(For iPlath & other sophisticated Poetess)

Crack my kernel with your buttocks
Chew its nut till it’s as soft as dew
Spit its juice on my hairy chest
Spit until Kremlin notices
When sword lands on my shoulders
Gourmet maggots’ soup awaits us
For winning the anthill debates:
Are stars concubines of the moon?
Or just prostitutes from Venus?
Is the sky moon’s Motel 6?
Or just its swimming pool?
Flattery is my psychedelic canon
It teases my sequestered frown,
I’ll spam the whole wide world
Saying, I’m a caddie for Hannity
And a friend of O’Reilly.
I will flood sites again and again
Till everyone believes it’s true.
Lil’ Leaguers glow by eating stars
I cure my lamenting hiccups
By drinking the urine of the gods.