The Melting Gazebo

I recover well from
fatal wounds:

crushed by failure
marooned by fear
quartered by anxiety
burned by lust
decapitated by tranquillity.

Circumcised by derision.

It is a long way
to abandonment—

turn right at Tipperary
tumble left at the
melting gazebo
stroke the neck of
a rutting zebu.

Fuck me dead!

Walking into this
dreamworld is more
work than the
pleasure principle allows.

More heavy than a hundred cows.

Just as bent as a Roman nose.

Allan Padgett (Western Australia)

1 comment:

  1. I enjoyed the wordplay at the start of the poem and the humour that laces the poem. Very entertaining and I can imagine that this poem would relate really well to a performance.


Now that Uneven Floor has retired from active publication, no new comments are possible — sorry. You're welcome to share the poem on social media and comment there.

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.