A Good Titty Is Hard To Find
Reb Livingston has amassed 2250 Facebook friends, 876 Twitter followers, 625 Google+ circle inclusions, 568 Goodreads friends, 309 Pinterest followers, 234 LInkedIn connections and has been awarded an impressive 60 Klout score. Upon turning 40, Ms. Livingston was unanimously declared the champion of the Male Series of Middle Aged Poets, the first woman to achieve this honor since the award’s inception in 1919. She resides in Northern Virginia with her husband, son, dog and a solitary fish named Wolverine who just won’t die.
by Reb Livingston
O if I had two titties to rub
together I would rub them
together until together they
created one good one
and I’d strut around with
my one good titty
that I’d push up with my firm palm
imagining that it was your firm palm
and I’d keep it in place with packing tape
imagining that it was your packing tape
and eventually my one good titty
would spill over
my custom one-tittied tape bra and
disappear into my scoop neck crop top
but before it did
I’d use my one good titty to pound your face
like my titty was some soap in a sock
participating in a retribution
my sweetness, please, give my one
good titty, a little more time
to settle and
stretch into a lithe hand of delight.
One morning I woke up very sad. So I decided that since I was a poet, I would express my sadness in poem form. This poem explores the concepts of friction, combination, sexuality, gender, aging, gravity, fashion, metamorphosis, violence and love. The titty works as metaphor for a much larger idea.
Tags: Poem-A-Day, Reb Livingston
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embarrassing oneself is the best art
i once had a fish with nine lives, his name was ‘blue’
and he was blue, a fighting betta; i loved him
he lived on the counter of my bathroom vanity
‘wolverine’ is an awesome name for a fish
ps ceci n’est pas un poème
everything’s a poem
WHERE IS MY HEAD?
That bug eyed shrunken skull perched on my shoulders
You know the one
The junkie rodent looking one
Yep.
Of course you know.
Well
That’s not me
Seriously
Yeah. I know.
Sounds like a yarn
But you gotta believe me
You just gotta believe me
I have known that head inside out for 51 ill-remembered dull vital
wonderful hellish always complicated years
All those years in my head
OK OK OK
All those years out of it.
Out of it.
Well not out if it
Not out of that
Not out of that head
I was out of my head.
In fact I was so out of my head,
So out of my head I can tell you what it looks like in great detail
With senior counsel eat your wig pot bellied port baritone accuracy
The head that’s there is not the one that should be there.
Now don’t get agitated with me
I’m the one who is rightly agitated.
And this is what I have been trying to tell you
All
If you
All
Would only just listen
I know
My head
And that’s not it!
Do you hear you me?
That is not my fucking head
No way.
Perhaps it does belong to Jose
But it’s sure not Kevin’s
Fishy looking head by Conor Ferguson
Well.
Well
Not
Unless
Unless
The
Head
Shrinkers
Got
Me
Hmmmmm
Head shrinkers?
Good try
But
No
That’s a no go
Listen I sure ain’t been to Borneo recently
For Christ’s sake I don’t even know how to get to me
Could have been snared by one of the couch wielding Californian tribe
The druids of the West Coast sun worshippers
They did make a move
Back in the day
Collecting shiny mirror shards of
Mortality outrunners
Rollerblading into their own meth shadow
As tears streamed down the no valium dawn
With incoming Boeings, whining Airbus death
And outgoing Bushes chasing die-hard wmds
Yes the Californians sprung their sincere spoken trap
And I offered them suicide
In return
In spades
A bloated fool of a general
There I was
Leading the camels into my own Tahrir
But despite all I kept my head together
And somehow crawled out of the pepper spray night
And tweeted my way on to a new compromised day.
Here I am.
Now
Leafy Dublin 6.
Wrapped in child laughter luxury
N’er a mortar clump to be heard for miles
And what did I do?
Yeah
Made it back to friendly lines
And I went and lost it
Lost my head
So now I am neck deep in morphine trying to deal with the pain
The worry
The endless angst
Does it have a good body?
Hey
Does it have a good home?
And what if it prefers the new body to me?
Jesus wept
I hadn’t even thought of that yet.
I would go out and look for it
But for this nagging issue
And perhaps it is bugging me more than it is bugging you
ACTUALLY IT IS BUGGING ME WAY MORE THAN IT IS BUGGING YOU
BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT
I SO DESPERATELY NEED TO KNOW
WHO OWNS THE RAT LIKE SKULL ON MY SHOULDERS
WHO SAYS HE’S RUNNING THE SHOW
If you recognise him, please let me know.
You can contact me in the comments section below