For Every Tib and Tom Cat


36. tacky fingers and all

As I exit toward the light

does it show – is it too obvious

my distaste for swarms anthills...?

cast out outcast

filtering the saccharine garbage

the parochial sanctimonious fecal prurient rampage

of snorting blurred shapes

that scabrous ambiguous lurked.

the angry giggles that snaggedly flowed from the dumb assholes

the toiling maggots underground

their meaningless jottings

their pinguid pigments splattered on the pungent spice of the floor

as they shuffled and shuffled along

chatting and chatting no end.

also the girls – their wombs

their wombs – uttering those excruciating screams

of weeping sarcasm against the teeming crotches

and then the blinding objects foolishly deemed to protect them

those bogus wedges athwart their transpierced chests

them chorally groaning against the weight

of so much unuttered script above their thoraxes.

agape and thrall-less their sparkling cunts

crusading in a barrage of squeals of blasphemy for the ultimate victory

of their outlawed god.

breathing hard now

as my polished cock boldly thaws

all their icy scorn – layers upon frozen layers

accumulated over centuries of forced burial

and accelerated spoilage on bended knees

shivering for fear and...

for fear and cold

crushed on the corners

on the corners of the underground.

fiercely bombed

we fought with our backs against the ceiling

listlessly wooing disaster

tottering tortoises of a doomed world

speeding toward an exploding sun

but no

our wills won – here it stood unscrambled our ceiling

our dissipated traits

as though after a too protracted orgasm

collapsing into the faces of gargoyles...

they muttered first and then openly barked

fingering my marmorean face that “I’m too willful
” the censorious women

rebuking my stance – their udders steadily pawed during the alarms

now deflated by safety.

no longer dazzled by their meretricious beauty

chug along worthless rake

and lift your cyprian eyes toward the exit

from whence the sky hangs...

for there’s nothing else for you to do down here

now that the bombs have stopped and the women won’t pawn

their replenishing vitality for a bit of skillfully provided venting

of their jammed triggers

the haven has sunk to the sorry sight of levels ordinary

I’m too bored with normal people

this subterranean setting

formerly if fleetingly so exciting now lacks all...

has no...

lacks all kind of enticement

has got no lushness and no...

goading nor spurring nor

I came out of the bombed tunnel

ran shrill the cats – no longer awed and silent

and I had left my dad dead

leaning on a wall of the subway

he had become suddenly incoherent

talking about almonds – his rambling phrases

how it was not entirely proper to eat almonds in bed

the gnawing the sticky crumbs

I realized he was dying – I had opened my questioning mouth

he was looking at me without a trace of recognition

and as I went to hold him he was already dead

a lump leaning on a wall

with the oblivious women crumpled all around

yearning for hands

for thirsty eager hands

and me slithering

a cat silent and industrious

to a fault...

Never so well

Never so well


anyocs de nyacs!

who the 'ell?

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,