Wednesday, August 1, 2012

A Poem for August

For Thelonius 
I slink
‘round midnight
so he so me
the he-suit sits
so pure his plunk
his plink his tone
not sunk his sun
not set ‘til crepuscule
with Nellie knits
then rises, rips
up-trips Ruby,
my dear, surprise
so sheer her lips
her hips so he so she
he sits his loins opine
so mine so rope
so steel his spine spoke
then stroke, stroke
this hip-hop tome
this hotel motel
E.T. phone home
to Blue Monk
here in post-helium
hemisphere lost
so moist in moisture
I sit straight, no chaser
not pus, not tin, not smoke
not thirsty sister
not unmet need
no line no pun
no hour-lust rumor
no minute rum
sun rises, sets
is risen, no prison
these melons
ripe to ripen
out in the street
not unshine, like sunshine
split prism like the moon
this tune, this rune
so he so she
so us so punk
so misterioso

Lisa Vihos

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