THE DANCE OF DESIRE by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 21

We are drifting right into the Dance of Desire
over and over again
We drift into the dance of our Dream of Romance
And we pray that our Men are more manly than Men

Oh! Manlier still than that chap on Nob Hill
Who stands with his mast in his mitt
Or the jovial jokeboy who's just shot up with Joy
And opens himself up till we're covered with shit

We pray for the smooth and the lean ones
We cling to their flanks without making them bruised
Wait there till we encounter the mean ones
Who use us the way we so want to be used

Then when we've been used till we're worst off
We'll be passed to the hunks who are covered with hair
We'll vie for which one can be First Off
Still honing his Edge while immutably THERE

Till that Hunk takes the chunk that got left in his bunk
When we've learned all his skin 'neath the fur and the tan
And he shoves that big chunk into some other Lunk
Who's known as the Rosebud Who Walks Like a Man

Yes.
Our marshmallow skin may be burned off
We pump all our puds till we're burned to a crisp
But the lesson we might all have learned of
Is to check for chlamydia and a trace of a lisp

As the cigarette of my cock continues to burn
The one thing I never ever seem to quite learn
Is to not hold myself too close to the fire
As I dance off my pants in the Dance of Desire.

We're red in the face for a new brace of men
Over and over and over and over
And over and over again.

FOLKS by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 20

Some folks are bad jokes
Like artichokes with no heart inside 'em
Other folk get caught in your spoke
Bacchanals so baroque you can't abide 'em

Some are perceptibly Not marginally acceptably
Unable to morph because they scoph about Change

Some others infuriate ya Barely conceal they hate ya
Proceed to grate ya like a dog with mange

Others project authority Faux superiority
Too much vainglority to even wish to pursue
Project their own venal sins in ya
Stick their fucking pins in ya .... you know who.

Others are so mella Epitomizing Goodfella
Not Billie; more like Ella when they lay on the juice
They have the real damn flair of things they really care of
Wind up being the not so square of
your hypotenuse.