That’ll be the title of Caligula’s finest book of poems, the fourth and final volume of my masturbation collection—damned be the metacriticism of “pseudo-intellectual masturbation over masturbation itself.” Currently, however, I’m stalled on that masterpiece, and so I thought I’d clear out the cobwebs by trying some good old-fashioned non-rhyming Jap-limericks, or Haiku, as I politically correct thugs would probably insist. No matter. The images speak for themselves!
1.
Flaws in creation:
My summer-kissed fist does not
Quite fit up his ass
2.
Wilting leaves expose
Each soul’s private hurt and loss
I’ll kick your teeth in
3.
Beaten, bloodied by
McDonald’s purple Grimace
It is winter now
4.
Cutting blossoms off
Reborn trees, make hippies choose:
Nature or free speech?
—Caligula
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