The Pen is

By: Vashti Puls

Page 1, A warning to those who think they wield power between their legs- for the last (S)word shall belong i the hole where badgers dare to keep remembrances both grim and sweet

 If I could i would wield an ink filled pen
 I'd be both black and blue
 and dripping crimson red

 Spilling my seeds and words
 on fields once untried
 I'd yield both sickle and hoe
 to dig deep 'neath the ducky ground
 To find a speech I never spoke> to yield a new and howling sound

 If there is a pounding of the rain a falling
 Don't assume it's my tears nor spume
 Electricity will come from the plume of bird and song
 when lightening hits the rod
 with both courage and fear
 Feel- it is real
 The weather vanes will spin
 like heads upon spikes of old
 when such living was a sin
 and such bodies kept naked and cold

 If I disrobe the throbbing letter
 then will you receive
 the cocks crow
 the loose screw
 the cows teat
 when the arrows on sundials and clocks
 come loose
 if I unveil the charcoal hoods
 will you reach for my  ash
 dashboard light hot and red
 in places you can't probe fast enough
 for oils which come unfettered

 If i could wear a mask with (W)holes
 The hymnals would not be
 in the eyes
 for may mouths speak at once
 to keep wagging tongues in surprise
 gag and unwrap them
 as a present gift
 If I do wear a fancy gown with frills and quiver
 up and down
 The truth will be tied
 with a bow inside of a posy
 fresh twisted
 lovers knots

 For beneath the fishy pond
 where your copper pennies you do throw
 salamanders and roe wield much more
 or less worth than eggs of tadpoles fetus growth
 when covered over mists
 of ice or condensing snow

 Both shells may hold the flesh
 in back shacks amongst streams
 along unknown weedy trails
 wild winds may blow
 more than mere kisses
so gave goose bumps and carcasses
 the necks of fowl
 and blue gill hunted by bitches

 Save any stones or feathers you have plucked
 those holes you have invaded with both nets and poles
 Wish that you may fly
 Gather all the bones you may
 and cast them as you die
 trembling  like snakes and apples over ripe

 That dripping stickiness prevail
 in phosphorescent dreams like the trials
 given unto glow worms, slugs , moss and snails
 Captured like stars in screwed in jars
 lives reviled only when the darkness yields
 Where the pearl or the sand
 when she keeps shut the pink ridged clam
 The reflection of her orbs
 reflecting beneath places you plan on diving
 in midstream
 next time demand knock her door will open
 though  in the shell may be some reeking
 oil it once or twice
 much better for the squeaking

 Oh mouse caught in a trap with cheese
 What is this hide or seeking
 once you were in fields free
 now to the peanuts butter you are sticking
 not to the roof of thatched huts
 open to mules and mares
 but to the hooves
 of mustangs and steeds
 stealthily speeding
 trampled underneath
 the inner courses
 The reasons of the game
 A trophy for the winner of such keepings
 sheaths that  are blazoned bold
 old already now this death that has no name

 So blush and push the buttons twice
 the elevators are rising
 make sure the cables are not cut
 For the arrival is in the timing
 While waiting take out a cigarette
 and light such straws for the burning
 from your yearning make a halo
 of both sins and naughty behaving

 Her powder puff is pink and sweet
 as a bunny's tail receding
 but you forget the seasons change
 both her colours and her breedings
 So take your quills and dip them deep
 receive such advice and sharpen it like a knife
 perhaps when she is snoring and she lies asleep
 you'll catch yourself a wife> but remember each s(word has a sheath
 and discarded  pearls shells have teeth
 Think twice before you write for your pen
 is the instrument you must lose and keep

 Vashti Puls

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