wrote this when i was in a troublesome cheeky mood .
enjoy if you understand


mischief

Here I am pressing the T.V buttons,
my fingers clacking, numbed, tingling,
my thoughts vacillating, finding meaning
in channels devoid of pictures,
the screen squishing like the raining grains
that caused an avalanche in the distal part
of my engorged putrid belly
with my stomach rumbling like
a 'love me, love me not' topsy turvy.

I continue looking for riddles,
still twiddling knobs that looked
like the big needles that tried
to stitch my skin into pleasure.
Shouts of 'oh jerry, oh jerry'
sweeps by like a gust without a fan,
a picture looms, Berry in bikini,
I stop, I talk to her, inane words,
but she can't hear, she strains,
her right ear pouting
with sugar crusts on her lips
till the huge back of James
the 'double old' seven blots the view
and makes me bang the box,
makes me start to turn
the knobs on the set
like a child playing
with the plastic nipples of silicon breasts,
left behind in the sand
‘cause they couldn't rot with the rest
of a porn star’s casket.

My behind rumbles from my kind,
the angry voice of 300,
Leonidas' mad bunch
whips me into a frenzy,
spurring me on, into hands
of warriors with white flowing robes,
till a Lilliputian spear
impales my right buttock
lifting me to Olympus
where I can shake
the hands of gods
who blink like mere static
from the halo on my head.