Bad Poets in Time

The two bumbling poets, Arterius McBride Jr. and the hairless Lyle Stevenson, find themselves this week in the wondrous and misty Jurassic age. When confronted with a ravenous gang of Magnosauruseses, Art pulled a wrinkled chap stick receipt from his pocket and read the following:

Three guineas bought my tenth b-day prize.
It’s more the intent than the actual size.

The same could be said of the weight of a person.
To the point, do they read to the blind or commit random arson?

Isn’t it true of your brother, McNeil,
That everything he ever ate he would steal?

That pirated plunders made him quite fat
But he had the chins of an aristocrat?

And isn’t it true of your cousin Sweet Pete
That he was born somewhat incomplete?

That he weighed in less than an acorn at birth
Although he’s the merthiest old boy on this Earth?

And isn’t true of your ex-wife Moesha
That she only wanted to be your Geisha?

That she only liked to serve your requests?
And you dismissed her to only pursue larger breasts?

You see what I’m getting at, my dear friend McArthur?
I’m not here to trade or borrow or barter.

I came to simply extend you my thoughts
And lay them down to recline on like cots.

And if my logic you cannot abide,
Take two tabs of E and you’ll be at my side.



The beasts shook off the majesty Art had delivered them under with each jewel of a word strung along a string of silk. They silently pardoned him and turned their steaming nostrils and glimmering talons to young hairless Lyle. Lyle had no document of purchase upon which to scrawl his godly insights. He had lived as an orphan from his first day on Earth and never depended on any person or technology to assist him in his pursuits, namely cartographing the catacombs of the fragile mortal human soul in words. He had thought up a piece just that morning and already memorized it. Now he recited it to the Magnosauruseses.

Rub taste on your forgotten days
And meet them in the morning
While your lovers die
And sing off the top of their heads
And know light as it comes across floors and walls
And know it when it’s zapped into you
That it would not be the same if you were not there
To suck it like a tree sap sponge
And never could it matter
But there is but never is but always worthwhile while while isn’t worth worth
Neither is worth worth the while
But so they but won’t they but do they but they do
Know what it is to be you
Know exactly the requirements and standards to be you
But you will pity them through windex glass
And thank God you are different but aren’t
Because you both coil in your blood
And both have eyes above your noses
And you both had a mother that was made out of skin
And tomorrow you’ll both dream and awake in the light

The dinosaurs cried tears of overwhelming beauty and scampered away from the poets through the deep jungle canopy, leaving them alone together in the primordial haze never before reflected in human eyes and the two embraced and unburdened the other of their boner.