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A Perverbial Critter

Peter Jay Shippy

           after Harry Mathews

When my cock yaps I tug
The curtain I flare I frug
Mash banana into instant
Oatmeal instantaneously
Plug my moat with caffeine
My ear with spleen: griots
In Paris bombé in Mumbai
It’s against laws of Kansas
For chimps in Kansas to eek!
With their hands I floss I lace
Teethe I squeeze my head
Into the socket I thread
My neck into striped tie
And press I press the maxim
Procreator’s red button: You
Can't run with the hares
And hunt with a man
Who has no feet
—true as blue
Piss but lacking luster
On the gustometer so
I rethrust: Do not use
A hatchet to remove a fly
From the skeleton
In your family closet.

That one doesn’t quite roll
Off the rolled tongue. I try
One last time: Money makes
The world go out like a lamb
Keeping company with the wolf
At the end of your sleeve.

I try to envision those words
In henna on my withered
Bicep—nope. Can’t man join
The rat race without precepts?
Do dogged pursuits purloin
Pure prosody? Hey: Am I
A window-licker or
A windjammer? Answer?
Answer: after sundown I
Let down my hair extensions
Burn clothes close eyes hear
Edison recite: Mary had
A little hair of the pup
That bit her with the same bait.

Answer: Warp! Answer: Woof!
Answer: Run, Mary, run!

Peter Jay Shippy

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