Thursday, February 23, 2012
He's asking Bonnington for a moment
to show him the dream
but no farther, how could he? Wait a bit,
mouth of a horse, drill a hole in the floor,
Bonnington's wanting Bobby to give him one
he'll show Ripley:
upstairs you'll find your readers.
Bobby's gathering dark flowers,
politely requesting something empty
from who's behind the plexiglass.
Looks like Lovely Melindra's car:
He's sleeping in her bed?
She's doing with him what he loves,
does she? now blue eyes
reflect her blue dress,
driving, head in her lap, loving her there.
At the door Anna's saying,
You're my guinea pigs tonight
for a dish I want to call Beef Griot,
the flesh of the mind grinding out stories
Paul's reading aloud. Could that be Mozart?
Bobby's going to tell him, I'm dreaming.
If this's Friday he has till Monday,
when he's going upstairs to meet Ripley
and his mucky mucks.
Bonnington says no one works here like him.
Bobby says, I didn't know, I don't care,
I do only what I need to do
to stay sane despite the madness
my words may conceivably convey.
Melindra lets him suck her lovely tits
like some pony fresh from the womb.
She turns him upside down and has him do
what they both love.
They orgasm, his and hers oozing out
to roam the pastures of their flesh.
She asks why he's silent. My writer's bloc,
you know how I like to beg off.
(23 February 2012: II)
copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander