tags: Defense, Defenses, Defenseless, Picket, Pickets, Gate, Gates, Gated, Fence, Fences, Wall, Walls, Barrier, Barriers, Protection, Civilization, Outpost, Fort, Home, House, Castle, Barbarian, Savage, Savages, Intruders, Invaders, Sentinel, Sentinels, Guard, Guards, Guardians, Danger, Dangerous, Threat, Threats, Border, Helpless, Helplessness, Guardrail, Guardrails

Once again, thwarted by the raging
Green Gorgon Queen, the Evil Absolute
had no recourse but to turn ever darker;
to retreat into the bowels of the Kave,
where the unholy alliance of the mystical
Ku Klux **** was formed in deepest
shadows; unseen white men plotting
their own & eventually everyone else's
destruction; bent on blind hatred &
meaningless, stupid revenge that only
brought uncomfortable & unsettling
laughter in polite company... but in secret,
they were sure, every decent white person
felt exactly as they did, even as before their
eyes the exhaustless wisdom of legendary
ones & the rapid speed of the machine-age
made the **** seem quaint & out-of-dated
even in their own minds, too embarrassed
to admit the horrible truth, that would have
sent Socrates & Aristotle into howling
paroxysms... sad to see stupidity wasted
on one so ugly; the Moderns had invented
the Neanderthal Ideal to compensate for
the pathetic reality of actually beating
one another over the heads... It was here,
in never seen recesses that the Absolute
summoned his latest dark immoral dread...
The Laugher!!!

Her foes vanquished for the time being,
Medusa thought to take in a show.
Staying in the town knowing Sherman's
fiery advance was yet to dawn on the gimlet-eyed
Rebels. She was ahead of her time
& looking back all the while. The show
was a melodramatic comedy of the type popular
in the pre-gilded era of dusky frontiers
& nascent city lights. The war just revving up,
before she could get back to ****** who as yet
had no fortelling of his own fate at that
ripe young age. Putting the Cowboy of the Future
out of mind & pinning a willowy white brim
in the teeth of Akasha & a few of the others,
as they all wrapped comfortably coiled beneath
the voluminous Chapeau.

Hoping there would plenty of high-stepping
chorines, Medusa prepared to be duly entertained.
Only to be crushed when the show appeared for all
of her high hopes to be a rather staid drawing room
drama of the modern variety; with realistic dialogue
and grave social concerns. It was the last thing she
needed, bu as she was walking out, one earnest
Victorian thespian while dragging her train across
the rickety boards, caught the material on a wayward
nail, which proved stubborn enough to tear
the half-knitted stage rag & unstrung corset
completely off the actress' back...

The first part of the Laugher's devious scheme
laid, instead, the staid audience rose to its feet
& burst into applause, appreciating the forward-
thinking playwright's daring; a completely
unexpected turn, as the brocaded velvet curtain
fell & house lanterns were lit... Medusa had had
her back to the stage the whole time peering
ahead toward the dark egress... Off to the side
unseen & all but unnoticed, the Absolute,
in his true identity of Horace Horatio Whoreson II,
who's progeny would likewise bear upon
the Gorgon's destiny years hence...

As the audience reached the smoking chamber,
slowly reflecting upon their most immediate
impressions & once catching themselves
giggling a bit, tittering spreading throughout
the room until one by one, every man,
woman, maiden & suitor dropped dead
from convulsive choking laughter...

In the hansom cab Medusa thought she
should've gotten her money back for the
ticket, peering at the punched slip, making
note to avoid the New Realism from here on.

Backstage at the theater the actors were aghast
that the audience did not return for the second
act, thinking their careers doomed... but a stage
hand rushing in from the lobby gravely informed
that the entire company in attendance had all
died of from a deadly leak in the gas sconces.

Since the tragedy could not ave been avoided at
any cost, it was attributed to an Act of God &
the actors were relieved of their guilt... their souls
spared; the young actress, however, was never to
quite recover; having witnessed her shame in front
of the stunned then mesmerized crowd of genteel
upstanding citizens & townsfolk who all had
in every likelihood had never seen a denuded young
maiden scamper away in heavy boots after freezing
in disbelief, giving a prolonged view of choice
Southern womanhood to the full house, the orchestra
striking up a delayed tattoo...

Cheeks blushing like bright American Beauties,
the otherwise pale actress greeted the mysterious
courtier with the distinctly foreign accent;

Claiming to be nobility...
he informs the girl that he is a doctor, of sorts,
& proceeded to 'examine' her in the hope that
she had not been injured when forcibly disrobed
with such incautious suddeness...

finding his clammy fingers crawling the girl's
spine & reaching for her ribs, she recoils with
uncontrollable snickering; "I'm ticklish!" she cried.

The hellish black eyes ablaze, the oily perfumed
phantom dashes from her quarters as if struck
by the very lightning of genius!!

If he could merely get the wicked Queen
in the nearest proximity to a feather, he'd
have her at his mercy!!

Disguised as a traveling feather salesman,
the villain enters the gaudily appointed lobby
of the town's main hotel in search of clients
for his dubious wares; "You wouldn't know
of a young madame who might be in mind
to purchase such fine Old World Ostrich!!"
he boasted to the unimpressed help, coming
upon the bored desk-man; "I say, my man,
would there a female presence about that
would love the silken licks of a fine plume?"
"I be needin' a new quill pen," croaked the
roused clerk, "You be having one a'them now?"

Taken by the abrupt request, the quandried
no-gooder is forced to fish through his bag
of props all of which served no purpose but
to provoke derisive laughter; mangled stems
losing their mottled bloom as the dusty
shafts molted in a furious flap of loose spines.

"I say, old man, I've been wearing this top
since Boston," said one gruff old man, doffing
his pate, "You wouldn't have the single red tail
feather of an Eastern Blue Breasted Whip-poor-will
or perhaps jut any old common Goatsucker there
in that bag?"

Having nothing of the sort, the flustered
peddler hurried packing up his flying feathers
rushed out of the lobby back to the street where
a passing crow happened to spot a premium
target for a leisurely midair release....

the gob as big as an egg felt good coming
out too, as it splashed across the bewildered crown...
dripping past spectacles & that with an
inopportune snort lodged in the sinuses...

Momentarily Medusa came down to
the desk & inquired about any messages,
complimenting the clerk on his fluttering
new pen. "Feller was jes' in here givin'
'em away! He had a bunch!"

Having just fed her hair, she
felt there was no need to spoil it...

Being the **** of laughter rather than deliberately causing any,
the archfiend skulked back to his dark lair to write better jokes.

Thinking perhaps the lady in question
preferred more savory fare, & enlisting
his willing Trilby, the young actress
of his recent acquaintance, to approach
said well-heeled lady in the guise of traveling
corset sales-lady; bedecked in leather
high-boys & tightly cinched silk garter,
a waist all of 19" & a face
glowing red atop a head about to burst...  
in High-heeled hob-nail
boots, the dainty young thing sauntered
up to the hotel desk. Captivating at first blush,
the normally near-sighted clerk straightened
his bow-tie. "Can I help you, Miss?"
"Uh, yes. My name is Miss somethinorother,
I'm a..."
"I didn't get that name, was that something?"
"Or other."
"Miss Other,"
"No Miss something."
"What? I missed something."
"My name.
"What was it?"
"What?"
"You say something?"
"My name!"
"What was it?"
"Something, I... oh, never mind!"
"Okay, Miss Nevermind,
what can I do for you?"
"Can you give me a room
with a hot bath?"
"I can give you the room
but you'll have to take the bath yourself..."
"I see you have a new telephone."
"You don't have to look at it, you listen to it."

Medusa, descending the Hotel stairs,
sniffed out the aroma of tanned meat.

"Any messages for me?"
"Telegram."
"Can I have a look at it?"
"Oh, you don't look at it!
You listen to it!" piped up
the corseted pipsqueak...

"And you are?" quote Medusa.
"Something!"
"That you are...what have you
in your leather case?" asked the
curious queen mischievously.
"Oh! Leather," the girl cried,
back in character. "I sell leather!
Would you like to see the new
French fashion line?"
"Why don't we go up to my boudoir?"
offered the mistress at last, then
curtly but politely,
"Amos, send a bottle of twenty year
old bourbon up to my room in twenty
minutes. It's waited this long."
"Will do, Miss M..."
"That's Captain."
"Captain?" gushed the frail female,
"You must be important!"
"I'll tell you all about it upstairs,"
offered the frilly arm of the regal
guest, leading the lamb-like girl
to unknown & unguessed pleasures...

Th plot of course was to get the
Blue hero festooned in some
strappy leather contraption before
moving onto tickle-play, at which
point...

But the girl was already giggly as Medusa stroked
the fuzzy cheek & led her further into her sanctum...
It was Medusa now with one thing on her mind, part
of the deal she'd struck with the Union was that she'd
be responsible for her own *****, which she now felt
firmly within her grasp... the girl sighed, her mind
drifting to the somber performance the night before,
before the single capricious nailed removed her garment
to sudden applause once the curtain had gone down...

She had encountered the strange foreigner
in her dressing room but now under the bewitching
gaze of the fabled primeval beauty, the little lady
had no choice but to wee a bit.

"Oh, I'm wet," she cried weakly as the door sounded.
"That must be the whisky. Now we'll really get wet."

But the clerk had been tipped an honest fin
to allow the odd creature to bring the *****
up to the door of the lady's boudoir suite...

"Let's get you out of these things.
They must be uncomfortable,"
suggested the queen flipping the girl
over on her ample chest &
shifting the shifting petticoats until
arriving at the girl's leather
pantaloons. "You come prepared."
"I sell leather!" the girl cry muffled
by settee pillows. "And you model
it too? Now that's service,
but it must be hot..."

Standing outside holding a seltzer bottle,
the fiend was set to strike, but when the
door flung open, a ***** soaked set of
rawhide Lederhosen slapped him in the
face...the bottle snatched from his fingers
& the door slammed.

Taking a swig, the door flung open again,
this time the bottle crashing down over his head.
"That's not bourbon! Where's Amos, you clod?
You must be new... go and try again!
and if you come back here with water,
I'll drown you with it!" The door slamming
again, feminine titters rising gleefully,
listening outside for the sounds of laughter
proving futile after a few hours, with only
endless cries of "O, Captain! My Captain!"
bellowing from the mistress' suites.

With no one left to do his dastardly
***** work, the Absolute is at last forced
to take matters in his own hands... but not
entirely... of his scant loyal followers
remain Moonshine former sidekick to the
electrically incinerated White Lightnin';

& the traitorous Indian couple Running Bear
the cowardly brave, & the ditzy White Dove
whose true allegiance she knew not where;
kidnapped as a child from her settler parents
who were themselves scalped & worn as
fashionable accessories, all White Dove
knew was the life of a Plains Indian squaw...

Feeling at odds with her Native upbringing
White Dove has no recourse but to Kave of
the ****, where the Absolute sits staring at
French daguerreotypes by candlelight...

Seeing the shimmer white girl in her Native
attire of next-to-nothing standing just beyond
the light, a pale silhouette in the faint flicker.

"Yes?" called the wary man, not at all
embarrassed by his discovery. He had been
here for some time, having gone through
many candles... the spreading white puddle
at his feet.

"I can no longer join forces with the White Man!"
announced the Indian maid defiantly.

The final indignation... the all mighty Grand
Wizard rose up to is full stature, all four foot
five of him and in rushing to seize her
dropped the candle plunging the deep cavern
into complete darkness.

Fumbling his pockets for a match giving
the rebellious squaw time to pick up a rock
& when the flare flamed at his face she
struck him pointedly across the brow with
a careful swing of her honed, limber arm...

Passed out in utter darkness Whoreson otherwise
known as the Evil white Absolute, knew at long
last what it was like to experience true blackness.

all the Ivy leagues –
Yale, Princeton and Harvard
No one could say I was a coward
I told them my story
Sent it in a video
Wrote it in a paperback
Willing to enlist every high-brow’s flack
Put it out on YouTube
About his abuse
It’s called ******
Some go to jail for it
It’s masked as love
It’s made in the shade of shame
Hidden in the therapy room
Buried with the dust –
Under his couch
Crouched in the woman’s pantaloons
In the heads of the best –
Of all who swoon
And lied to defend
Those ****** afternoons

Sometimes a change is an upgrade
For a better existence we crave
And thus we now live in a warm house
And don’t shiver inside a damp cave

Or maybe we tire of fashion
And yearn for a day very soon
When we cast off the custom of corsets
For breeches and pantaloons

The new normal might come some gusto
That’s embraced with an unbridled glee
Ditch gramophone records and big bands
As we rush to get colour TVs

Other times change is unwelcome
Its just something we have to embrace
Politics, illness, bad neighbours
Or wearing a mask on our face

Our life will have only one constant
Which I shall now pass on to you
The only thing certain and for certain
Is the change that we have to live through

It might not be something we long for
But before long it will stop being new
To have a new normal is normal
Because its normal to have something new

Think me a think
tell me a tale that I can't swallow
get it fresh from the asylum of the thoughtless thinkers
for thirty and more I see the uncovered racists
set free to plague and blunder

I watched mesdames le guillotine all cackling in witless throes
knitting laces of viperous lies strung tight in wicked untruths
seen solid bridges of sweat and honest toil
rumbled and ravaged and strewed with chalky muck and dust

I have in alas, witnessed translucence sirens
peel of caricatures to reveal deadly serpents belly crawlers
and watched dishonourable 'mothers' painted in clouds
rip into a kind and loving heart
searching for the lion within to spear its life-force asunder

they showed me teachers un-teaching
and the hypocrisy of the vicar's wife who bangs the good book
they laid my tomes before leaders to be torn and burnt to ashes
they took my cloak and furs and rendered me out
in the alpine desert as their likes and kin roasted fattened hogs
up close and personal they revealed their rancid underbelly
and the stink of putrid vapours from cascading snows

now hear the height of the ridiculous saga
from the battlements of the asylum at common ground
perhaps based on my utterance of liking contrast in vivid hues
purely i might add, only in artistic or fashion sense
what beats a jet black pantaloons paired with blinding white tunic
definitely not a Scandinavian maiden with bosoms to spare
I have seen the evil of blue eyed monsters
and the sick rotten innards of sleeping beauty with golden tresses
how can I write heart songs to daggers in my heart
I work with sincerity honesty truth and loyalty, not fakes
its all I know.......

With the loss of his two greatest rebel heroes,
the evil Absolute enlists the enigmatic Winter
Blonde to find a champion to replace Captain
Confederacy, l'il Dixie & White Lightnin'...

With the aid of her faithful slave Mamma
Jamma, Winter Blonde raises the spirit
of L'il Dixie using the slave's mysterious
art of ancient African Hoodoo!  

Brought to Eerie afterlife, the disembodied
ghost hovers above them, Dixie's spirit flickering
in the shadow of the large fireplace's flames...

At the astonishing sight, Winter Blonde faints,
leaving Jamma alone with the ghost... the spirit
growing stronger as the old slave continues her
jumbled chant of magical African incantations...

Until at last, Mamma Jamma is able to direct
the wild spirit into the suit of 16th century
steel armor standing in the parlor, bringing
the shining metal figure to horrific undead life...
medieval weapons & all!!!

The Confederate Revengers
effectively destroyed; the evil
mastermind known only as
the Absolute devises a plot to
expose the Union spy in their
midst, hoping to prove the
pesky Northerner's undoing...

Summoning Winter Blonde,
Mamma Jamma, the Human
Locomotive & Moonshine to
a secret meeting in the bare
Kave of the ****, the Absolute
spells out his plan to stop the
Union from expanding the
railroad still further west...

"The red man will stand behind
us! But first we must show them
that we can stop the ******
Yankees in their tracks...literally!"

Rechristened The Confederate Crusaders,
the diabolical plot is swiftly set in motion...

Bribing the duplicitous Indian Squaw
White Dove with ample wampum,
Medusa is able to discover the evil plan...

The hyperactive Human Locomotive,
outracing the Iron Horse headed out
to the newly opened western frontier;
as the shining new engine steams
through Indian country, a surprise
attack by a horse-mounted wild Indians
emerges from the surrounding hills...

Armed with long Winchester rifles &
bows & arrows, soon the steaming
locomotive is under assault by the deadly
red savages!!! Medusa, disguised as a
genteel Southern Belle, going to the
caboose she quickly loosens her hoops
& pantaloons to the shock of the car's
frightened passengers & leaps from the
train's railing onto the tracks as the terrified
stoker feeds the belching furnace to speed
through the violent Indian assault...

Seeing herself hopelessly outnumbered,
Medusa has no recourse but to use the
Smaragdine Signet Ring bestowed to the
Gorgon Queen by Hermes Trismesgistus
himself to summon her compatriots
to help her defeat the onrushing red horde!
With the cry of, "3Ms!" at once appears
three of the mightiest warriors drawn from
the Classical Golden Age...

Mithra, ancient mysterious hero who can
single-handedly defeat a herd of charging
bulls with his super hard club that can shatter
every bone with a single blow!!!

Minerva...undefeated warrior goddess
& superlative archer!!!

& of course, the superhuman & blood-
thirsty Minotaur, freed from his labyrinthine
prison!!!

The vintage heroes making short work of
the startled red men...all the while being
watched from the hills by the cowardly
Indian Running Bear...who then sees
coming in a cloud of raised dust the swift
Human Locomotive racing to the Indians'
rescue!!!

Horses thrown through the air by bulging,
muscled arms & terrified Indians dropping
weapons & dashing off on foot... the Human
Locomotive plows through the scattering
red skins to charge the heroes directly!!!

His brawny legs moving too quickly to stop,
the Locomotive finds his face crumpled into
the Minotaur's stone-hard fist...

But also on board the train are Winter Blonde
in her everyday guise of a prim schoolmarm
along with her faithful slave Mamma Jamma...
Mamma mumbling the jumbled incantation
to raise the several spirits of dead Indians, but
as well the animated armored suit now dubbed
The White Knight!!!

Faced with an angry army of the undead,
the 3M's one goal is to ensure the train's safe
passage through the blood-haunted territory...

Realizing Mithra is fighting an empty steel
shell, his deft blows denting but not stopping
the brutish metal monster... until using her
ring of enchanted Emerald, Captain Medusa
succeeds in blasting a hole through the thing's
chest plate, the beast shuddering but unharmed
& tossing her aside to face the next oncoming
hero, the Mighty Mithra who easily smacks the
flailing arms right off the hoodoo spawned hellion...
but the detached steel fists continue to grip at
the Greek hero's bare muscled limbs...

Seeing the Arcadian champion gripped from
all sides, Minotaur & Minerva run to his aid...

Meanwhile, seeing the small bare footprints
appearing in the desert sand making their way
away from the stalled locomotive, its coal
supply exhausted by the feverish stoking of
the frightened train's crew...

Seeing no one, Medusa wondered how to best
an invisible foe until striking upon the idea
of raising a tornado of dust better to view the
figure's outline but when the ground is whipped
up into a whirling cyclone that rises into the air
not only is the female Confederate revealed to be
starkers but the spinning dust comes into contact
with low overhanging clouds -- the sky darkening
only to burst into a torrential desert rainstorm...

The Human Locomotive finding his feet mired
in mud, the Iron Horse remaining perched on a
high plateau beyond the reach of the amazing
runner's tired & weakened lower limbs...

Tuckered & unable to run uphill, the crestfallen
Southern hero slows to a brisk walk while the rain
poured in buckets... soon the unwieldy metal monster
begins to rust in place & become immobile, Mithra
is able to free himself from the ghostly armor's
fingers; the stiff suit rigid and unmoving as a statue...

The Winter Blonde standing wet & naked could do
nothing to shield her body as the ***** rain fell
all around... seeing her reddened embarrassment,
Mamma Jamma leaping from the train ran to cover
her mistress with a thin shawl...

Minerva taking up a red man's fallen bow & a handful
of arrows takes precise aim pierces the evil slave through;
Mamma Jamma collapsing at her naked mistress' feet...

The dead red spirits quenched, return with fading
howls to the red dirt... Winter Blonde taken into
Union custody, her body tarred so that she can no
longer deceive anyone with her absent appearance!!!

blue as aqua man and tide

You are the wind
pushing through my pantaloons
in the middle of the afternoon
embarrassing me
as you play your flute
with a toot, toot, toot

You are the leaves
a fallen souffle
as a crater
no one would savor
crackling
crumbling
as a stale cookie
left out
you might
entice a mouse

Thinking perhaps the lady in question
preferred more savory fare, & enlisting
his willing Trilby, the young actress
of his recent acquaintance, to approach
said well-heeled lady in the guise of traveling
corset sales-lady; bedecked in leather
high-boys & tightly cinched silk garter,
a waist all of 19" & a face
glowing red atop a head about to burst...  
in High-heeled hob-nail
boots, the dainty young thing sauntered
up to the hotel desk. Captivating at first blush,
the normally near-sighted clerk straightened
his bow-tie. "Can I help you, Miss?"
"Uh, yes. My name is Miss somethinorother,
I'm a..."
"I didn't get that name, was that something?"
"Or other."
"Miss Other,"
"No Miss something."
"What? I missed something."
"My name.
"What was it?"
"What?"
"You say something?"
"My name!"
"What was it?"
"Something, I... oh, never mind!"
"Okay, Miss Nevermind,
what can I do for you?"
"Can you give me a room
with a hot bath?"
"I can give you the room
but you'll have to take the bath yourself..."
"I see you have a new telephone."
"You don't have to look at it, you listen to it."

Medusa, descending the Hotel stairs,
sniffed out the aroma of tanned meat.

"Any messages for me?"
"Telegram."
"Can I have a look at it?"
"Oh, you don't look at it!
You listen to it!" piped up
the corseted pipsqueak...

"And you are?" quote Medusa.
"Something!"
"That you are...what have you
in your leather case?" asked the
curious queen mischievously.
"Oh! Leather," the girl cried,
back in character. "I sell leather!
Would you like to see the new
French fashion line?"
"Why don't we go up to my boudoir?"
offered the mistress at last, then
curtly but politely,
"Amos, send a bottle of twenty year
old bourbon up to my room in twenty
minutes. It's waited this long."
"Will do, Miss M..."
"That's Captain."
"Captain?" gushed the frail female,
"You must be important!"
"I'll tell you all about it upstairs,"
offered the frilly arm of the regal
guest, leading the lamb-like girl
to unknown & unguessed pleasures...

Th plot of course was to get the
Blue hero festooned in some
strappy leather contraption before
moving onto tickle-play, at which
point...

But the girl was already giggly as Medusa stroked
the fuzzy cheek & led her further into her sanctum...
It was Medusa now with one thing on her mind, part
of the deal she'd struck with the Union was that she'd
be responsible for her own *****, which she now felt
firmly within her grasp... the girl sighed, her mind
drifting to the somber performance the night before,
before the single capricious nailed removed her garment
to sudden applause once the curtain had gone down...

She had encountered the strange foreigner
in her dressing room but now under the bewitching
gaze of the fabled primeval beauty, the little lady
had no choice but to wee a bit.

"Oh, I'm wet," she cried weakly as the door sounded.
"That must be the whisky. Now we'll really get wet."

But the clerk had been tipped an honest fin
to allow the odd creature to bring the *****
up to the door of the lady's boudoir suite...

"Let's get you out of these things.
They must be uncomfortable,"
suggested the queen flipping the girl
over on her ample chest &
shifting the shifting petticoats until
arriving at the girl's leather
pantaloons. "You come prepared."
"I sell leather!" the girl cry muffled
by setee pillows. "And you model
it too? Now that's service,
but it must be hot..."

Standing outside holding a seltzer bottle,
the fiend was set to strike, but when the
door flung open, a ***** soaked set of
rawhide Lederhosen slapped him in the
face...the bottle snatched from his fingers
& the door slammed.

Taking a swig, the door flung open again,
this time the bottle crashing down over his head.
"That's not bourbon! Where's Amos, you clod?
You must be new... go and try again!
and if you come back here with water,
I'll drown you with it!" The door slamming
again, feminine titters rising gleefully,
listening outside for the sounds of laughter
proving futile after a few hours, with only
endless cries of "O, Captain! My Captain!"
bellowing from the mistress' suite.

the seal called the 7th is made of steel;
the eyes of man w/o vision
gropes his way to the well &
there meets his old gf gone gray;
asking for a cup of cool water
in praise of pink pantaloons
at night when the moon is full
like a yellow smile; twin yolks
automatically forming two
nearly identical sisters; coming
in a twisters' orange winds
the twins emerge dropping
their sacks of fairy gold to the metal table

Bribing the duplicitous Indian Squaw
White Dove with ample wampum,
Medusa is able to discover the evil plan...

The hyperactive Human Locomotive,
outracing the Iron Horse headed out
to the newly opened western frontier;
as the shining new engine steams
through Indian country, a surprise
attack by a horse-mounted wild Indians
emerges from the surrounding hills...

Armed with long Winchester rifles &
bows & arrows, soon the steaming
locomotive is under assault by the deadly
red savages!!! Medusa, disguised as a
genteel Southern Belle, going to the
caboose she quickly loosens her hoops
& pantaloons to the shock of the car's
frightened passengers & leaps from the
train's railing onto the tracks as the terrified
stoker feeds the belching furnace to speed
through the violent Indian assault...

Seeing herself hopelessly outnumbered,
Medusa has no recourse but to use the
Smaragdine Ring to summon compatriots
to help her defeat the onrushing red horde!
With cry of, "3M!" at once appears before
three of the mightiest warriors drawn from
the Classical Golden Age...

Mithra, ancient mysterious hero who can
single-handedly defeat a herd of angry bulls!!!
Minerva...undefeated warrior goddess!!!
& of course, the superhuman & blood-
thirsty Minotaur, freed from his labyrinthine
prison!!!

The vintage heroes making short work of
the startled red men...all the while being
watched from the hills by the cowardly
Indian Running Bear...who then sees
coming in a cloud of raised dust the swift
Human Locomotive racing to the Indians'
rescue!!!

Horses thrown through the air by bulging,
muscled arms & terrified Indians dropping
weapons & dashing off on foot... the Human
Locomotive plows through the scattering
red skins to charge the heroes directly!!!

His brawny legs moving too quickly to stop,
the Locomotive finds his face crumpled into
the Minotaur's stone-hard fist...

But also on board the train are Winter Blonde
in her everyday guise of a prim schoolmarm
along with her faithful slave Mamma Jamma...
Mamma mumbling the jumbled incantation
to raise the several spirits of dead Indians, but
as well the animated armored suit now dubbed
The White Knight!!!

Faced with an angry army of the undead,
the 3M's one goal is to ensure the train's safe
passage through the blood-haunted territory...

Realizing she's fighting an empty steel suit,
her deft blows denting but not stopping the
brutish metal monster... until using the ring
of enchanted Emerald, she succeeds in
punching a hole straight through, the beast
shuddering but unharmed tosses her aside
to face the next oncoming hero, the Mighty
Mithra, who easily tears the flailing arms
right off the hoodoo spawned creature... but
the detached steel fists continue to grip at
the Greek hero's bare muscled limbs...

Seeing the Arcadian champion gripped from
all sides, Minotaur & Minerva run to his aid...

Meanwhile, seeing the small bare footprints
appearing in the desert sand making their way
away from the stalled locomotive, its coal
supply exhausted by the feverish stoking of
the frightened train's crew...

Seeing no one, Medusa wondered how to best
an invisible foe until striking upon the idea
of raising a tornado of dust better to view the
figure's outline but when the ground is whipped
up into a whirling cyclone that rises into the air
not only is the female Confederate revealed to be
starkers but the spinning dust comes into contact
with low overhanging clouds -- the sky darkening
only to burst into a torrential desert rainstorm...

The Human Locomotive finding his feet mired
in mud, the Iron Horse remaining perched on a
high plateau beyond the reach of the amazing
runner's tired & weakened lower limbs...

Tuckered & unable to run uphill, the crestfallen
Southern hero slows to a brisk walk while the rain
poured in buckets... soon the unwieldy metal monster
begins to rust in place & become immobile, Mithra
is able to free himself from the ghostly armor's
fingers; the stiff suit rigid and unmoving as a statue...

The Winter Blonde standing wet & naked could do
nothing to shield her body as the ***** rain fell
all around... seeing her reddened embarrassment,
Mamma Jamma leaping from the train ran to cover
her mistress with a thin shawl...

Minerva taking up a red man's fallen bow & a handful
of arrows takes precise aim pierces the evil slave through;
Mamma Jamma collapsing at her naked mistress' feet...

The dead red spirits quenched, return with fading
howls to the red dirt... Winter Blonde taken into
Union custody, her body tarred so that she can no
longer deceive anyone with her absent appearance!!!

Perry arisen early was at the dining room table
having coffee reading the latest Biedermann’s
Weekly dropped off regularly by the large green
parrot. Carrera’s installments were wild webs of
outlandish lies and half-truths. Even the half-truths
were lies. Perry reading the raving chronicles
with bated interest particularly liked the way
he came off; Carrera portraying him as a forward
thinking inventor of unique gadgets that one day
in the future would become quite commonplace.
But telephones, flying machines & roadsters,
in their early stages hadn’t replaced the stagecoach
as of yet. The poet seemed to have a fondness
for depicting Lady Medusa with her hoop skirts
raised showing off her pantaloons to male advantage.
The dangerous vipers turned by the writer into
harmless green snakes. Perry understood this
too. The Weekly’s middlebrow readership
would be horrified if they were presented with
unvarnished reality. Medusa was beautiful. That
was the truth; but who would ever believe that.

she's so old she's been there since 1954;
she's not coming down w/o me getting
up there and pulling her by the corner;
her bare feet on a rug red painted toes;
blonde hair bright smile like a painting

she's coming down but what's underneath
her is an even older pin-up from 1910; I
like this girl better corset model in black;
black stockings held up by frilly garters;
smile vaguely smeared across shaded face

I like these old girls & wonder how far can
I go peeling one pin-up after another until I
gett to the very first pin-up; this building is
pre-war therefore its pin-up walls go back to
the American Revolution; there a pin-up lay

of a French girl drawn w/ meticulous detail;
her hairy ****** captured w/ open ***** &
her chubby face endowed w/ fat lips & cat's
eyes; her pantaloons split open w/ fat fingers

thousands of years hence when this building
is a condo made of moving polymers, safety
glass & Chinese steel; a smart building that
takes commands; turning on glowing walls;
activate virtual environmental simulation in
progress & where there was once paper & ink
there is a 3D pixelated form of flesh & blood

from the beginning of time once again,
women walked & spoke in rhymes;
dancing women were at the beginning
looking just like u; smelling just like u,
mommy women all have swaying *******
or little birdy chests, gotta love 'em;
grandma danced for grandpa back in the
day as they say; boogie-woogie uptown;
Charleston downtown; rag all around,
banging on tin pans in the alley cats &
kitties dancing around the garbage
can for fish bones; one-eyed cat peeping
in the seafood store; ***** for a quarter
on the corner; as soon as time
began women were dancing
go-go can-cans; foxtrot rubbing crotches
& waltzes between the pantaloons;
get hot get wicked get mother in here
smoking ****** on benzedrine; feeling
up taxi dancers @ 10c a dance;
grinding w/ Emma she say:
"If I can't dance u can keep ur revolution!"
naked women dancing are what great
civilizations are made of; tell me,
how long has it been since we've had
a Golden Age of stripping? How long
has it been since a crowd of proud citizens
have shouted 'take it off'! naked girls
basking in the naked adulation dancing