MONICKA! MONICKA! 2

Then I open my bed
and a friar (not a chicken)
tugs my nightshirt
over my head

The clarity dies
Monicka
Ford is for sale
and it's sad it's
flounder from some fan mail

My riding crop
that ignited your language
is buried with the skulls
some runts of mine ordered

You say:
"See Patrick reading!"
and I can call a dumb tradition
a forestalled definition
if I want to
my raise has been stalled
til later due
to my own inclement weather
Monicka?
I put a beret on your skull

You wanted a Jaguar and I wanted the Vanagon
it's not fair
poetry's like that

Monicka!
Are you in sulkdom?

To poem

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