from LOT OF CATULLUS / CATULLUS’ LOT

by ...

Nathaniel G. Moore

 

CATULLUS 71: GOATS N’ GOUT

If that prestigious goat
living out his days
in the armpits
of you know who
ever hurt a soul
(or the gout caused
as much pain)
that bath pal of yours,
busy pumping
that certain party,
between her hot dog thighs;
contracting both conditions,
well, it’s a fitting finish:
Every time that he bangs away,
he punishes both:
the odor makes her gag,
the gout knocks him off
his rotting feet.

 

CATULLUS 43: ADPOSITIO

Do you do it alat all-girl?
Do you do all
well sized nose
beached eyes vacant
stumps for hands
wronged toes
a total body
a monster’s spawn
but it’s not your fault
Friend of impoverished Forman,
the one whom Cisalpine Gaul rates
with my Lesbia
and dare not call werewolf
a tomato serenade this,
the pipsqueak generation
rotten on sweet fountains
of empty knowledge
gnawing on
each other’s cartilage
never learning

 

 

 

 

 

 

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