Damn Nation
for D.B.A.
my God, how different this island is
without Dee on it
what impact she has upon me
how she has penetrated me
has gone through me
done this with a boyfriend in one hand
and me, exasperated, in the other
with text books and other books open before her
with assignments without end to complete
before one deadline after another
in addition, writing poems
her most recent ones, among the best
by anybody in the nation
she is phenomenal
my God, I'd cuss, undo her, take her apart
without any sign of having wounded her
without any sign of lasting damage
of damage lasting
she'd just pass through
the roughest winds, inevitable blows
of a relationship and keep right on trucking
chucking higher up the hill
a relationship is to climb
does this better almost
that any woman I have ever known
we grow though she limits our growing
too very quickly, our going
too very far too quickly
but we do grow, we are not this week
where we were a week ago
without end, we deepen understanding
strengthen our agreement
I'd wounder sometimes
if I'd be dead before I fuck her
but I fuck her this way,
that way always, anyway
she fucks me too, says, fuck you
with or without words
I'd say, fuck you, I'd say it often
goes to church regularly
thinks of this word as a bad word,
insist I desist from using it
she has her mind on going to heaven
on getting in and does not want to be
held up at the gate with a lot to explain
interrogated by Peter
Jesus, she allows little or nothing
to transpire between us
refuses to allow me to touch or hug her,
kiss or lift her
as if she feared I'd strip her clothes off
or if I got near her, next to her,
up against her,
she'd be unable to resist stripping herself
she's afraid of something
where we're concerned
I want to nail her, she says
but she wants me to
it is that that she is
even more afraid of
I'd not fuck her just like that though
and possibly impregnate her
though I wish it were possible
to get carried away, to be carried away together
eat her pussy, lick her ass like ice cream
fuck her in her ass and elsewhere
in whatever opening she'd receive me
catch afire or melt like snow balls
or melt like lumps of sugar in hot tea
God was having with his supper or with his wife
© Obediah Michael Smith. 2011
9:42 p.m. 27.01.11
for D.B.A.
my God, how different this island is
without Dee on it
what impact she has upon me
how she has penetrated me
has gone through me
done this with a boyfriend in one hand
and me, exasperated, in the other
with text books and other books open before her
with assignments without end to complete
before one deadline after another
in addition, writing poems
her most recent ones, among the best
by anybody in the nation
she is phenomenal
my God, I'd cuss, undo her, take her apart
without any sign of having wounded her
without any sign of lasting damage
of damage lasting
she'd just pass through
the roughest winds, inevitable blows
of a relationship and keep right on trucking
chucking higher up the hill
a relationship is to climb
does this better almost
that any woman I have ever known
we grow though she limits our growing
too very quickly, our going
too very far too quickly
but we do grow, we are not this week
where we were a week ago
without end, we deepen understanding
strengthen our agreement
I'd wounder sometimes
if I'd be dead before I fuck her
but I fuck her this way,
that way always, anyway
she fucks me too, says, fuck you
with or without words
I'd say, fuck you, I'd say it often
goes to church regularly
thinks of this word as a bad word,
insist I desist from using it
she has her mind on going to heaven
on getting in and does not want to be
held up at the gate with a lot to explain
interrogated by Peter
Jesus, she allows little or nothing
to transpire between us
refuses to allow me to touch or hug her,
kiss or lift her
as if she feared I'd strip her clothes off
or if I got near her, next to her,
up against her,
she'd be unable to resist stripping herself
she's afraid of something
where we're concerned
I want to nail her, she says
but she wants me to
it is that that she is
even more afraid of
I'd not fuck her just like that though
and possibly impregnate her
though I wish it were possible
to get carried away, to be carried away together
eat her pussy, lick her ass like ice cream
fuck her in her ass and elsewhere
in whatever opening she'd receive me
catch afire or melt like snow balls
or melt like lumps of sugar in hot tea
God was having with his supper or with his wife
© Obediah Michael Smith. 2011
9:42 p.m. 27.01.11
posted by Obie Quiet at 9:48 PM
2 Comments:
PERFECT POEM!
It is an out on the edge of somewhere poem, isn't it, Dee? Out on the edge is where you'd encourage me to go. But, my God, D'Anthra, your poetry, even if quantitatively less, is becoming, qualitatively, so very challenging - as if you are prepared to give me a run for my money. Who are your muses though? Is she or he or they equal to my muse? My muse is you, my darling. That might cause me to have somewhat of an edge. Thank you, thank you, for inspiration and for, in addition, measuring up and competing so well. We can end up driving each other to very lofty heights indeed. I love you. Welcome home!!
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