:::::: Praise for the author: "And it's stupid that you aren't making money from them if you give them to anyone because the only thieves would be them." - PT
ML: shall we north, sister, once more; to clip wings
from upstate mountain-, lake- and river beds;
and return with a feather in our caps
as jaunty as our springing step could keep?
CL: northward, ay we go
let’s make like the Mohicans
clip wings, also scalps
get a hookah? hmm
hahahahahahaha
(not really, of course)
(drawn from a conversation with wieberstein)
Has your editor stopped your piece from the press?
Call up Marky Mark — don’t think to do less.
He’ll comfort you dearly and commend your hustle—
His advice: “When in doubt: Rely on some muscle.
“My words you should heed in the sun or the rain.
“I’ve more hair on my chest than you’ve cells in your brain.
“My style is sweet, sly, and sour like lemons.
“Big ups to me, ‘cause my real name’s Sam Clemens!”
JM:
I move swiftly, as if but a shade
And to all among the house: my presence known,
But ne’er my presence made.
ML:
You bard! You spewer of sweet verse and rhyme
How do you move so swift across the floor,
And—making footfall flight in double time—
Abscond, alight, thro’ our apartment door?
Since last we parted, ‘cross Russia I’ve traveled—
From west to the east, and my heart’s still unravelled.
I’ve had women in Moscow, Irkutsk, and in Perm,
But my poor broken heart remains cold and infirm.
I’ve swum every river, trekked trails south to north
And realize I love you: second, third, first and fourth.
My sorrows are as deep as the Volga runs wide.
Hey baby, it’s cold out, won’t you just come inside?
My muscles are strong. And my dacha? Divine.
So this Vladentine’s Day, won’t you K G B-mine?
Happy Vladentines Day!
(full credit to grabthegusto for this discovery)
Have not we happy few discussed enough
This time of snows and white-slicked mountain slopes?
Now must we act and duly cast away
This ragged cloak of idle plans and schemes
And make for rolling hills lest frigid days
Roll on without us once alighting lift
Or trail or winding sun-kissed weekend road.
So come and gather, fast and free, to ski
Or board or simply in a lodge house sit
And sip the warming broth of winter dreams.
Life hangs,
like cheese and meat
between two slices—
bread of life and crusty death.
One only hopes
they’ve not left off the mustard.
Jokery pokery
Published in poetry:
My verse upon verse and
Line upon line
If you are someone who,
Millionaire-manically,
Donates to lit’rature
Spare them a dime.
Theodora, Queen of Byzance*
Was known for her skill at the dance
And for opening wide
For a Tatar, a Scythe,
And a one-legged Viking from France.**
*These do not get written unless there is at least some basis in historical fact. Both John of Ephesus and Procopius write that from an early age, Theodora followed her sister Komito’s example and worked in a Constantinople brothel serving low-status customers and performing on stage.
**There were no Vikings in France in the 6th century. Furthermore: for one to have even found his way to Constantinople on the use of a single leg would have be equally unlikely.
