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“I’ll make you a cadet,” said Mephistopheles, “I’ll teach you to hand each woman you have a noxious weed, with instruction on how to eat it.” In this army, I love my sergeant, in a way I respect that she lives near a river since the eternal feminine puts pebbles in her bra and my best friend’s wife picks up a boulder and rolls, salad rolls, for which the troops, in their sleepless foraging, are not in the least embarrassed to steal from each other. * (If this fucking poem) let me rephrase that– If I took this poem in a helicopter and we were shot down, would we peel tomatoes together in the morning? |
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