4 odes: an exercise in wordplay

Ode to Odes

deatha ndthee gr8 circle!

lets doit! Say grace!

say thanks to Odes!

I'm not playing, fucking do it!

Yeah, whats better than

the ambiguity of a perfectly

placed

elipsis?

Whats more than some

and most of all? an ode.

Whats poetry and poe-a-bush?

The ode, thats what douche-bag.

So get out your nibs and

calligraphize and ode for

ear, nose, mouth, eyes.

Do it fast, do it slow, do it

so the ode will know,

we're thankful for

expression...


Ode to farts

Sometimes I get upity, hoity toity even and

U

let me know I'm still mammal.

still only a number of decades from diapers,

a handful more from adult diapers.

What else can a body do with

x-cess gas besides expelling it

with the slapping of ass-cheeks.

Just an ape doing the damn thing.

binding humanity to the ground,

binding the palatte and olfactory,

bounding from fleshy U-joint to O-ring,

Kablammo, now we know, You're no

better than me Ho. So, although

I take full blame for Ode to farts,

my take on life comes in parts:

like a silent toot the process

is detectable but blamable

on dogs.

Like a loud laughable thundering shart;

I may laugh and then

immediately regret doing so.

Cause just when you think you've mastered

it all, then

you've shit your pants, again.


Ode to Vagina

oh, plush membrane, door to the soul;

do you recall the shrine errected to you?

Many have rubbed belly and patted head,

to see you rubbed raw on the bed.

I am no fucking Van gogh but I cut ear.

Slick sputtering cunt crawl to a halt,

take your time and frame these seconds

for the grandchildren to see.

So many flavors but only one I've tried

Red hot, heart pounding through the clit;

for this I would die, for these I would live,

the microcosm and fullness of ressurection

pales to parched tails...

To be obtuse for sure, one could

continue ever more, assaulting the twat

with such melodies of that, hypothetical

loving which ever was, beholden in

the lover's heart. Twist and twitch, bitch.

Feel my heat and know that I'd burn

in hell for this moment. Drill that pillow

through the headboard and know that I need

only this, air, water, and this.


Ode to CoK

simple pickle why dost thy hound me?

you are every synthetic of simple.

You are every Nascar fan.

If you were an arm or leg,

or eye, then you'd see, how

useless you are, except to pee.