|
|
PYRRHA
Pyrrha 1 (Erotic): Horace, arr. S. Gardner
Which
slim boy soaked in liquid perfumes
is fucking you amidst many a rose
deep inside an erotic grotto, Pyrrha?
For whom are
you tieing up you sexy golden hair,
simple
in you elegance? Shit! how often will he cry about
being dumped by you and the gods, and in his inexperience
he will be
stunned by seas made rough
by your dank wind.
Now
he is fucking you, ready to beleive you are a porn star,
and hoping
you will always be a hoe, and always
within his
budget, unaware of your uncontrollable
flattulance.
Screwed are they, to whom
you
appear fit before they fuck you. The sacred brothel wall
with its pornographic tablets, points out that I have hung up
semen drenched clothes,
to the
powerful god of the semen.
Pyrrha 2 (Communist): Horace, arr. G. Rasputin, jr.
Which
slim, capitalist boy drenched in Marshall Aid
embraces you among the many Soviet-red roses
deep inside the welcoming Kremlin, Pyrrha?
For whom do you inhibit your Marxism,
simple
in its eloquence? Alas, how many times
will Reagan weep at broken trust and trade, and gods that have
changed,
and, inexperienced, he will be amazed at Siberian tundra,
made rough by white winds,
who
now enjoys you, Lenin's one, trustfully,
who hopes that you
will always be undermined, always unarmed,
unaware of the treachorous bomb.
Wretched are those
for
whom you shine un-Stalinised. The sacred wall
with its votive
propaganda points out that I
have hung up
my wet worker's overalls
to the powerful gods
of the Warsaw Pact.
return to original poetry
return to poetry
return to contents.