Modern poetry collection by the contemporary Cleveland poet Steven B. Smith
Smith - contemporary poet

Reading Room #3
1 poem w/ 13 stations

Stations of the Lost - for Lenny Bruce

Labels and Generalities, behold the number of the yeast
We will all be marked swollen in the mourning
And if not promptly sold be purgatorized
Put upon day old discount shelves
In cheap stores in Republican counties in bird wormlessness.
Blame it on the brain blood barrier.
In seeking purer stones to throw I find restricting shadows
Sing Hallelujah Praise the Corpse and pass the Emasculation
All hail the Old and New Testicle, the Genitals and the Juice
(the genitals believe both the Old & New Testicle
 the juice only the lonely orbitsong)
I believe in bleeding, in the ritual letting of blood
Along this anemic search of truth
For there's more to life than foreplay & Leave It To Beaver vaginas
(praisegod and christian compassion)
end    poetry

If there is to be a 2nd coming Christ will have to be female
Cuz men don't have multiple orgasms
For sex is the number of man, semen the number of God
This new drink the Miracle mixes water into wine
Cheap Republican restaurants serve it on some days
(and all day$ are $um day$ to Republican$)
Even God was a swinger - sez so in the Old Testicle:
 male and female made He them both
Homosensuals have dishwater glands
end    poetry

No liquid women for me
Payback's a bitch. I know. I was going with her
She had a case of syphilis and was selling it by the quart
She had big knick knacks and two nicknames
Sometimes I called her Mystery Meat
Sometimes Miss Perpetual Period
Since I met this Gypsick lady
I wake to blood on the floor, bruises on my body
I could tell when she was pissed by her face
It'd be all wet and yellow
The woman was such a neatness freak
She served sanitary napkins with every meal
end    poetry

I'm impervious to plain
So I'm becoming mannequin depressive
Go out at night
Look up mannequin dresses thru dressing room windows
Down gaping blousefirm fiberglass form
Only female mannequins though
I'm not weird or anything like that
No sick puppy for me
Though I do remember fondly flocking an amoebae
While lost in amoebae lust
They kept bisecting
(were they bisectuals?)
And I used to go out after a rain to pick up earthworms
Take em home
Cut em in half
Watch em regenerate
(Aunt Em Aunt Em I'm home at last)
After awhile would have enough worm parts for an orgy
Though with worms I never knew which end I was entering
(going out the enter only, going in the only out)
Dead chickens and Vaseline are my favorites though
Cuz Vaseline leaves no fingerprints when licked
end    poetry

I'm a vegetarian but I'll eat meat if it's still warm and female
For I do love naked ladies in no particular odor
My menage-a-trois has got to be me,
Tinkerbelle, and the Attack of the 50 Foot Woman
Tinkerbelle was my first wet dream
Still my best dream
Shiny tiny green sperm ever where
Her little orgasmic pants send green slivers up my shallows
Nipple nibble lime
She lies in wait with baited breast
To get you coming and groaning
end    poetry

I as artist am early warning system
Ever see any grandpop corn?
Movies emasculate them for their popcorn balls
Do emasculated popcorns become momcorns?
Did Christ do crossword while awaiting the resurrection?
Speaking of erection, what is the sound of one gland collapsing?
(what the right gland giveth the wrong gland taketh awry)
Quarter whore races?
Nun of the above?
The seven sins have such a high escape velocity
Spermworm cruising I set my sighs on sin
Wonder Woman's thighs on my he hymn
end    poetry

I've no preconceived notions because I had them aborted
Like when my X and I fought over the kids
(marriage is after all post coital repression)
Neither wanted them so sold them to a baby oil factory
(boy, were they impressed!)
Babies belong - in cages or soup cans
It was a mistake to divorce my wife
I should have killed her for the insurance money
You choose your toxins and you takes your cancers
Earth's certainly no constellation prize
Got mom insured but she won't die
Doesn't love me enough
Try to rent her sell her pimp her whore moans
Want a new leash on mom's life with an option to bye?
She's become awfully jumpy since I've taken to the shadows
I sew what I rip, have more torque than tread
end    poetry

I was born in the werewomb of a weremom
I watch from the trees
Open other in
Observe evolution, revolution & the simple salt solutions
Right pace, wrong prime
It's not the present, it's the process
A bird in hand highly messy
A bird's bush highway home
Love the smell of the sexual well
Hold her odor in my hand
Why do women always powder their nose, never their yes?
(it's not inferior, it's female)
end    poetry

Injured myself last night having sex with a rusty strand of barbwire
My foreskin's now five
(give me that low five gravy baby)
Barbie doll sex safe sans genitalia
Plant sex safe if you don't mind photosynthesis
(myself I love chlorafilthy pictures
 though you do have to wait for development)
Sheep suck (what's their phone number?)
But for pure wool over your eyes religious sects are best
(are vestal virgins consecrated cunts?)
I'll show you mime if you show me sure
end    poetry

Churches linger far too long in lies too old to hear
Pulpiteers pull your strings
Bonzo Bingo mind over splatter
Matter must end mend me and mine
Kill yourself today, get a head start on eternity
There's no known room at the end
It's all illusion anyway. Slight of gland
It's greed's game we play whorl without in all men
Further sum wholly smoke
God fodder for oily blokes
Church of State sans grace
Loch Ness Jesus
Judas Escargot betrayer of Snail
Sleazy Weasel and the Towels of Unbelief
end    poetry

Catching sight of my deflection in the mere I deceive my existence
Persian Abortion: Stuff snake up snatch, turn mongoose loose
Population Control: Eat a fetus. Eat a fetus today
Marat Decartes' I ache therefore I am to thine own self be cruel
Me? I'm a nipple adjuster
Call 666 for the number of man
Buy an honest politician
Rent a used cop
View an ethical lawyer
Touch a sincere televangelist
end    poetry

Red dust and meat the ban the bland bleat
Dead Elvis is bled for more than he's spurt
Toa Jones average now zen = zen over zero
Beg and ye shall recede
No more nuclear testicles
Clap for syphilis
Water wisdom is wet work
Are fish psyquatic?
Try the Jonestown Punch, massa Guyana?
What do you call an honest cop? - mythological
What do you call a dead cop? - necessary
Bless the mitochondria and their ancient alien need
And the ubiquitous food lickers
So many stories to tell
What is one to do when that nameless something somewhere
 hears the breeze bend to ruffle outstretched fingers of grass
 and wants to follow?
end    poetry

That's all flux. To each their groan
Throw another fetus on the fire
I'm off to search for tract home chippies and radioactive flesh

spermworm cruising

· Excerpts from Smith's interview with Mark Weber
·A smattering of Visitor Comments
· Free Times Magazine Article
· Poetry reading room #4
·Check out Artcrimes


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