I
Ted Berrigan had the junk
in the front of the fridge
with ball fat dangling
at his thigh.
My my my, Robert Bly
how do you pluck that
thang?
Alice doesn't live here anymore
as a bike in his bed
said vas deferens.
II
The bear hibernates above us
dreams of "totally natural" pocket ass
the cloud's blue
as a brick in
the sleeve or a
Grizzly, on back
or a set of balls.
It doesn't come out in her work
but I think I'll start a blog—
Blue- balls on a birch
Berrigan's balls
falling
III
The itch never bothered him much
the box only delivered such
treated waste in
the water a shiny
blue maggot
it's face, chubby
Eshleman-like
I wanted to chew it
though the droop
in the sack
stank of green-tea and berries.
IV
I never wanted a scrotum
in the center of my life
like Latin-cock
— Big in the middle
and a little top heavy
Ted had breasts
and babies/ blue
in the face
with milk.
V
He couldn't finish
a god-damned thing
his hair
watching Heathers
through the hole.
In his heart
dripping like a sweaty sack
after a tough game
Wynona in Dakota
on the field
on the ball.
VI
I go for the balls
then pass to you
and go for the conch.
O sweet lemon
no cut could soften
this neighborly porch
on the ear—
Molly Malone
VII
This is the spot
porchin it
from the blue-berry
at the porch
the purple spice
of big-bear bleeding
at the tooth
Where's the balls in that,
Ted?
¿Dónde están los juevos
en ésa?
VIII
She said:
"Berrigan in bed
makes head
with blanket"
Takes salad home— leftovers
tosses it there
goes to downer
gets off early
—balls making bread
