Your Underwear is Black


Your underwear is black —


(what else is nonexistent)


Even a wet miracle melts


and unsnaps,


as your legs lapse


to be plundered there.


Your underwear is gone,


peeled back from fragrant marshes


where horrible pink beauty, (dumb


spittled lack),


keens the attack


to hardening fun.


Gone from memory's tombs,


wake to rush the riffed meadows!


Armories, balls, lift from the brush


a cannon!


(Creamy Dannon


tempts hungry bridegrooms!)


Raise purply, blushing


shotgun to rage of wonder


till amber frisks the foliage




over clever


furious gushing.