A Love Letter from Prague, the Capital of Amsterdam
If I were a mongoose, I think I would lick you,
Lick you from the grime beneath your toenails
To the crevices in your shallow cerebrum
You make me feel like a graham cracker on steroids
And I like it.
I like cheese, too, and April, because
April is the most poetic thirty-one days of the poetic year
And when the poetic rain falls poetically on a poetic world
The stench of dead worms rotting on the pavement lingers, poetically, in the air
I love you and you are my schwazashanoozle, if you know what I mean
If I could be any kitchen utensil, I would be your fork
Because forks get to eat the most food
You say, "Dude, they don't even eat it!" But they do, believe me, they do.
My love for you flows from my left ventricle
Like a stream of profanities from the pinkish lips of a truck driver in traffic
When you're away it feels like I'm being ripped off by a scam poetry contest
Well, let me put it this way-
I forgot to raise my drawbridge
(which must be a dirty metaphor for something, but I can't think of what)
All I know is that you make me feel more myrmecophagous than an ant-eater
Sent as a joke to the American Poets Society
