Friday, August 31, 2012

meet me in st louis

we will dance the hoochee koochee i will be your tootsie wootsie if you will meet in st louis meet me at the fair

and there she is sprawling across the prairie reaching all the way out with striped dash dot dash blue grey legs and arms dozens of arms she all kali and cute stretching getting all yogalini toward kansas city pushing up against the mighty mississippi like it was some shaky headboard attached to a squeaky brass frame and lo her body bodes breeding her hips oh her curves up and over and around embracing the prairie floor

i admire her from the top floor of the parking lot a phat joey dipped in honeybud dipped into my lungs gently down the stream merrily merrily longer yet milder my own personal midwestern club rasta

digga digga
chigga chigga

chop suey for st louis

tap tap the ashes floating down five floors snowly slowly onto taxis buses pickup trucks and john deere himself all circling our prairie princess paying homage to her lucky lindy lilliepad

and i dance down the stairs cross the skyway

enter her pulling baggage behind me finding her opening her weakness finding my way in

looking up in awe and wonder

a kid in the magic kingdom i’m captured by her spell sweet sweet cinderella let me be your cinderfella

them brightly lit corridors all a-white and windowed people scurrying this way that way doing the hokey pokey in the middle of the day in the middle of life bright afternoon sun blasting blaring declaring through the floor to ceiling glass to any and all declaring that she was hot and bothered

thou shalt not fuck with her

not today don’t even think about it she can fry your egg on the sidewalk she can sizzle your soul in the shade yes i just thank my lucky stars that i am inside enclosed existing

and i know i am here only by her patient and all merciful grace

doing the hokey pokey putting my left foot in

oh meet me in st louis meet me at the fair don’t tell me the lights are shining any place but there

stopping to breathe perch myself up on the barstool that sits

not up along affronting sturdy polished mahogany a bar with ancient water rings fossilized etched into its soul

nor does it even sit against faux formica woodgrain with expensive mugs of cheap bud sliding along

merrily merrily
merrily merrily
life is but a song

no simply stopping to sit upon a bent to the shape of not my ass but for the perfect ass described to me to us by some gay underwear designer by posing his boyfriend on billboards throughout the land and on the back pages of the right magazines with which we make a scene polished metal seat atop a polished metal pole with no thought much less attempt to attach an attachment upon which to put my feet

in front of a polished stainless steel bar serving not to feed me but my laptop phone ipad left nut right nut feed my need greed my weed

buzz buzz
buzz buzz
samsung charging station

channeling david byrne life during wartime how did i get here

but fuck

what’s a guy to do guess it’s just a sign of the times the way of the day the magic of the moment

a socially necessary distraction an indefinite departure from our deep down in the primal plasmatic goo hard coded basic instinctive drive to run up behind





her ass peeking out from beneath short shards of cloth just crawl up behind it stick my nose up close and personal give it a big sniff  and


as i see the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness starving hysterical naked dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix

and so i dig into my bag o’ tricks

as she the mystery voice of god herself speaks to me and the multitudes she speaks from the faux clouds  above she suggest gently that our time is nigh that our seat awaits up up and away in our beautiful balloon our

beautiful our

beautiful our

beautiful balloon

down the tube through the portal flirt with the waitresses wearing hotpants and tall pink hats

who strap me down straddle and threaten me with a scolding tongue lashing in an exit aisle seat asking me if i’m responsible if i’m willing to assist others should this big tin bird bite the big one

i can't look away she they have me in the clockwork orange chair of no resistance my eyes pried open

i nod in agreement

the pressure too much i return to my bag i dig i plow i go on safari deepest darkest heart of darkness a bend in the river

aha voila

yeah yeah yeah that’s the way it is that’s the way it goes i open up that little package of yummy gooey goodness it’s all officially wrapped i tear open the foil all sealed up airtight ready to last til five minutes past armageddon all adorned

with proper bureaucratic statements regarding the product’s purpose what not to do during the stated effective period perhaps affective period considering its content considering its molecular structure its sentence structure its grammatically significant appeal to rhyme and reason

and just where would i find heavy machinery any way

and there are ink blots with tables and charts indicating strength intensity percentages of active ingredients tetrahydrocannabinol cannabidiol and narratives of some not so active ingredients like gelatin flavoring color sweeteners citric acid wax

and love

yes yeah

lemme tell you right here and now


she is an active ingredient

with a healthy recommended daily dose

and a romp in the hay with a two-legged texan blonde and true with eyes of blue oh yes she is an active ingredient

comes complete with a healthy recommended daily dose twice on sunday twice with a sundae

with official symbols and a bright and prominent green cross branding as in made especially for signed sealed delivered she’s yours

if you can find your way to her sticky viscid viscous vanity

because once you tear along the dotted line indicated by the tiny little open scissors graphic international sign for cut my wrists you still have to liberate her little wiggly rowboat oh so delicately lift her from free her from the sealed cellophane peel it back gently nudge her watch her arch her back respond to your touch

jiggle jiggle wiggle wiggle giggle giggle

must be jelly cuz jam don’t shake that way

bits o’ shaky puddin’ pie dance the edge
make them cry
cross the t’s
dot the i’s

circle the oh’s
curl the toes

and then

and then

and then there’s that oh my moment 

scooby doo ecstacy

as she lands on your tongue

that oh my moaning moment jesussette dispensing with her own communion eat of my flesh drink of my juices slurp of my joy

ah ma chere qui ont mange le kif

j’ai mange du kif

ah ma chere i am zee locksmith of love no

baby oh baby nom nom nom cherchez la femme

and the waitress dabs the grey of her ashes on my forehead provides me with her blessing absolves me of my sins for yes i have sinned i have sinned i envy i lust i covet i crave

i breathe

i glance about the plane i know and love everyone aboard the father the son the holy ghost and jabba the hut who sits next to me he overflows from the middle seat the fat of his flesh slithers like bowlfuls of multidimensional amoebas covered with a damp tee shirt sporting his undying respect for ted nugent

and i will an invisible wall of lysol

and lean my attention across the aisle up one row to a brown man tall and dressed like charlie sheen and the safety officer waitress she suggests she asks she urges him to take his bag emblazoned with a fabulous late century walmart logo cradled in his lap she suggests she asks she urges him to put it up into the overhead compartment before we launch

he refuses he says said sack possesses popcorn a popcorn of special meaning of personal importance he needs to protect it

he embraces it defends it

she insists

he refuses

he looks around the plane searching for friendly eyes beseeching moral support all the others they look down they look around they look out the window at their newspapers they do their sudoku he is indignant i give him a big cheshire cat grin soft and stoney i love him i am embarrassed for him i want to give him the benefit of the doubt i want to think that perhaps the popcorn was popped in his lover's love juices perhaps he sprinkled his grandmother’s ashes upon the tender kernels

eat of me so that you may know my wisdom know my heart

i want to hold him in my arms place my hands around his throat and squeeze it til he sputters and sprays stutters and prays

and say to him brother ease your burden give me the popcorn allow me to lift your spirits i am stoned and starving munchie madness mauls my mellow

and i almost cut my hair 
but i didn’t 
and i wonder why

it’s almost like i’m feeling


and it’s not the waitress in the hot pants and tall pink hat because she storms off up the aisle she speaks into the bat phone she points back down toward us me and my soulmate with added salt butter and brewers yeast she stops speaking she lowers her pointing arm she looks away from us she looks toward us she sighs hangs up the phone smiles shrugs slinks into her safety seat straps in masturbates and moans as the jets go

vroom vroom

and everyone of us pushes our feet through the floorboard and we do the fred flinstone twinkle toe tap dance down the runway as air pterodactyl soars into the sky

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night

we of the twinkle toe takeoff blend our history and our poetry and our personalities into a single-celled entity suddenly believing in god for that split second that moment of doubt that molecular belief that it is against god’s will for us to fly we close our eyes and pray to serendipity she who whispers to us one by one sugary sweet nothings sugar plum faeries a-dancing on our eyelids she blows them away as if they were elven candles on a birthday cake

little puffs of love

and it’s wheels up and my eyes open three days later arising from the dead to sit at the right hand of love

we will dance the hoochee koochee and i will be your tootsie wootsie if you leave st louis meet me in the air

and all that

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

What a flight..candy anyone?