Skip to main content

If Lies Were Liquids (Samuel Jones- Bastrop, LA)

If lies were liquids,
I would send all the Liars to Sudan.
With dark hands cupped in front of their faces,
I would ask all the Liars, "How are you doing today?"
"Fine.  . ." the Liars would reply
Followed up by water gushing from their mouths.

I separate the people married to women
And I pull out their wives:
"Does she look fat in this?" I point
As I have the wives pose in intentionally undersized clothing.
"Of course not!"
Now buckets replace those dark hands.

Eventually, I 'll just tell all the men,
"Describe your penis."
At that point I will be able to attach plumbing to their mouths to start a tap.
Consequently, every hut will have individualized access to infinite fresh water.
But of course this supply is backed up
By the amount of women I'll poll regarding their number of casual sex partners.

Sudan will never be dry again!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poet's Cry for Mike Tidewell (Barry Sons - Berwick, LA)

I heard the Politician say in a hunter’s whisper, “There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. He was crying about the marshland’s accelerated decay.”
“Mr. Politician, can you help us anyway? I refuse to think our marsh is so quickly Going away. If we can scan the galaxy And bring men back from the dead, Why can’t we save our marsh? I can’t Get that around my head.”
There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. Whining and crying; Who needs them anyway?” “Mr. Politician, I’m here to make you feel. Try to wrap your heart around the things that Are real. Like love and friendship passion and Sorrow; the love of earth and concern for tomorrow.”
“There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today."

This Little White Boy Who Wanted Some Nigger In Him (James Leland Ludeau III - Lafayette, LA)

Grew up on a plantation
Removed
Secluded from the world
I knew classes but didn’t understand race
Because what raced through my veins wasn’t something of which I could ever speak
My father could fuck the slave girls
But I couldn’t touch the men
It filled me with resentment
Fueled my resentment with lust
Until it was too much to take
It was a small contained community
White as the cotton in the fields
Only dark around the edges where the black men lived
Ploughing the fields
I’d imagine them ploughing me
Sinewy
Glistening with sweat as the sun bathed their shoulders
The sweat running down until it pooled around the waistband of their thin cotton pants
Their skin
Black, almost indigo, like night
Some like coffee with milk in it
Cafe au lait
I could smell their musk
Watched as their muscly bodies worked
I yearned
Burned
This little white boy who wanted some nigger in him
To fall beneath the weight of one
As he heaved
As he forced his throbbing cock into my crevice
I longed for even the pa…

Steadfast (Catrina Crowe - Ruston, LA)