Flagellant

I know 

It hurts, trying 

To be so 

Smart only to find 

Even a pachyderm 

Can whip you at that. 

Prostituting One's Self

As I sd 

to my friend, John I sd, 

because he wasn’t

buying, how come 

when we want 

to sell 

words, they always 

pimp us to do 

the trick.

Huuklyeand Cinquor on the MO of Underground Poets

Surreptitiously 

Erase each step, better 

Still, don’t move at all. 

Moderator’s comment: The Apotheosis of the Absurd? At first glance, it might appear so to readers unfamiliar with Cinquor’s modus operandi and who might be thinking he’s being a bit facetious here; on the contrary, if we dig a bit deeper, we’ll see he’s earnestly but very carefully exploring new levels of meaning vis-à-vis the creative urge underlying the so-called school of Underground Poetry. 

Unlike his archaeologically pioneering European antipode Heinrich Schliemann—who, in his great haste to find Ancient Troy, dug right through it without realizing it—Cinquor here posits a daring New World approach in which he proposes that poets who wish to explore ancient subterranean passages leading to Hades, and who wish to do so without the fear of being detected and therefore ratted on by weasels or moles, should do nothing but stand perfectly still—a quintessential move on Cinquor’s part, if you ask me. 

The Weight

Forgive me love but you were so 

Light and transparent, I didn’t feel you

Flying head over heels with me 

Over the deep end. 

The Living Daylights

My, my, all my pretty ones, 

Aren’t we a picture? Oh, 

Night’s a flying the coop, 

The crescent’s stuck 

On the vane, hallelujahs

On high for the lunatic cock 

That shall egg on the chicks 

That shall startle the yolk 

That shall sire the albumen 

Sunny-side up day after day!