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Weeds are not supposed to grow
but by degrees
some achieve a flower, although
no one sees.

From the March Issue

MARCUS BALES

Disturbing Dream


I was deep in Daryl Hannah
On the baby grand piano
With a not-yet-ripe banana
As a butt-plug when I woke.
I was out of breath and sweating
But the factor most upsetting
Was the penis I was petting
Which looked up at me and spoke:

"Daryl Hannah? Are you crazy?
Your imagination's lazy
Since you could have had Miss Daisy
On the hood of General Lee!"
And I thought "A talking penis!”
And then Daryl-Daisy-Venus
Moaned, “Don’t let it come between us,
You are not yet done with me!”

Then she grabbed at me though armless
With an urgency alarmless
And a grunt that would be charmless
In another circumstance.
Then the oriental gonger

Where’d he come from?pounded stronger,
Slower strokes that lasted longer
In that ur-orgasmic trance.

Then she finished with a pleasing
Top-fuel dragster engine-seizing
Noise that sounded like me sneezing
And I sat upright in bed
With no Daisy/Venus/Darryl,
Just a hard-on, no apparel,
And the bottom-of-the-barrel
In my stinking mouth instead.

Can a moral be extracted
From a dream that’s unredacted
Through a prism so refracted
As this poem? You may scoff.
But a dream that has no ending
Never has to stop offending.
It’s like predatory lending
Since it never does pay off.

 

Not much is known about Marcus Bales except he lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and his poems have not appeared in Poetry or The New Yorker.

 

 

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