Then Let Us Dance Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

(Skin Tone)

Copper
toned!
Almond oh!
So-so almond
hued! Alabaster!
Coffee; creamy coco
caramel, vanilla; peachy!
Strawberry, blackberry; vintage
wines! Hot flesh, golden garden fresh
cornbread; combined! Yellow cake, sweetest
grape, dutch elm, diamond head seascape! Coconut
malasada, durian, irish clover; pull up to the bumper baby!
Pull off them sweats and let US get wet! IAM the consummate
whatever! Spanish, Hispanic, Slavic, Pavlov's bitches! You all
know about all that? Furry, fluffy, little tuffies; strumpets
jump chicks, maybes... Chicks that do so much like to dance
and sit… on it! Or; knives, or pistols or parasols, or cannon
balls, come one and all; and do stay to see the full show!
Somewhere in Paradise; it snows in July! It pours in that
full month of January; what exactly is this? Skin cells?
Thin corn breeds, crumbly itty bitty hands and stumps! It
is faced like Popeye; and as thin as the proverbial camel
needled aye! Jumping rope, stumping growth, mounting
goats; and finally cutting its stressed out throat!
Guess what this image implies? Why? It was made dead
the May Day before; did you see? Picture this, an
earl November of 15'; when the Grand Old
Pity was yet contrived, of a mess of limp
noodles and some lower caste of oligarchy!
Gargle, on your shrinking sacks; please!
The neo-conned, plus the insipidly dumb
soured bags of filthy tea partied thumb sucking
cornbread sleaze; who sold out their americant in
Reagan presidency! What a dumb politician proved
he to be… nice communicator… put everyone to sleep
and allowed the Cheney lead coup to creep into the Oval
Office! Yea, Reagan got that corporate clown, to dick around
the rose garden and lay down piles of neo-con stool in bags all
around the poesy's! That, is where the T-putters, got the ideas
to be; the biggest loads of sleaze bags the Union has ever seen!
Not one of these beasts was clean! Corporate stool bags aplenty!
Thieving, war mongering stool bags! Lying filthy dirty scum bags!
What was that named come dump of a diseased miscreant sell
out to the M.I.C? Phuuck the all of "them"; would you each
please! With the hand-written secret notes you each snuck
out of offices and filed; in your privately secured self-serving
fist-phuucking pie holed corn whorled circle jerking 322 clubs
across that hallowed institutions campus! Tramps and Lolita
debutantes, crotch rot and circumstance; do you have a problem?
Do you have any problems with my word works? Then Let US Dance!