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don't ya love these poetry festivals?

 

Chris O'Carroll

 

Keeping It Real

"Bullet wound" is concrete, "mortality" abstract;
The latter's a cool concept, the former a hot fact.
"Love" is an abstraction, "orgasm" concrete;
Only one is salty (although either can be sweet).

 



   The Size of Things

   Daily in my e-mail inbox
   Cyber-sales folk come to call.
   My mortgage is too big, they tell me,
   And my penis is too small.

   They've got services and products
   That can remedy what's wrong.
   They can shrink my massive mortgage
   And enlarge my puny schlong.

   This is why I got connected;
   Now, thanks to the Internet,
   I can wield a bigger johnson
   And pay off a smaller debt.

   Glad tomorrows beckon to me --
   Fate will feel so much less cruel
   With my cheaper monthly payments
   And my more impressive tool.

   Creditors will gnash and mutter,
   Babes will moan and caterwaul
   Once I've made my mortgage smaller
   And my penis not so small.


   Bodacious Botox

   The skin partakes now of the skull's repose,
   For this elixir will immobilize
   All facial muscles northward of the eyes
   To smooth those cuneiforms above the nose.
   What wanton physiognomy has shown
   Of age, this cordial toxin will erase,
   This unguent formulated for a face
   As placid and expressionless as bone.
   To wear the heart upon the sleeve's de trop,
   Likewise to knit the brow with thought or mood.
   To smile and frown is atavistic, crude,
   A habit one can happily forgo
   In favor of the pre-embalmed perfection
   Conferred by this bacterial injection.

 


 Spellcheck Love Song

   You arc the moist exiting girl
   To haze sex wish in all the word.
   I love your beasts, I live you're as,
   I lore to hemp you bard and fest.

 

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