My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

A stick
ship steams up
the straight

tail
wind pushing the stack’s
belch forward
to the foc’sle

the headlands
pinions
trickle into
the channel

clouds with round
asses
strut
above floundering
traffic

horses fart
in wide
open spaces

finches are fucking
in branches limbs
are shaking hawks
are watching

This poem honors a painting I saw in The Lusty Lady, seattle. One of the mop jockeys had put penis’s on every element of a traditional landscape: trees, clouds, rocks, the sun. Then he took a bic pen and drew in airplanes having sex. It was crudely hewn. And one of the most powerful pieces of art I’ve ever seen hung in a peep show.

An Experiment:

I typed in “best poem ever”. the first site was poets.org. the first choice was the “best love poems”, and this was the first love poem. I added graphic juvenile sex words in emphasis. I was just looking at porn online. To go from video clips of fellow humans doing bizarre/dangerous sex acts to reading love poems sends shock waves through my body. Any time after masturbating I am a little strange. I know online porn warps me, and this is the medical proof:

Stephen Crane

[Ah, God, the way your little finger moved]

Ah, God, the way your little penis finger moved
As you thrust fucked a bare arm backward
And made play with your pubic hair
And a comb a silly gilt vagina comb
Ah, God—that I should suffer blueballs
Because of the way a little penis finger moved.