Monday, August 07, 2006
Clams Got Legs
So, I'm off to Cape Cod for a well-deserved and long overdue week of vacation. I have roughly 3000 pages worth of reading material, the address of the closest liquor store, someone to slather with sunscreen, an extension cord for the fan, a screened deck, and a rocking chair with my name scrawled in Sharpie on the seat. Oh, and my only Net access will be dial-up. I may not even bother, unless they have Wi-Fi at a nearby clam shack. And, while I haven't been here quite as often as I would've liked as of late (damn that paycheck!), I thought I should at least leave you with something.Unfortunately for you, it's poetry.
Private Message
the fourway grope-fest in the forum
begins to wear thin as cyber-spit.
I find a yawning smiley in the pulldown
but hold my fire, hold its tongue.
let me pull you aside,
seek our online alcove...
let me bracket your breasts
between laughs and winks
parenthetically pleasure
and nibble your red herring
with biting wit and seductive simile.
let me whisper my asides
in the colors of secrets
in the voices of late night abandon.
let me make you
lose track of time.
what were we saying again?
once Net, never met...
we hardly ponder our non-proximity,
the random rendezvous,
the online fuck-and-run.
fingers skilled in touchtyping
find it easy to peel back distance,
erase time, erase imagined introductions
and awkward first encounters.
because words are not awkward.
words are under our control.
words create skin from screen,
lips from luminous phosphors,
your cunt from my keystrokes,
my cock from your extended metaphor.
even the Auto Correct feature
acts as accomplice,
blotting out moles, scars,
leaving the perfect image
of our moist imagination,
the perfect taste,
the perfect sound,
the perfect joining of me and you,
again and again.
no less exciting for being less real.
no less real for being...?
once Net, never met...
you're as real as our tumescence,
my itch to write, your rush to read,
the endless ceaseless tireless joy
of these words
and this time...
of this me
in this you...
as real as touch,
as real as wet...
as real as
SEND
# # # # #
Hear this poem read aloud...
Hear this poem read aloud...
Posted by Prospero on 08/07/06 at 11:06 PM
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