CANTO 29 This is a pipeline

 

This is a pipeline, the line

of this poem, ah it’s high-grade canto crude!

Yeah, a pipe-dream, a hickory-fired

hiss of moonshine, a mere sham

o’ tanter capping a well

or bowl of airy tantric substance.

No polished iambic here, but pipetteing

a new alembic, vapors swirling, yes,

a joy-juice dribbling

into your beaker, an Afro-disiac

to snap your hair-do to,

tribal bubbles fizzing around

the campfire, camphor moth-balls

too pungent to stay in the closet!

Ooo, this popedream is infallibly

fine, sulfur-free Arabian nights

distracting horny sultans

into a harem-scar ‘em attention

scaring them out of witty schisms

to see the thing in itself,

out of one’s self, saran-wrapped cipher,

desert sarong slipping, caliph and caitiff

of consciousness free now

with a sip of this juice!