Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Now Picture This... Adventures in AstroFuck

Now picture this... I communed with chaos and conjured up an ancient conquistador by the name of Quetzalcoatl. He called me a chickenshit coward before grabbing me by my cranial consciousness container; and with a chiropractic crack, just like that, my chakras connected and I channeled the grizzled ghost of Ol' Ronnie Reagan. He gurgled a “Hello” and grumbled, “Just Say No” ... “Did you know my Nancy fancied fucktarded fantasies, or that she believed in batshit lunacy like astrology and necromancy?" Bitch better know, it's bros before hoes cuz this ghost with the most is about to get gangsta with my nigga Miki-G... "Yo, Gorbachev, you old goblin goat, wipe off that shit stain on your head and tear down that muthafuckin' wall.” After guzzling a gallon of vodka Putin pissed in, he gave Ol’ Ron a wink with a glowing goat eye of iris framed rectangle dark... lowering his headgear he ran slowly while singing a slurred pinko polka rendition of possibly a Pussy Riot song. The chorus went something like "Buttfuck the Bolsheviks with 11-inch strap-on dicks" to which Ronnie replied, “Ewe can dew it to Nancy too!”, as his horns hit cement setting off the biggest supernova block party this side of the galaxy. When the dust settled, everybody was gone and all was right with the quarks and the gluons. The quasars aligned and spun in a symmetrical dance, inducing this trance that gave me the vision of which you are reading and the bliss about to unfold here on the shores of Château de Event Horizon, my own private island. As I watch the goblin goats manufactured from the genes of Gorbachev graze the galactic grassy knoll, I’m soon seduced by the song of a sidereal siren... *KA-BLAM* a goddamn shipwreck I endure. When I came to, at the end of my rescue, by whom I suspect to be the same starry-eyed saboteur. She whispers somniferously that to be saved I must partake in her hedonist holy communion. “Drink this neutron star wine in remembrance of my taste, distilled from grapes grown on gamma ray vines representing the lust-laced blood of salvation.” I, a blissom blind bavian obviously, find myself beneath an altar awaiting with bated breath and baculus bombé, bewitched by this bathykolpian beauty of absolute perfection, it’s made clear from my enormous erection that I’m eager to worship betwixt her exquisite bombosity. “I come to you… er... and on you... with this sacrificial offering of byssus bondage and baptismal borborology... but before I implore... first, hit this baetyl of brume and breathe in a Big Bang bong hit of some killer cosmic kush grown on Kepler 452…. Kinbaku?”

“What if I were to bind you up with a sash? Byssus bound with blindfold, and belayed beautifully as can be. Blissom confinement is liberating when not meant to abash. Bestowing to you a masterpiece in bondage, a most exquisite ligatured apogee.”

Exhaling miasmic veils of woven haze blindfolds she blows, until we are unable to see. Instead, we let our lips caress each other's flesh in search of the treasures buried just below. The ritual begins when I go down to taste your nectar of the gods, feel my fingers scrawl spells on your flesh in hieroglyphic haste, Anubis awakes when I invoke he to weigh my heart and become Osiris resurrected, manifested as broken pieces tossed and lost by the tempest of temptation. To traverse this tribulation and emerge triumphantly, invoke Isis and find the 13 to complete the puzzle of my psyche. But if you want your toes curled and that shaking sensation, it’s 14 you’ll need to complete the capstone of my phallic obelisk. Then we can transcend by the touch of the tongue, cunnilingus ritual recitation through unspoken glossolalia until we complete our journey to become the Gods of our own creation. Why should we not manifest through sensual sidereal sexuality? Orchestrating a galactic glowing mass of groans from groins grinding in tune with the pulsar powered music produced by Love, Lust, and Longing. Our libidos vibrate as sine waves in harmony with strummed string theory, for we are the Cosmic Conductors controlling this sonorous sexual symphony riding gravitational waves that will forever ripple throughout the fabric of spacetime. Cosmological carnal knowledge collapses and condenses our atoms, coalescing to produce photons of pure light to illuminate the encroaching dark void of loneliness which desires to devour it all.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
Editing stage: 


I wrote a piece once, in continuous, perhaps stream-of-consciousness, form like this, but eventually relented and broke it into verse and stanza form from pure generosity- to make it more reader friendly.

No way to offer any useful critique, but very much enjoyed this, thank you.

Also great to see you back after 5 years. Hope you've been ok.

A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'

(c) No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.