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News of the weird: Penis
roams MARTA train
ATLANTA - Today on MARTA, the city's
public
transit system, a brown penis poked out from
a young thug's open fly.
Authorities say the unnamed genitals belonged to
a black man in his early twenties wearing braids
and a white wife beater.
As the train left the Five Points station heading
south toward Hartsfield-Jackson International
Airport, the penis bunted its head between
the rungs of a gold zipper.
Commuters continued to read books and news-
papers as the penis stretched out of the young
man's fatigue pants and bobbed to onlookers.
"I can't believe they just kept reading those books
like tarot cards," said Cruzita Gomez. "How could you
not pay attention to a pene—bolas—
on the loose?"
Gomez and her sister Ana were the first to spot
the roving muscle and flesh. The two erupted
in laughter while speaking Spanish.
"I always heard about these. So big. Now I've seen
with my own eyes," Ana said.
Other passengers say the young man realized
his penis was the subject of gawking and laughter
when the train stopped at the East Point station.
He felt an inrush of air when the doors opened
to release riders.
The young man immediately zipped his pants,
flashed a look at other patrons, uttered words
in Spanish to the Gomez sisters and dashed
off the train.
According to MARTA officials, the scene marks
the first time paying customers have had to watch
an unescorted body part move independent
of its owner.
Cherryl Floyd-Miller, who was traveling to The Cheese-
cake Factory to pick up an order for her downtown
office at the time, described the penis as beautiful.
"Gorgeous. Art, pure art. It's time to retire the Statue
of David from my memory forever," she said. "I've
never seen a ding-a-ling that flawless."
In an effort to allay the fears of regular customers,
and prevent future occurrences, MARTA wants to talk
to the man and investigate the incident. Police do not
intend to file any charges.
Based on data from the Institute for Sexual Habits,
87% of men in social settings do not know when their fly
is open in public. Ninety-eight percent of those men,
black.
Though sketches of the man based on descriptions
by passengers on the train have been circulated
throughout the city, neither the man nor his penis
had been identified at the time of this report.
mp3
Super Freak
(The Ballad of Rick James – 2.1.48 – 8.6.04)
*She's a very kinky girl, the kind you don’t take
home to mother.
She's a very kinky mother, and your heart won’t hold the
girl.
She's a kinky very super freaky, cocky mynah bird.
And wherever you can find her, you find love.
In my world, a habit cost seven thousand dollars a week,
hustle & hassle rebel causes that looped me wild.
I was crackerjack of the curly wig erotic,
and where there wasn’t crimp grease falling
on black leather shoulders, there was dope sweat
from the thick squeegee of hair
needling through my honeycomb scalp.
How it is I came to the hotel room,
the sizzling pipe and trick woman both in hand,
how she turned for me in that hour,
how purple/black/blue daisies were bustin’
out under her skin, how it wasn’t me
(I never hit her), how I always got fucked.
It’s not exactly a trick mystery. It’s way
More bare-bones than that:
I was always Rick James, bitch,
and I loved what I loved.
He’s a Main Line punk funk icon with his braids flung
over shoulder.
He is Slick James Johnson Jr., joined the Navy at
fifteen.
And his mama was a maid who ran the numbers for a dime,
a Hail Mary tossed when she could find the time.
I’ve seen bars. At least twice.
More if you count the windows in my house,
sometimes covered with aluminum foil.
Nothing could keep me when the music of the funk called.
The Navy tried, but I went AWOL.
The inner freak in me wanted to be out.
(Room 714, always waiting.)
Any white alkaloid could take me by the nostrils,
but it took a funky chord to take me by the nose.
The rap cats forever wanted to sample me.
Late 80s fancy dance gold-rimmed glasses,
ballooned genie pants and oh-oh-oh-oh,
ohoh-oh-oh (I touched that).
A conversion, the epiphany, and royalties later,
I still got bank, and he is a man of God.
Will Jiggy Wit’ It Smith, LL Cool James,
or Mary J. Love Without a Limit – all needed
samples,
to get broke off a piece of my bronze thigh funk,
get some Blow, Danny for their shoestring songs.
In the morning August 6, his heart did its last open
shutter.
In the morning August 6, his fire-desire went stone cold
blood.
Found him in his bed, Rick James was dead, his
funk-n-roll was done.
As for Super Freaks, there’ll always be just one.
*Italicized stanzas are to be sung to an operatic
tune created by the poet.
mp3
The Beautiful, Needful
Thing
(after Robert Hayden)
In love, there are heights where air, necessary
breadth, approaches need. No reprieve for you there.
Just before he says goodbye, his interloping arms
a crooked sprawl tangential to your shoulder mass,
he tells you what a moon you are: He is a yearner,
though you are a lifespan out of reach. He burns away.
This is your free; an episodic heat with him is
done.
But morning comes, exacting its articulate mums.
Then night again when air hangs like a body. Hopeful
ecliptic dog star, you notice lovesick chirps of
crickets.
You wait in your sky for glints of lightning bugs,
pray to a galaxy goddess to banish liberty from need.
mp3
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