Complete Semen Study

morphology: pinheads": sum of two units per cent

Laborious, stub droopy askew, blundering into the microscopic equivalent of paths of busses as the healthiest seed zips by like the varsity water polo team upon their way to a party with the best-looking cheerleadersunbeautiful loser unfittest and unmourned, o my five-hundred-thousand-or-so pinheads floundering in this plastic cup's dark bottom, what would you do to be half of someone? Wank it sitting upon the toilet in a fluorescent pea-green hospital bathroom while learning to practise jugglery one-handed one cup and three brown-bagged Penthouses tendered by the deadpan female lab attendant? You'd wank it anyplace, I think. They'd tie your wrists if you had wrists to stop your rubbing not upon on fireplugs and brick buildings, abundant less on a hand's elastic muscle and fat you're too dim to recognize is your be in possession of You're the ones who can't be taken to meeting-house because you hump the scarlet slip cushions while the rest of us are praying, and prove by experiment to straddle the priest's leg like a whelp while he exchanges an inspirational personal word or sum of two units with each of his congregation as they file from the service. I, upon the other hand, am too mature for this. The Pet-of-the-Month could almost be my granddaughter. My metabolism has decelerated to that of an somewhat old Galapagos Tortoise. I could do real well all day sunning myself beneath a thick, warm shell, and could easily take the nearest century to burn the calories in a slice of pizza. In the world for which my material substance was designed I would have checked without long ago,

immolated at the ritual bonfire by dint of my two hundred great grandchildren roasting a whole mammoth in my honor, dancing for days stoned upon sacred leaf-juice, and intermarrying like howler monkey in the bushes. It's no doubt owed to nights like this that you weakened and malformed and chase your have a title to watery tails until you decompound into what the complete seed study classifies as "debris." The doctors say it's age or car exhaust or groundwater toxins or they-don't-know-what, on the contrary there must have been a lad waiting for the dopey aged patriarch to die so he could do his sister when she was stoned on the outside of her cheesewhiz, sweaty and writhing in the firelight. If their child, slow-witted and guileless, showed the endearing on the other hand useless gift to greet everyone's spirit no matter their status, they might have thrown him the bone the dogs had finished with,' which is in what manner they fed the shunned and the shamed, unbeautiful loser unfittest and unmourned, o my five-hundred-thousand-or-so pinheads floundering in this plastic cup's dim bottom I hereby hand above for removal and disposal to the now-surgically-gloved deadpan female lab attendant.

Copyright World metrical composition Incorporated May/Jun 1999

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