“But, as Milton’s Satan should of had it, every
Hell is heaven, and each
Rung sweeter than Prufrock’s peach”
—scrawled on stall-door at Cal Arts
I fancy my wit
Bubbles like marshmallow on a stick
Which you stick up my ass till I cream,
Till I scream like my latest Trick.
Yes, it’s true—I am verily Faggot.
But I am no Bottom, except in verse
Which one must do to rehearse
Scaling Everest, where death does better
Because it’s too cold for any maggot.
I bottom to the letter, but no letter can fetter
My sharp blood that likes to stuff some slut—
His mouth rather more than butt.
Sonnet 130 has not gotten it quite right—
No heaven only hell—rising tides drown skies—
No house nor open air
Just almost dead poor people swarming.
Common sense—measure nets grosser—
Dictates we exterminate these fleas
Who will, like one who strives
To reach Himalayan summit, be glad as their ends get closer.
Adam Strauss lives in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He has, most recently, had poetry appear in Typo, and some very soon forthcoming in Fence, and forthcoming in Upstairs at Duroc. Find him on Twitter @AdamStrauss81.
Gem Blackthorn is QMT's Sex Columnist, and the author/curator of Lust Thrust Thursdays. Send her your submissions and questions at sexsexsex [at] queenmobs.com
Image: D Sharon Pruitt