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Date Posted: 17:28:53 10/18/03 Sat
Author: Raphaela
Author Host/IP: webcacheB05a.cache.pol.co.uk / 195.92.168.167
Subject: Re: My Beer On The Skids
In reply to: Dimon 's message, "My Beer On The Skids" on 04:20:41 10/12/03 Sun

Good to see you here Dimon.

I had to read this through several times to fully appreciate the poem's depth and multi-layers. I like reading work that makes me think beyond the words so to speak.

Raphaela






>It used to be
>an emarld green
>bamboo chair
>(someone had accidently leg-shot himself in)
>picked up from the Salvation Army
>for a couple bucks
>surrounded by other fabricated mean-streaks:
>loaded,
>high on testosterone
>lead-singers,
>guitarists,
>pizza guys,
>highschool athlete wanderers
>wondering about life after breadth,
>and middle-age kick-boxers
>wandering about breadth after life-wondering.
>
>It used to be
>insidious enemy-cluster shadows,
>mammoth lessons a rabbit run
>just out of reach
>but by glove or gun
>the Hero
>would walk
>away
>
>with
>
>My prize,
>an emerald green chair
>soaked in experience,
>a fiery gift from way down here
>way down
>from the heart.
>
>Now, I'm the boar
>stamping, writhing,
>needled by bamboo,
>hunted through mercantile head-shops
>that barter cool-as-you
>japanese fans or
>peach cloister beverage skids.
>No, I'm the bull
>harangued by so may matrons
>a wild, snorting, protagonist
>they pretend to pen
>smiling with turned rose cheeks
>secretly slapping my flanks
>and laughing
>when the straw is churned about.
>
>It used to be
>an emerald writers game
>a safari where no one loses
>except the leapords
>but they've got it all now
>the effimate kitty exchange
>our western culture
>redefined
>by no less than a butt-plug
>a pink drink
>and a cork "how-do-you-do?"
>stamped on mahogany
>with a smile
>a mammary
>and a "Dog will hunt" quip.
>SM

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