Clickety Clack #234

We need to know what goes on in your face, that alacritous distaste for the sensical, your fervent longing for the ecumenical consensus, you want all referees onside, the smooth agreement and dispersed sighs, the slickness of Astroglide on a shaven thigh.

Hi and bye, night close by, lie under the sky and sigh, eat another poisoned apple pie in a basin full of brown suds, this swollen hipster pose sickening my straight arrow friends.

Dreams in fuzzy pink and drink potions from Hawaii and leave the drano under the sink. The big bank is bonzaied by the brinks trucks, the motion detectors are dead and nothing but ghosts move in this evening dusk, the moon was full three days ago and it is still quite constipated. I cue you to swirl like Mary Lou Retton. A cry from the midway barker, this close shave on a Wednesday aka Humpday, midweek for those keen on regularity which of course leads to prosperity at the expense of spontaneity and hilarity. Prone to sincerity and prophetic poses, my stenching stack of roses red lie undelivered one minute after midnight after Valentine’s Day.

No cloak for my back in winter, naked wanderer from the town beyond the frontier, that cesspool of uncertainty worms into your ear, cultivating rumours and believing statements only when contradicted as Otto von Bismarck observed. My diplomacy is a bit too Bronze Age, a tad na├»ve and heroic my sentences are half seasoned, poeticisms all too prosaic. My lady? As poetry she was a disqualified Olympian struck out on a technicality but granted grace by the judges for one token performace rejected outright for subversion but appreciated in men’s secret breast and underneath their puzzled frown was subconscious applause and she blushed at the meekness and vulnerability of her jailers.


Bobby said...

I am currently in jail.

Cupcake Man said...

do they let you have cupcakes or bagels?