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Johnny Noir

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I Dreamt Her Body Was The Crimean War
by Johnny Noir

Wednesday, April 25, 2012
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Recent poems by Johnny Noir
•  Oedipal Pinup
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           >> View all 5

This poem is about a true event.

 I dreamt her body was the Crimean War and her naked feet were poetry

Her abstract face spit roses into the abyss, 
A harmonious Jewish milf in tight beige jeans and sunglasses 
Wobbling down the street in matching espadrilles, 
Walking like she’d been fucked too hard at dawn, 
Just this morning I had a vision of her pee stained yellow silk thong 
And her nearly illiterate Russian mother—
Clean, dirty, lesbian, straight, clothed unclothed, 
She sits on the man in the grey suit’s face, 
Her plastic surgery long forgotten, 
Her name Isis and her profile on the coin—
I dream of doppelgangers in purple flip-flops and nothing else, 
Beautiful naked lesbians that talk in pure melodies while dancing 
While I essay strangers looking for a fat girl to fuck—
The Jewish milf in tight beige jeans like sunshine to me—
I think her skinny ass would taste good covered in chocolate, maybe not—
The world has seen Pop Art come and go—
Women are colors, each woman a different color 
And there are more colors than you can ever comprehend, 
Pornography an endless and infinite kaleidoscope 
Going in all directions at once and there she stands 
At the very center of a rainbow that radiates and never ends, 
Her naked feet the golden tones of poetry—
Smelling like dirty sox or sweaty yoga mats 
Or just plain sweat or musty leather boots or worn loafers—
I dreamt her body was the Crimean war 
And her naked feet a distant symphony 
By Beethoven, his vacant garbage filled eyes like Jimi Hendrix, 
A genius before his time and her ass was a dirty rock strewn wasteland, 
The scented crack shitting manna into my mouth and cupped hands—
Dancers are walking clichés and much, much too gay 
And I think of her Spanish guitar and black body 
And her mother’s great ass and the light from her behind, 
Her face ghostly as smoke, winter in her camel toe, 
Her faceless shining stilettos’ shadow, her Chinese skin in booty shorts—
A married woman’s feet stink like dead roses, 
The grey eyed Jewish milf in tight beige jeans 
Wobbles along the sun blasted sidewalk 
Thinking of her future and past rubbing her thighs together 
With each step horny and forgetful, 
I can smell her black painted ass permeating the universe—
The same ant-like face atop multiple bodies,
The shadow of her Russian ass kneeling to pray in a mirrored ball gown

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