Oh please tell me of your genitalia
Young mistress of the craft
Doth it bloom like a posey rose?
Does it taste like salt water?
Damp as warm summer’s rain?
The smell of patchouli and sandalwood
Moist armpit and warm Birkenstock
Rolls back and forth across the room
Like a sea made of underwashed Progressive
At last a young chap with spidery eyes
Grabs the mike two-fisted
Like a lifeline or oversized phallus
He channels Kerouac in Ginsberg’s intonation
I forget what day this is, what year
As this has happened
So many times before, in other places
All flowing as one
Snap-clapping appreciation
Proud bookstore owners looking on
Starving themselves
Dying for the craft
As those here supporting it
Go on killing it
(7/21/21)
About the Creator
Gene Lass
Gene Lass is a professional writer, writing and editing numerous books of non-fiction, poetry, and fiction. Several have been Top 100 Amazon Best Sellers. His short story, “Fence Sitter” was nominated for Best of the Net 2020.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor4 days ago in Fiction
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