Justuss Four All

image from hdwallfine.blogspot.com

Justuss Four All

“I shall conquer untruth by truth--& in resisting untruth,

I shall put up with all suffering.”--Mahatma Gandhi.

Bantam George W still pimps

             like a pernicious pisscock when visited

                           by the hungary media hoars midst the blackened

             Bushes,            watching his Daddy Bigness spank him pinklish

                           with a rolled-up Saudi flag,

                                       as jaunty Junior begs to have his pants

                                  pulled all the way goosed-down

                           so that he could moor-fully envoy the Monty-

                  momentum--& they all tin-can sea that

           W still sports that crooklyn simpletonish smyle

as he spews non-prop ignoredent, racecyst, elitryst epithreats,

           followed furiously by a hearty laff, several toots of pork-ribbed

                  flatulance, a stumblini cowtoy’s two-step as he tap-pranced

                            in his alligator-skinny London Larados, before rump-

                                    riding Republican hybred roosters, & tossing hand-

fools of honey boo-boo rotten eggs

against pretentious political postures

of the present-President, cakkling like

Gieger’s child that suddenly pops out

of disobedient sychophant’s chests,

red-naked & slimy, its rows of tiny teeth

sharpened to possum-perfection.

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Never give a puse--pigeon a wind-up Glock, for the wait of it will way-down

his panties, leeding to the soiling of his Florsheims, just spooling his purple-

pinky panache, & whetting his quillious, flurious party-harbors; for his

Sillyness bee-leaves himselfish to be an amouritis Lucretio, all draked-up

in his slick zoot-feathers.

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Terrence was the littletrane that wood, al-bee-it not kould, steem up the

lecherous terrain of mutinous dandylying-stems, searching in vane for

the legendary Round Mouse so that Evenhee could join the rusty ranks

or betreemoth Ironic Norses, all those leather-faced larcenous locomotives,

derailed, derelict & dusty, spider webbing in broken headlamps, rat’s nest

motels set up in busted boilers as steamless, never seamless whistles

are now & forever mute as a stringless lute buried beneath the sharpie-

thorns of belligerent blackberry bushes.

************************************************

Calico cats with earthworm whiskers

gathered growling around carthage cans in the ally,

some grumpy, some lumpy, many just dumpy,

wheezing, caterhauling like a barber shop quatrain,

decked out in all nine suits, just particular peaces

of each in missorted collars, their legal clause smeared

rainflow-brite, their cattaboy-slits covered in cheap contexts,

with each I a differential hewn, there sand-dollar tungs

flicking like serpent-queen jelly-dancers.

*****************************************************

I tell you all dog poets beg for word bones, or dig four them

with mischievous mechanical paws while wiggle-wagging

techno-collapsable ink-smeared tales, pantsing with their

terrycloth tongues, always thirsting for truth, always exposing

hairless loins as their peanuts dangle in the win-win, 

nearly butt-blind to failure; 

searching for participles of passion-fruit,

searching for lusty witches in rut,

searching for soft fat laps on wiccan legs,,

searching for phrase turns & ironclad ironies.

Here’s to the daffy drools--

may their words shine with foxfire,

soul-dust, hart-brakes, & brain-icing,

for the world needs them;

regardless of false evidence to the contrary. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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