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Two Poems
by Ronald Palmer


Porno Canto: #1127:
          (Pinching Without Laughing/The extended remix)

Dear homosexuals of America

          where do I begin: are you going to adopt?

Foolproof, spiritsick, viper-chameleon.

Personal goals drive the creature, a double feature of what ever I imbibe

What were The Gays doing in their neat little Prada pray-pen?

                     forking out the gene pair for an unfortunate Christian

Caught cruising

                      for a date
         with a twink
with a tina bruising.

What are you wearing to the wedding?
I don’t know. My grey suit.

          Another closet case was caught with a gay whore, crank-queen to boot:

Will you adopt from China?

Where do you think you’ll adopt?

I heard the Rainbow

           Group helps you get a child. Let’s go wild.

Maybe a little girl from Africa

While we pretend it isn’t hap:         pen:                ing this war

in our own minds the purple hate

         Bubbling right under the sexual surface:

             I have so much pain with this disease no

Body understands,

             says the 92 year old man with a white beard and orange pants

Rubbing his knees in the waiting room.

The mother’s punishment after the suicide

was survival.

Gay men love their mothers so much it’s like cyanide

It’s lethal.

Invisible umbilical sliding into ghetto.

         Where we giggle and say things like “As soon as lard ass stops beating me,

                   this ghost of a father starts believing in me:

I’m stuck with the glad peanut butter fag,

seven parts flutter, three parts mad.”

Slutflesh. T-rex with a teased-up blonde wig.

My mother flying around

in her black fur coat          with her tits hanging down               like white bats

Hanging down like bats      wriggling.

                     Sizzling Dixxie        she don’t like Trixxie               cuz she
don’t do
no drag.

In the aftermath of panic, a pause in the sunlight.

“Who’s having a big party?”

The woman in the wheel chair whispers at her daughter as the black -tie-boys

Haul in the steaming trays on their big shoulders strutting through the waiting room.

(The pharmaceutical reps, the mother says behind her pink leather bag

           like all la-tee-da)

Oh! the ancient woman sighs in answer while searching around like a dying hag.

          We’re under war in our own minds:

the national debate

over our mental state:

Trauma’s inertia finds

the perfect musclebear with an IRA!!!!!

says he belongs to the NRA!!!!

Never really considered himself Gay!!!!

Just likes to,    you know,      play


Around with guys once in a while,

Likes to make them smile

Trau:   ma’s gravity wins a date with a gun.

with his tip, with this head, with his tongue.

When were we ever so happy and won????

Never so sad as an only son.

Pinching Without Laughing

Personal goals drive the creature

           chewing within—also vicious;

Foreign father of the tribe,

           out pruning the dark
           with a dangerous vibe.

Would you like a little parmesan sprinkled on your organelles?

Suspicious is browsing the single files, MP3 Find, uploading, successfully,

he uploaded around the boarding area of Gate 36.

I don’t trust my fellow citizens,

            a sad fact, floated

like a death stench,

he unloaded around the boarding area of Gate 36.

                      If she is sitting next to me I will

Seriously freak out, I’m thinking while pretending to be reading

Glancing over at the huge woman reading Glamour and tapping

Her cute little pink foot. Don’t forget your dolly, (trash heap lady).


When the chaos spills into the streets U.S. cannibals will eat the obese

First of course, (take note cards from gym bag and write! Lazy daisy!)


Set for a four top, five Texans squeeze in, one says:

Gotta call Flow, the wild-eyed liberal, something-something,

And what were The Gays doing in their neat little Prada play-pen,

forking out the gene pair for cruising.


                      “I have so much pain with this disease no

Body understands,” says the man with a white beard and orange pants

Rubbing his knees in the waiting room.

        The mother’s punishment after the suicide was survival.
        
                 Invisible-umbilical sliding into ghetto.

We hang out drinking beers under the pine tree saying things like:

“As soon as lard ass stops beating me!”

I’m stuck with the glad peanut butter fag,

          seven parts flutter, three parts mad.

Slutflesh. T-rex with a blonde wig. My mother flying around

in her black fur coat with her tits hanging down like white bats

Hanging down like bats wriggling.

                    Sizzling Dixxie don’t like Trixxie cuz she don’t do no drag.

In the aftermath of panic, a pause in the sunlight.

The woman in the wheel chair whispers at her daughter “Who’s having a big party?”

as the black -tie-boys haul in the steaming trays on their big shoulders strutting through

the waiting room. (“The pharmaceutical reps,” the mother whispers back all la-tee-da)

“Oooooooh,” the ancient woman answers, searching the waiting room like a dying hag.