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©1995 Chris Abraham

tonight i went out with a
friend who drew lines in the
sand and i sat there near
the azure shallows and washed
my feet in the ocean.

a sand crab ducked into a hole
out of the night air to deep

(so what if i wanted to fuck her
i know the rules of the game and
am very cool with the rules of the
game because they are not drawn in
sand but are etched in the sky
they are etched in the heavens and
under the belly of the slug and
they are written on clay tablets
and on the brows of virgins and whores
and priests and studs and they play
on my crown like a spoon on the pot
worn atop my dizzy dizzy head.

like the glock like the uzi like the galil
like the ruger like the colt like beretta
like the m-16, like the ak-47;ak-74
like tumblers or hollow points or
in the case of most of my brothers
in today's virile virile infertile
world -- it is written in blanks
written in blanks behind a bit of
rubber and nonoxyl-9

our friendship is holy and lovely
and why would i want to fuck up such
beauty? such a life-long friend who
shifts my paradigm as a daily right and
i would not jeapordise such a lovely lovely
perfection for to do so would be selfish
and who wants to fuck anyone that much?
who wants to fuck anyone that much?
who wants to fuck anyone that much?
not me but someday there may be such a person
and that would make the true union glimmer
and sparkle visible from the farthest
farthest recesses of dark lonely space!

we went out to the brothers mcmullen
and i got the bad advice. all the
negative parts of the film appealed
to me. they spoke to my manly irish
stud downing pints of Dublin guiness
and singing singing drinking songs.
no nay never no nay never no more!

what a fine film for an irish lover-boy
studmuffin like myself, anyway!

there is always another lover
there is always greener grass
there is always forgiveness
and if not, see first line

(and yes, i am a hopeless romantic
who has the muse and feels the passion
and believes in true love, soul mate
match made in heaven -- but I shan't ever
admit to any such basket of lies lies lies!)

there is no such thing as soulmates
and there is no aspect of convention
that shouldn't be corrupted.
except trust except trust except trust
trust and love -- keep those HOLY!
(like the sabbath like the
First Day of Rosh Hashanna)

Jews to Temple Jews to Temple!

its a man's world, an oyster,
and aphrodesiac culminating in O
Ooooooooohhhhhhhhh Yeeesssssss!

(give this fucked-up world back to the
goddess; give this fucked-up world to
the beautiful gentle lovely femmes!)

and such a beautiful such a beautiful
beautiful beautiful friendship that
other lovers and other lovemaking and
other ideas and thoughts that conflict and
hurt and invade shall be overshadowed by the
beauty and gorgeous candor of playmate
loverfriends who would never draw
lines in the sand because these things
really detract from living from living
from living from life -- they build
falsity lie lie lie lie (fib)
and neither shares what floats the boat.

and more things culled from celluloid:
be desired more than you desire
sometimes a cigar is just a cigar
irish catholic boys from RC school
are rife with just a host of delicious
hand up hung up fuck up and amen
(but we are cute and irresistible
and adore really dirty sex,
dirty language, sneaky sex!)

madonna in the kitchen
whore in bed
(not my words not my words)

we never become bored at least
but it is always cream, never daily bread!
eat of this this is my body
drink of this this is my blood

(oh the thrill of such clear-cut sin!)
(oh the thrill of almighty god who has such
undisputable legalese at the end of every human
contract with the after after after life!)

more advice from celluloid:
don't be afraid, you'll get laid again
don't be afraid she'll be much more beautiful
and have your passion for sex
and have your desire to raze lines in the sand.
and she'll hold your hand and look at
you through her lashes, through her hair.
and you and she shall be partners
and you and she shall couple
and you and she shall share the same name
and you and she shall procreate
and you and she shall have a brownstone
and a summer cottage
and a dog but not a cat (i am allergic)
and the little polywogs shall be loved hugged and cuddled
and you and she shall invite friends over
and sample red wines and visit the fine cities
and eat meusli in bed as the sun pours in past
the thin curtains and morning edition is on the
radio as I shave and she gets ten more minutes
before we part for the day and indulge our public

or forget the shaving and meusli and ten more minutes...
there is just enough time this morning so that we won't
be late for work so let's just crawl back into bed and...

And you'll really love really love and like each other to
friends confidants lovers mates smitten and pie eyed

and her eyes shall burn
and her eyes shall burn for you
and her eyes shall burn with lust
and her eyes shall be intelligent and kind
and her eyes shall burn

and pet names shall gell like too sweet honey
and make our friend cringe from the sugar

"Patience," he told me, "It's not easy
living with an intellectual woman,
but I highly recommend it."


and she'll be your friend
you be friends that fuck until the daylight
and then you'll call in sick for work
again and again and again and again

she will even seduce you from your telnet session
she will even seduce you from your rlogin session
she will even seduce you from your gopher session
she will even seduce you from your finger session
and the netscape navigator shall be under dust...

and the crow will cock
and the cock will crow
and it'll be so ooooooooh!

and to touch the sensitive skin of the
cheek with the side of the thumb to
move wisps of hair from the face
so i can see the eyes

and the line of the flank that leads
to the rise of the hip to the ass
where the skin bisects to the legs
and the smooth smooth skin reflects
and the navel and the ribs and the
back and the spine and the neck and the
nape and the shoulders and the arms
and the hands and the rise of the bosom
a spill of hair and the little toes

those words that marr genteel conversation
will be heaven sent and the living will be
the foreplay -- the tongue and the finger
will be the communicators as they are in
daylight, although less pressed for meaning.

would you please explain yourself again
would you please explain yourself again
would you please explain yourself again
and again and again and again say when

yes, i shall, yes, i shall and we shall
wind like serpents into french bread.

Feb 12, 1996 09:10 PM