Sunday, July 11, 2010

Mr. Frog’s Sad Sad Song: A Criticism of I.O.’s Recent Behavior.

I only come when you’re down -an inverted, depraved wretch that calls only when no one else will.

Your desire to exit anywhere -to any place- is the cue for my entrance

Your dithering guest, indignant and impatient,

Drunk on attention, a tinkering green rogue.

A frog. In your vagina.

So, this is what you think of me?

The epitome of irritation?

Is this what you are telling our guests?

Well, let me tell you-

When you are duped, sitting in a distracted mess, who is here for you?

You love me, I always tell you the truth. I’m the very symbol of verity, a nice green change from your forgetful slippery friend.

What was his name again?

You don’t have to tell me your woes. I know them all.

I have here, memorized them chapter and verse.

I am here. I have come to recite them aloud for all to hear.

I’m your sad sad song. You are my device at this moment, my own private theater.

Your labia is the proscenium that I press myself from

Out from the those moist lips, those damp dark wings, that wondrous curtain

Out to the stage!

Clandestine, mysterious Fortune with her beautiful sequestered folds of flesh

Moves like an ocean of regret with an ambivalent tide.

Yes, that’s you.

Dusk, dawn, exit, entrance.

You are my moon, my spotlight: my forgotten sweetheart.

I always return to you.

And how do you repay me?

You turn me from the deserving prince that I am

To a frog that lives in your rejected privates.

I will not be thus put out.

I have rehearsed an air of indifference to test you with.

I light my cigar. I drink my cognac

And continue my soliloquy, all for you.

All for the sake of your slutty, watery transience.

I know what you like. I’ll twist my fat head sideways, forcing your thighs open, splashing thus, rolling back and forth in that sensuous ocean and your… -your eyes are rolling back?

Pay attention my gigantic idiot!

Tell me how late he is again. A tardy, forgetful lad. Well, that’s too bad I say. He must be very busy. He can come and go as he pleases.

And let me tell you something

He’s got other oceans to swim in.

He’s got other moons to bask under.

He’s got other holes to fill.

To be perfectly honest, he may have a hole of his very own that he’d like filled.

And you -you’re busy too.

Too busy.

Coming and going this way and that.

Exit, entrance; the old in-out– and you always choose both.

But I’m your friend. I hang around.

I pop in (–or out rather.)

I understand. I’m here.

What’s-his-face, is not.

You don’t deserve it.

Those colossal waves need riding. Don’t they?

You’re too bothered.

You don’t discriminate enough.

You bang on any coast.

You collapse on any shore.

You dribble along any bank.

And you don’t shop around.

You just expect me to show up here any time you’re down - between waves, between cycles, between moons and tell it like is. Don’t you?

So here am I.


Shop around next time, my darling.

My poor enormous sullied idiot. My forgotten tidal wave of passion,

Shop. Around.

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