Of all the things I knows I need
I knows I need not that.
That pithy flagrant unkular gist,
that subtle tit & tat.
A repartee so sordidly clear,
but for the one its holds on fast to,
a lugubrious lust of tactical verse,
an addiction deep as a tide pool.
Oh barb me , do , you big fat boob
with your, overrated wit,
I'll maybe pretend, my blind oafish friend,
I was unaware... of your gist.
While your tone... that particular shade,
while covering me with vermilion,
I'll dodge those cranial gymnastics done
for my seemingly detested oblivion.
Exhumed from so deep, a dank lobule grave,
the ghosts of a wit long rotted,
useless moaning malaise of dubious intent,
with a tongue that is self besotted.
That piety exhales a damp breath of rot,
vocally rotundric protuberances dancing,
rolling and waddling and crawling around
seeking moments..... interjections, while prancin...
Read the full transcript

Suggested host intro: poet Robert Weber is a dancer and artist in New York City. The following poem "Bludgeon" is read and produced by his sister and PRX producer, Shana Weber.