Friday, October 2, 2009

Imams, Mom, Or Rosy

Yummy yummy, whippets in Ikea
listenin' to Foreigner with Mormons!
I come through doing ski jumps off an ogre.

Mom evicted me, that uppity Trekkie.
Don't she know l'm a cutter?
That I'ma kill her with a soggy Nutter Butter?
I look cool. I drink Miller Chill.
I rock a fleece when I'm cold, bitch.

"Blam blam blam blam,"
goes the Palm Treo,
"sorry for the Gorgon orgy."
'seems sweet' says Tao Lin
as he becomes Afghani through osmosis.

I'm Bob Villa, do you like hardwoods?
Do you like listening to Pascal sucking Borges?
Can I install Ubuntu in your butt?
Our Xbox tryst feels so good in my pocket --
you like how I set that ass on fire
like Branch Davidians?

I play Bocce ball on an Imam's face
in accordance with Islamic law.
And oh, how summer shrugs on in a monotone,
spouting Sharia and handing out info about cirrhosis.

Pol Pot ephemera dots our teeth where Moors fucked catbirds
and where you first touched me. Ohio's Facebook status says
"listening to Taylor Swift and fucking cake, shit!"
(When I die, bury my Facebook;
I don't want my Notifications to accumulate forever.)

Our kink smocks and our primitive rhythm
shoot out catamaran windows --
shout out to these stormy forts. Wow. Sorry. Typos!
Mom porn! Syrup! You can't ice the Iceman! Oh, eek! Beck!
O, cryptic October, I am a Xerox lollipop fucker!
Calmly, I face a taco. A voice says, "Be horrified."

Bivalve relic mommy, I rage against the dying of the
horniest nondemocratic milf. Oops, I meant
elf. Hey, it's an accident. I'm only humanzee.
Let the limp, acetic girl die from an old quaalude;
let her face delete time like hot lead denying breath.

Glenn Beck drinks Yemen's moldy ovum as
treelike sluts fly hegemonies into towers, yo!
Hmm. Rookie move. Sacred crotch monsters in the sky
fall as spent cash. A loss of megabits sends Snoopy
whirling through existential crises.

Cyborgs seldom goof Crips at the Penis Rodeo.
(With young Ativan hoes screaming "Sucks to your
ass-mar?" -- hell no.) Piggies everywhere feel
ashamed of their togetherness and their Tekken prowess.

Emaciated Hittites vomit kittens as mommy
iChats with abalone (intra-uterinely).
"Me? Mandarin smoked doe, please. Or the refried police.
And a side of mammy bicep. Thanks."

Today, roadies herd Smurfs to
Gargamel's house so he can eat them
then poop them out. So blue! So sweet the
Smurf meat! I'd like to eat Papa Smurf.

I'm hosting a webinar in my womb on
Steve Perry's hymen and, um, America.
Oh, aha! And, you know, sexual helicopters.
I refuel my head with heroin, Hulu, the
Rutger Hauer Vietnam Vet gag reflex, and Him.
Yeah, uh, Him. That reminds me...
My pinkeye... Your banana... Sorry!


Anagram of the second song "Momma I'm So Sorry" on Clipse's album Hell Hath No Fury.

No comments: