by Ken O'Steen
A Leer from the World, and A Sneer in the Universe
I was swearing it
was Magritte
that tits in the sky painting
you know
a sky reduced
to squares
but now electric
and storm-crazed
the old hammock
doing turns
like a jump rope
while we
grappled and swore
and sweated
like sergeants;
and the blazing
firmament lit
the pines
the branches in
low moans
reaching like
voyeurs;
but we
screwed,
for all that our
slimy and raw
and pulsating equipage was worth.
it took gall
in the middle
of everything
in front of
anyone who
would watch.
I hated her
for sure
and she made
love like
a strangler;
and we
could have
made the stars
but we would
only
despise.
That one is more like it, I thought.