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Carmina Mucronis: 3

venus

Your hair is flaxen dyed,
this I know, my Flavia,
as I know that you are
    an Arabian slave, dark at the root;

you, owned and controlled
in bed and out
by that fine ass
    Linus, who will never learn that

the more he speaks
out of turn the more
his bald stupidity becomes
    conspicuous to his constituents.

Listen, he farts
in the temple of Venus,
bellowing in echoes
    of bare-assed embarrassment.

But you and I, far away
from such pillared proceedings,
the gallery’s pillory,
    and Rome’s usual contumely,

we enjoy Cardea’s gentle breeze
as she wrestles the Venti
in liver and spleen, blowing
    past our bedchamber window.

Comments

  1. Broderick Barker says:

    TAGGED WITH: STINKY POETRY

  2. Quin Finnegan says:

    Oh, man, is this excellent.

    I’m not sure it belongs in Groundwork either, but is it ever good.

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