I Still Want To Go Down On You, ...., Oh Well
What wonderfully warm suppliant:
Now that I am drunk, and probably shouldn’t
Be writing anything. Yes, I should shut up,
And look at pictures of you, down the well
Of high school, with your tawny legs,
Shaved and brown like the elbows of trees;
But, as you can see, I am writing anyways,
Even if you or anyone else is reading this.
If you do, it will make me laugh, now that everything
Is thoroughly maudlin: I am neither as ugly as I
Fear, nor as handsome as your drunken expectations
Might have hopes. I am drunk, and it is Halloween,
And I am thirty; and I am published, by the great
Philanthropic arm of the queen’s navy, and undoubtedly
You are making lovely eyes with your patrons, or
Whoever you are with. I love you, and I thought
About writing you and telling you that, but
I am not as stupid as you might hope, nor am I
Emily Dickenson holding to the arm of her newly
Procured husband as they are floating down the Nile,
Or anywhere else: My great uncle made fun of my thesis,
But he is a liberal judge, and a c*nt; and now I am
Published: yahoo, and anyway, and anyway, like I said:
I am drunk, and not as handsome as you might expect,
And now I am listening to Jack White spew extemporaneously:
And he is rather quite good, given all the possibilities,
And even if we grew up in Wellington, we loved the true
Happenstance of sunrise of bankruptcy and exports:
Now that I’ve said that, I should laugh and play a video game.
I am only 1/64th Jewish, so I don’t mind where I park:
Today, a woman came with a summons for my father,
Because he has too many horses, but what do you expect?
I’m bone broke, but that is a lie, because I have $150,000,
And I want to go down on you, Erin: I want to go down on
You, Erin, because you are the only thing which is real.
Now pay attention, because I love you,
And you shall survive forever in my voice, if it should
Survive forever; and I want to buy you a house and live with
You for sometime in it, if you should still have the eyes which fancy
A kiss from me:
But like I said, I am drunk, so I do not know if
This is true, but I know who you are, because I
Have painted you in my novels like a salacious virgin,
And let you swim in my grottoes,
Because I love you, or the theory of your thighs
Opening like heavenly doors:
But what now should I write, in order to procure you,
Except that I love you, and when I look at pictures
Of you it makes me swell:
I love you, or the theory of your impermanence;
[...] Read more
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
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