Your words choke like a loud-ass
Dick down my throat
Ever blowing its blow-horn load like a
‘Nother murder she wrote
Lock, stock, run-of-the-mill anecdote
All you need is one more chart-topper
Pop that cap and purple pilly
On a southside alley in sunnyside Philly
Where Zappa’s pimp called “Willy”
‘S ready to take that beat from out the box
Be sure it never again breathes or talks
(Yet still, after my nature fails me and I lie bedridden by the world’s gang-rape-sadness, my beat goes that I have an impossible strength fit for taking on the world’s impossible tasks.)
Snap peas underground
Trapeze and I found
Big-tittied Irish Red
Dim-witted fly-fish dead
Oh dear! It happened to you:
Cochlear implanted voodoo.
The poet may or may not end up selling his soul.
But Lord, he’s still a poet.
©2013, Amaya Engleking