-Donna and the Brain-

I’ve a close friend and the young women

Want to fuck is brain.

I’d like to put one of those

Groucho-esqe nose, horn-rimmed,

Bushy eye-browed masks on the thing

Just to see how it plays.

I think they’d still like to fuck his brain.

The fact that his body is attached everywhere else

Is a plus for my good friend.

He’s not ugly. But I’m prettier. But I’m slow

And dim-witted.

Donna was mysterious.

Donna wanted to fuck his brain and told him so.

Donna was great looking and from my friend’s

Timely answer to the burning question in the gallery

Of Art History class, about why Persian rugs

Are intentionally woven with an obvious mistake,

She set her sights on his brain.

Donna said to the brain: “I don’t care about

The outer slime of the cerebrum, the weight of the water;

I don’t care about the flesh of man or the god-damn

Left side, right-side that channel the arithmetic
Or the feet to tap-dance.

I want to fuck your Brain.”

And the brain of my good friend told his mouth

To smile

And his flesh went along for the ride.

And Donna went to her mouth to get to the brain.

And this is a true story.

                                                New Bedford, c.1963