Hillbilly Faun
(Apres midi d'un Faune “hillbilly”)

I stay horny.

A bush-smell, smoke,
bread dough, mushroom spunk,
mixed up still hanging around -
but whose
who knows;
great to lay here in it though,
stretched out nothing but
bone-idle lazy.

So it's all a dream; so what?
- and yeah, my head's hard, right.
When it's dark in the woods you can't see
shit, and that's an advantage
when you're a goat from the waist down.
Real or not, I got off,
and real-enough teeth marks
show some freak about bit my nipple off.

Here, have a drag
of the fingerskank
that kept a panzer-eyed punk
moaning,
while I drank
fallscity off the tongue of his blush-blotched
"army buddy."
That one,
whose switch only went from
freeze to thrash,
was more fun than playing with blasting caps
in a rock quarry.

Put some music on.
My tasseled waterlily lamp
he knocked the shade off of
shows it's still hard,
might as well air-guitar one
to the memory of the South.

Oh my hoodlum swamp buds - TELL;
how out of the cloud of smoky bs their white bellies
shed wife-beaters
to boast some bad tattoos.
Whilst
running a dudey finger
up those crude
blue-black maps,
try then, again
my evil flying pipe
to shoot your bloom
where the sun don't shine.

I'm proud to be a hillbilly.

Laid up here on my rabbit hutch,
shooting the mellow
breeze of a wasted summer day,
gazing through the pink of my
king-size bazooka joeskin
at the sun
before I pop it -
cutting the sugarbuzz
with slugs of shine -
still thinking about that holyboy
treasure chain, ditchdigger palms
and snake ivy veins...
I'm drunk and want more.

Swelled up by precious memories!
How I caught them in their
craigslist shackup, so tangled
in homoity
that they jumped between
red-faced fight
or panty-waisted flight.
I put on my daddy-whipping face
till I bust my gut laughing.

I love it that they're
pissed and hot at once
in being had,
two little hellcats,
with
covers blown to hillhump heaven,
hightailing it
back into
trucktalk and ballgames
while their saddle itch
shoots a burning arrow into
the ring of covered wagons.
Ya'll come back.
I topped the whole g.d. team
while Dolly Parton's head shot out
of a discovery channel volcano.
Go ahead, punish me for it.

Those two ran off.
Too bad! But there'll be others.

(adapted from Mallarmé)

Bable Fish erodeclysm
(translations in cyberspace)

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