The Unicorn Curse

O friend, have you yet to meet
the unicorns in their froth-maned flock?
Hooves of onyx, fierce and fleet
and their hides pale white like marble block.
Fear them, O friend, and their gaze,
their eyes like pure-polished porcelain
that flinch not from brightest rays
or from any malign course of sin.
They look like frolicking steeds
galloping across the Springtime plains
alike to many horse breeds,
but they will suffer no mount or reins.
Suffer! To suffer, indeed!
For they bridle a man’s life instead,
as they did me, and mislead,
like a mug of witch brew to the head.
Their aspect is not equine,
but headed like babes but a year old,
and their hearts are not divine,
but unfeeling, cruel, deathly cold.
But what favor they show oft
to virgins who dare to travel far
to touch such a mane…pure…soft…
following Virgo, from star to star!
But what of virgins oft said
to be honored among these pure things?
Come, if you dare; lay your head
in their laps and see how their touch brings
a curse such as no man wants,
such a curse of loveless wanderlust
until ones memory haunts
the lonely years, one’s youth gone to rust.

Bar Hopping

Come on—let’s go bar hopping,

drink-drink-drinking, no stopping

as we careen bar to bar

in my leaden-footed car.

Shots of bourbon, vodka, rum,

drinking until kingdom come,

drunk amphibian delight

swimming till first morning light,

bleary-eyed as a bullfrog

fattened on flies, brain agog

with the sloshing swamp’s flood-tide

and the moonlit moonshine ride,

shotglasses like lily pads,

stepping stones for the mad lads

who burp karaoke songs

and stuff bills in stripper thongs.

Beer and whiskey—booze, booze, booze!

Drink as if there’s nought to lose,

webbed-hands clutching empty cans,

head dizzy as ceiling fans,

draining to dregs each bottle

and driving on, full throttle;

bloated, clammy, puking up

into your red solo cup.

Cluster ‘round a gorgeous gal,

compete with your dearest pal

for the lady long of leg

who, smiling sly, wants to peg

while you pass out on her couch

as she aims her dildo—ouch!

What now? Don’t go reneging

just ‘cuz of some frog-gigging.

When it’s raining firewater

you must be a globe trotter

and drink the weekend away,

hopping down-road, come what may.