9.20.2007

Damn Your Hide, McSweeney's

"Well-written, but we're going to pass, I'm afraid..."

The Four Stages Of Poetry

I:
Grounded

Your oppressive regime
Paints your face black
I am a slave to your whims
I want my PS2 back


II:
wo
manly

hands reach my sensitive Y
a gentle

caress!

finds me

(thank god
my father
paid for
the abortion)


III:
In the morning light
Horus stills his breath
Amaterasu recedes beneath her pillow
Each feigns slumber
Though Montréal bustles
In the morning light
The Mythological Cycle begins anew
And Sisyphus sighs
Because the first to rise
Has to make the coffee
In the morning light


IV:
the nurse who bathes me
modestly tries not to look
at my erection