LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village

Adeena Karasick


So, dose my sari ass
in a drugged out tout pickin' moby dhobi sadhu babhou bibbly bop 
And, lick my korma formulates in a frenetic ascetic kali-kali retro-chic, 
when onastreethepaeia. Sweet Lassi, come home.
And say holi holi holi when yr dotted hottie
skitters off in the discomfiture of russtes, values, 
casted in likeness and strung by
her fuschia folds parted in the welcome of exotic 
gloat float trod titillate. 

For, as distance warms in the logic of
ash smear matted in her hoodoo sufi lufa trois fois foliate,
Yr light --
is my grunge band.
So, bathe me in
dharma  swarm, in
puja  pyjamas

Hello Dahli 

'cause i got 
a limb dangle tolerance and when my pivot haze bears down in a 
geometry of throbs. In the persistence of fumescent tument flagrance  
i dig yr ambient lindy bindi bebop hop.
And, do the taj homage tinged with zippy fritatas
stylin' with prickly sprawls
roused in the copula opulence of bhangra scat

saavy. Hey bo idly --

Here we go dosa - do

ravaged in the frangipani panji gange
which murmers in the dimpled middling of bulging perjoratives and the
knotted shock mockery
of yr purginí burgeon bhaji sludge.

So, gimme an anapana sate in the
crusty collusion of humming undulance
and sidestep yr flaccid lassitudes
divided in trippled thali lolling patois fois filaments

And cut me. 
in the burning. in the sandy flange flummox
of aural abrasion / noxious grottoes mottled softly
garnished with yr counter-swirlin' saucy tikka
hazily serrated 

And focus yr produce, 
in yr gala glam flannel, 
a hump-backed premise twisted
mid-thicket without
frou frou affiliates 

Because yr eau de toilette is my hand
maiden / tarted-up with
her whoso saucy see-saw silicate
wrapped in her 
poufy boufant  flambe

   which aint ghat no

creamy gulab / pogo a go-go,
no ho-ho hoo-ha whorls like Hulot coullotes coloured
like flouting frontlets, a folded surfeit,
an indi-high-five foliate
come frottage.

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