Goddess, you are soaked in sweat
And I think it might be mine
I too might have slipped in yours
What a to do!
Half word, half nestle
We’re mortar and pestle
Here between your open thighs
I spread your split infinitive
You seem to really like it
When I glide through
Half sheet, half wrestle
We’re mortar and pestle
Wetly, our pelvic parsing
Breaks us down to grunts and moans
Conjoined in husky syntax
I quake in you
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016
jack and jill wanted to be good little entrepreneurs
so they went up the hill to sell a pail of water
but no coin was made ‘cos no one wanted to climb
that big ass hill in the summer to buy water with a metallic aftertaste
that hadn’t been chilled or bottled or had a wedge of lime affixed to
so jack and jill came grumbling back down
and died in a cardboard hovel from dehydration and harsh market realities
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016
if his head touched the pillow he would have died
so he wrote instead but there was no tune
no tune to croon for the words he made
“looks make the fellow,” some looker cried
so he hid instead but there was no room
no room to prune for the life he made
years rolled into the tomb
and he smiled a bloodless smile
“better shut me that window,” he said
then wrote some more
but what for
if he skipped on the bellows he would have flied
but he sunk instead and there was no room
no room to swoon for the lull he made
“taste life’s harsh marrow,” some taster cried
so he starved instead and there was no tune
no room to croon for the lack he made
laughter rolled into the tomb
and he smiled a bloodless smile
“joy’s an abstraction,” he said
then cried some more
but what for
if he plunked on a cello he would have sighed
but he frowned instead and there was no room
for croons to tune with the face he made
“hang on these gallows,” some hanger cried
so he did just that and there was no noon
just gloom in the room and the life he paid
death rolled into the tomb
and he smiled a bloodless smile
“where’ve you been all my life?” he said
then hung some more
but what for
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2008
The duck said to the platypus,
“You a bird or a beaver, man?
And why you got puss in your name?
You’re no cat.”
The platypus said to the duck,
“Lay off me, bro. I’m the Splatterpus.
I’ll flip and egg you straight from the anus.
Try liking that!”
The duck retorted,
“Cool it with the macho platitudes, platydude!
Go play in traffic, man.
Be a flatypus.”
The platypus sniped,
“Oh, that’s original,
playing on my name like that!
You’re a lame duck.”
And then they had a fist fight
though neither had fists. When they realised this,
they stopped flapping uselessly and
clubbed each other to death with their massive bills instead.
So much for race relations.
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016
