"A winter night like this will produce many fine soldiers for Prussia." -- Frederick the Great Rocks Skiing down this snowy road I see A row of rocks barely visible in the black night. The rocks sprout legs and antlers and Move off in a hurry. I just lost twenty bucks. Water By flashlight we shovel away three feet of snow, By axe we cut away a foot of ice To win our prize -- Water. We fill buckets, then cover our waterhole With a garbage can lid And a foot of snow. Every four hours, day or night, we idle our cars for a while At forty below in the mountains. Tonsil Trek "Massage my tonsils for me," you say, Then close your mouth on my thickness as I comply, Looking up at me with that half smile And a pleading look in your eyes. My sperm start a confused journey in search of your uterus "This can't be it," they tell each other, Cruising around your tonsils, So they journey on south To a quick death in gastric acid As your half smile continues In the dim light of this cold starry night. Later lying behind you I hitch your nightgown up above your waist And admire your sleeping form So like the shape of my guitar. This inspires another adventure As I begin a fierce massage of your navel from within. Cabin Fever Katrina, they should be halfway up Alexandra Creek by now On skis. I love being alone with you. Poetry is watching you undress in the upper bunk.
