Arthur Graham’s Reviews > Komodo Dragon Tongue > Status Update

Poocasso Creates Another Masterpiece

The drunk tank had been in need of a makeover for years.
And here came Poocasso, dropping his pants
to create another masterpiece.

Greetings from Planet Rim Job

He kept sliding behind the motel door
like going into hiding again.

As though he were melting
into the room.

People forgot he was there,
and went back to talking
over the music.

Everything sounded muffed behind the door.
The LSD from that house across the street
from the Barrie Jail was top notch.

Flat Sausage

We were over at her place
watching Braveheart
when the idea came to me.

I’d always had a problem
with impulse control.

Drunk Tank Ouija Board

They put a Ouija Board in the drunk tank.
So you can call up demons instead of lawyers.

Everyone is trying to get help wherever they can these days.
Best to cast a wide net, I guess.

Trawling the dregs for diamonds.
A true man of the trenches.

Somewhere,
there are labs full of humanzees
learning to sign and doing the nasty.

The future is bright if you stare
right into the sun.

Gordon's Geckos

There is no harm in sharing now,
a confession for our dearest reader,
that if I opened a pet shop down on Wall St.
I'd call it Gordon's Geckos,

The beach has been closed again.
Dildo-infested waters according to the sign.
An uncanny likeness bobbing just above the waterline.
Boaters warned to kill their engines
before the thrusting wake.
Giant seafaring phalluses that could split you right in two.
A panicked message from the tourism board:
Don’t go in the water! No lifeguard on duty!
No one has creamed themselves yet,
but it is only a matter a time.

I am fares from a tinderbox,
I am Baphomet’s urine-soaked waterslide.
To worry about your place in the universe
is to run out in traffc, among the roar of a billion stars.

My almond Soo Guy is cold
and smothered in a most questionable gravy.

I can taste the ginger
and think of Gilligan’s Island.

That mole on the side of her face
and those crazed forget-me-not eyes.

A three-hour tour indeed!
What a Dirty Gertie I’ve become
while the tablecloths were off
chasing factory direct patterns.

Wednesday’s Child

She put the butcher block knife
to his throat
and asked him to tell her which
child was full of woe.

“Do I get a phone a friend?”

“I’m not Alexander Graham Bell,”
she shot back.

It was true.
Those ripped stockings
were like a cutter’s paradise.

But he had never been good
when put on the spot.

Narcs in the Oatmeal

Drummond liked to watch the fights from Thailand.
The 120 lbs rakes in ceremonial headdress.
Doing a strange dance-off for the crowd before the bell.

The time difference was perfect,
he could sit and eat breakfast over here
while the Muay Thai munchkins kicked the shit
out of each other on the other side of the world.