H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n

SHARON MESMER

This Sly Anus Of Mine

–– a series of eight short plays

(1)

“LOL! Swedenborg” by Richard Foreman

Starring 1” Poet, Marc Bolan and Teabag

1” Poet:

Stray virgins OK!

MB:

And of course homely rug mice.

Teabag:

I'm an evil arse hair noise!

1”:

I’m Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!

Dinner-table noser of every nerd’s

latrine boner,

jilted in gonorrhea

like Sonny Bono.

MB:

Oh Irritable Bono Syndrome!

O my large and terrible drains below!

T:

Oh, even larger! What-ho!

MB:

Okay so what I’m Mr. Meat,

machismo gonad stallion

and cunt school talisman

for Camel Halitosis Month.

I shit in loathsome calm,

I the cool, slim Satan,

chasm to the millions,

and crueler by the loo.

Bouncy lilaceous horse-face.

1”:

Tarzan good, smegma awful.

T:

Oh shit! Uncool anorak! Run!

1”:

Like big-nosed choristers past the campus mule-crap.

MB:

Are you my Republican replacement chum?

1”:

Will you cup my camel’s peach muscle?

T:

Only a rufus-sided human anus

can shade the dim walrus penis

of He Who Cavorts in Pork

with a big pink TV crooner

under the anti-semitic brothel.

MB:

Only a total enzyme phase goat,

rare as a slim-assed southern cracker.

T:

We had goats because my daughter had a problem!

And Swedenborg's writings that related to the topic

1”:

Just try and ply my sizeable goat butt home.

MB:

A pale goat butt still amazes.

(2)

“Honshu Madeleines” by Kenward Elmslie

With ½ Man ½ Biscuit, Big Youth and Bob Dylan

½ Man ½ Biscuit:

I’m optimal eyesore to the pals,

eating pie morosely.

Big Youth:

I represent a messy loo.

½ Man:

I'm one sleepy-arse face, too.

Bob Dylan:

Oh my oily Easter poems,

my rough, tough, poetic anus,

cousin of ape-thug, the Dildo marvel,

great-aunt of Can of Crap.

BY:

They named her “able in the stables”

½:

Applying anal bible sets

via jiggly hippo hips.

BD:

She shall adjust your nice swollen genitals.

½:

She shags anywhere but on a salad.

BY:

Wild-eyed as an angel's cunt . . .

½:

. . . a blind cretin’s penis . . .

BY:

. . . and now, sadly, a ‘nad nutter . . .

½:

. . . but a one-turd winner

of the two-anus contest of Rude Ant Town, USA

BD:

She turned back on Turd-snot and rode anew

upon nuns who rode bare twat on Turd Stud near town.

BY:

Said he rated his own nuts.

½:

Fucking yokel retard.

BD:

Obama is correct about rural PA.

(3)

A Soliloquy By Brian Jones:

Oh, huge randy twit.

Why crap in a gutter, kid?

Go holy gonad hunting.

My tiny slot

is famous for its moustache.

See I am a bad urinary bard,

rhyme-able anal joy-hole twat,

with smallish peeps

and pimple hassles,

abysmal granules of a

large balmy anus.

Really a hag's bum.

It was a marvel I could wank

Mr. Wanked Alive, the mad live wanker,

winner of last year’s Mr. Wanker of the Year award.

Oh my mutant mouth organ.

invading your warmish elk

with inky asian wanker sex.

Oh vast rigors of a groin

well past wanking.

When I went Roman

I hatched me perfect moon lips

with walk-in loo charms

and slow anal rim lock.

Truly a rare stink afterwards.

(4)

“The HMS Arse Halo” by Gilbert and Sullivan

Characters:

Frank Sinatra, Iraqi dictator

Ezra Pound, an email for Buck Downs

Frank Sinatra:

You fucking hairy arachnic screw-all.

Ezra Pound, an email for Buck Downs:

Who farts in an ark?

Who enjoys well-hung pig,

chipmunk twat musings

and unkempt Nazi cow-shots?

FS:

You, you unzipped hot comet wanker.

EP:

Your cowpat hum-zone stinks!

Your zone of schmoozy wank-juice zooms

past zoomy human wanker-tits,

cuts a lotta hot-wank

with fat Serena Ape Shit’s instrument.

FS:

See, penis hater?

See her Irish dick crab panties?

EP:

You are a foul scary comedy.

FS:

You are a small weird anal exam!

EP:

A mouldy cream fiasco!

FS:

Some kinda fancy foamy corgi — fuck off!

EP:

You and the HMS Arse Halo you rode in on.

FS:

Your 'inappropriate' leap from Hussein to whomever

was head of the MLA before Perloff!

(5)

Song of the Anal Sex Wall Mermaid (Lennon-McCartney)

Wild anal-sex, alarm me?

I’m the anal sex wall mermaid!

I am all for mad anal-sex — I ram well

on a small mixed lawn area

with a phallic brain-rot Norsemen

awash in doggie-doo.

Or a herbaceous poofter charmer,

and smooth porn choir children

rounding up the orgy boloney,

to Drool on whose smooth puberty organ.

Whose horny clitoral dolphin entrance?

Whose metaplagiarism and prose poem politics?

(6)

 The Men of the New York School

FOH:

Ooh, droll chronic nose-hair phantom.

KK:

Protocols and horny hymens.

JS:

The psycho nympho's still on second.

JA:

Oh the shit-shock of rural balls.

FOH:

Oh vanish, Cottonelle the ass dog!

Either that or shag my slut handle

with your huge rat hands.

KK:

Frank, your new blue gonad goes beyond even

the terrible two-headed ego sow

to be ominipresent

as the premier jew-huffing loser,

a ghoul-wielding souffle jar.

JS:

And what about the shoutin' rosebuds of St. Rose?

JA:

And our usual, eclectic, unpredictable & never boring

open mic every month of the year,

not just "National Poetry Month."

(7)

“Nerd Enema of Dog Semen and Petrol”

Starring the months of May and June

May:

Some hi-tech senile male

cited my hellish enema

as a horny chenille sheet.

But fuck all, I'm the Hellenic sea,

Hillary Clinton’s clitoral hiney,

Super Citric Tripe Circus.

Carnal? yes!

Lean & scary.

I promote sperm prosecution,

rectum oppression,

pepperoni scrotums

and Nude devil piranha rats

up an invalid's rear.

June:

Okay, depressingly insecure piss practice.

May:

Okay, Generalised yucky erection.

June:

Okay, spanking creepy secretary

of treacly decaying ejaculation,

stinking capriciously.

(8)

“Obama Is Correct About Rural PA”

Starring Drew Barrymore as Barack Obama and a big ugly wide load as Rural PA

Drew Barrymore/Barak Obama:

I drove a rich ugly old maid into the river

with my severe reverse peacock.

Rural PA:

Your one thought could fill a cow.

DB/BO:

Is Jeff in a band?

PA:

Yes -- Pathos, the Genital Beauty

DB/BO:

Yucky, considering the special pesterer

and his nut-hard labial cup.

PA:

He's a grocer.

DB/BO:

With a Hog's career.

PA:

With a Hero's grace.

DB/BO:

With a nose discharge.

PA:

And a hurt penis overhaul

in the snivel parlour.

DB/BO:

With the plural version

of the dewlap of an uphill venerator.

PA:

And a pre-research whoring grant.

DB/BO:

Eat shit, you near northern pig screwer

PA:

Fuck you, big fat git clad in denim,

making Lad Marinade.

DB/BO:

Mindless nob

PA:

Nun in sleaze state

DB/BO:

Neat, tuneless Nazi.

PA:

I have long exceeded your Vulva mileage ratio

with ovum ravioli talk

and a loo-rimming vulva kit.

I put Herpes on an ant

DB/BO:

You and your pretend anal sex,

terpsichorean flea cancer,

like a Salman Rushdie character's can-opener life.

You currently cover my carefree porcelain snatch,

my rare cat-flap incoherencies.

PA:

You dismal meusli anus.

DB/BO:

You fat sad-ass numeral

in a critique and/or expansion of referentiality

and engagement with critical metanarratives

like a new species of modernism.

PA:

Go get anused up a crack.

(Don't try this at home kids:

squid protruding from a pill-spewing anus

tentacles waving

clutching assorted lifestyle accessories.

My surgeon friend just shuddered.)

DB/BO:

Has the mighty boosh actually sued

the sugar puffs for their crimp?

PA:

I think they did because they are pimps.

[Originally published in NHS 2008, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs08/Sharon_Mesmer.htm.]