blown to bits

phew, what a week. it has been a week of excess and debauchery, of driving to new orleans and back (twice!). it has been a good week.

a poem:

there came a sound like sex
through the wall,
of squeaky bedcoils, squawky love

the old iron bedframe
was a cage
in which two birds
flapped and flailed,
red and yellow,
dressed in their mating plumage

i lay there and considered whether
a dog's ears perk
when he hears the wild pants of
two dogs humping

or is the young fawn excited
if he detects the
amorous groanings of
the doe and the buck