Poem: TEDDY, by Peter Bové

I hope you and Teddy get along.
Divine creature that he is…
A plunderous, sometimes misanthropic pursuant of publicly unspeakable unmentionables,
sectional erotica and experience-proud balls-ass naked mother f-er!
Exuding irreverence not merely through lavish rodomontade, but through a rollaway lunge.
A catastrophic blessing; grace vulgas in a perpetual state of luminous.
Some find him lupine, a lure to their more momentous nature.
A right of passage to the Riviera of the mind, heart and soul…

Just what is the cost of freedom?
Just what is the freedom of cost?
Ah! Ooze… oozing…
Oodles of on-line onlookers…
As Teddy might retort…
“Ya, gotta understand.
Pain is good for pleasure”
Ooze… Oodles of ooze…

Teddy: Governor general, lover of whores, faggots and outcasts of superior nature…
Scams flimflams and those in the slammer.
Encapsulating cheap and deep circus poise.
The equipoise for the still faced nodding to the ‘Endman’, hoping he goes away…

Teddy: Free for the cost of freedom.
Free: The four letter word of the New Millennium.
A bourgeois commodity…
A hop-heads dream.
A modern day mystery…
A contemporaneous enigma…
Free: Unreliable at best, always temporary and, most likely bogus and blasphemous…
Hardly the amalgamated fun-house, roller coaster, nosegay, hot-bed, hot-rod, bang-bang, hot-
shot’s hot-spot, late night three days running hospice on a hot-blooded hot-pot gravy train, give
it up, hot line to the world, hot-house tomato and pepper on a hot plate to grease me, release
me, to please me that it should be…

Believe me. I know what I’m talking about.
So does Teddy.
He won’t diddle or dawdle to a lackluster craze.
His proscenium intact, he is left to aspire the pulpit: His end!
So he slips into pulse modulation; pulse jetting fragments of pulse-a-tile truths.
He knows puckish linguistics bombard brain diaphragms implanted by years of treachery;
Personnel and political, self-grandiose, rationalizing, ultimately fascist and instantly gratifying to
the beholder.

Teddy is no objective tool of the common good, or is he?
Oh, how good it could be, if only…
Teddy is an ethicist’s madman for all occasions.
Give him an Eton jacket and he’ll spit it out on fire.
Teddy: Very real to ethereal. Have him with your morning cereal.
Teddy: A gas! An ethnic white man…
Deification due to delinquency and delicious delirium…
Teddy: A roaming moaning taboo enclave of self-joyous romp!

Teddy: An endearing endearment.
A contra-wise continuum…
A high rolling buddy, to all who seek his court.
Those who dare smash to bits the proscenium, which separates them, instead of drudging on
and on to the drone of contrivances made of ghosts wailing in the form of fellow droopy, drowsy,
bloodshot, hacking, whacking, functional bleeding wheeling hack-em ups.
Those chasing dream justice; wanting to be Caesar, but only managing Bruté…
Teddy: A lounge class love feast high as a kite modern day Druid…
A polycentric poltergeist to the evangelical polymorphs…
Wan hypocrites; hyperventilating to the sounds of currency divine as they merchandize
Hypodermic injections of superfluous religious raunchy rhetoric anthem antics.
A-super-fix-ticket-to-heaven-can-I-afford-a first-class-fare?
Oh God I’ve got bills to pay can I be saved for maybe… ten a month?
Okay, I know I can afford more; Twenty okay?
I’ll cut down somewhere but just save me!
Release-me, grease-me, please-me…
Teddy says; “These TV evangelists are causing a spiritual rheumatism.”
The anti-fix amen!
A twenty please; You want to be saved don’t you?

Again there is Teddy: Our misanthropic anthropologist.
The anti-climax is complete.
Get dressed, get on your hog and answer them.
They’ re calling out to you.
They want and need you to bust and stomp them.

Teddy: Rosebud.
Teddy: Saint Teddy;
Size ‘em up and sell them the truth for half of what they’re paying for false praying.
Save them from they’re savings accounts.
Who’s Teddy you ask?
Maybe you’re Teddy.
I think there are a lot of Teddy’s out there pissing away in some esoteric swirl of mirth.
Or perhaps a corporate chump, or maybe even a politician could be Teddy.
Teddy is in all of us waiting to get out.
Just rub yourself the right way and Teddy will appear like a huge magic genie ready to grant you
three wishes and a kiss!

A hyphenated swelter of the best virtue: Innocence.
Teddy: A chump you say? A clown?
Ha! Remember “He who laughs last…
Yes: You can fool some of the people all of the time and all of the people some of the time, but
you can’t put one over on old Teddy!

Teddy: The key master, the muck caster, the lead in to tonight’s news.
Hear it and adhere it to something and forget about it.
You probably couldn’t afford it anyway.
But then you’d be a moose with a hat-rack if you knew the truth about Teddy.
Everyone’s Heathcliff…
A beacon to the bacon-consuming herds of tumultuous grim reapers and Dorian Grays…
Palpitating severely retroactive personalities acting out the visions of Hieronymous Bosch.

Teddy: The boy next door.
The girl down the hall, who you believe is living proof that there is a God!
Teddy: Two people balling, soaring to daring heights of ecstatic aesthetic.
Yes, and don’t you know, brutality is always knocking on Teddy’s door?
Making sure he’s home then nailing it shut?
Ten-penny nails… Finish nails; Coffin nails for crying out loud…

Yeah, a lot of people claim to be Teddy, some are, most of them aren’t.
Most Teddies don’t know who they are.
They merely wonder who everyone else is.
In fact it is my firm belief that everyone has met or at least seen Teddy.
In themselves, or in someone else but they think he’s insane.
The pulsating tincture of Teddy at play blows most people’s minds one way or the other.
Teddy is a powerful fundamental terror.
No Prima Donna either, Teddy is a full time, full blown kindred to us all, like it or not.
He’ll haunt your ass or kiss it; it’s up to you.
So, take a sincere and serious look-see.
Or make ready a make-believe normal posture in our great civilization.
As corrupt and obsolete as it is, it’s no wonder it’s crumbling.
And oozing out from its cortex is who else?
You guessed it: Teddy!
That infernal Teddy…

That happenstance slaphappy do-no-wrong hack-em up!
The milestone in our midst…
The punchy pure ‘®Punch and Judy Show.’
That scandalous scalawag…
Scapegoat of the scared and stodgy…

And me? Well, I’m no structural linguist.
If ya don’t get what I’m saying ask Teddy to translate this for you.
It’s 5:26 AM January 10, 1993.
I didn’t sleep last night cause Teddy came to visit, as he sometimes does.
I’ve seen him on TV scared and mutilated or just himself,
Tell Tale Teddy: Tete-beche on a Texas tower.

So take off your high-hat, high life, high muck-a-muck junkies and
Have a high-time, high-keyed, high-jump on the high-road or the high-seas or in a high-rise.
Give me the hi-sign or give it to Teddy.
Hit hell or high water with treason and high-tension and watch the high-toned hit the highways
on a high-wire act on some high-priced, high-proof, high-comedy high-jinks and get some
high-flown, high-falutin’ fun.

Take a hillbilly to a high level with the high livers and see a
high-pitched high-fidelity all out shoot-em up.
Complete with a high-priest speaking high-German during the high-holidays and
watch Teddy wail with mirth, as the height of the high-spirited eloquence of the divine moment
sends the high-bred high-tailing it as they unsuccessfully attempt to trick their way into the
high place where the only thing you’ll get is a handshake and a smile from Teddy himself!

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.

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