On message boards did our DJ
a stately wedding-feast decree
where Ralph, with printer's ink on hands
through culverts measureless to man
with news to printers ran.
So many a yard of fertile news room ground
with flow'rs and garlands were girdled round
and placards telling wondrous news of yore
where many a famous reporter reverently stood
to see a thing as ancient as the time
a man and woman joined in holy matrimony.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm that opened
beneath our couple during their night of sacred wedded pleasure!
A savage place! as unholy and horrid
as e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her super-husband!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
a mighty fountain momently was forced;
A fount of blood! in whose half-intermitted burst
huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail
of kidney stones inside a ureter's canal!
And 'mid these dancing rocks of pain and torture
it flung up momently the blood-filled river
twelve inch's meandering with a mazy motion
through ripped and bleeding ureter it ran
then reached the porcelain cavern used by man
and sank down lifeless drain to realm of flushed-down gators
And 'mid this tumult readers heard from far
DJ's voice prophesying angst!
The shadow of our lovers' night of pleasure
floated midway on the waves
Where was heard the mingled measure
of the moans and pants and raves.
It was a miracle of rare device
after near sixty years of fiction'l celibacy!
A damsel with a dulcimer
in a vision once I saw:
It was a Lois Lanean maid
And on her dulcimer she played
singing of Clark Kent.
Could I revive within me
her symphony and song
To such deep delight 'twould win me
that with music loud and long
I would build that night of love
That lovely night! Those joys of love!
And all who heard would sense it there
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His chocolate eyes, his silky hair!
Weave a cricle round him thrice,
and close your eyes with holy dread,
for he on honey-dew has fed
and drunk the milk of Paradise.
(With huge, huge apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge... and I'm not absolutely sure what I wanted to say with this desecration of his wonderful poem. Except... how about you post the next part now, DJ?)
Ann
