@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; The Gold-Sheathed Foot

The gold-sheathed foot turned from my kiss

in a time not measured by calendars or clocks;

the slender foot sheathed in one of two gold socks'

softness reminds me of the much that I did amiss

and now I am forbidden the ejaculatory bliss

that the Poet I abhor is glad to receive;

because I allowed haters and prudes to deceive

me with their invectives of vinegar and piss.

In my own, fetid flatulence

is the veritable stench of my soul

as it writhes and rots with spiritual gangrene;

constellations gone by, above me, unseen.

The reddened glow, all that I have from Mars,

illuminates for me the finality of these bars

(their existence is only metaphysical,

and only to me---and no other---visible)

behind which I cannot hope to approach the stars.

"Heinie (Heinrich) Cranch"

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The title and the poem is a parody of the poem, "Song To The Opherian," by Gus Krutzsch (T. S. Eliot).

View s74rw4rd's Full Portfolio