for Louis Johnson
'The icy dawn of the sixties'--
Yes, you have it there.
Today I saw a black sperm whale
Rolled on the rocks at Pukerua Bay.
The stench grew loud as I came near,
Gulls were grabbing at the kill.
From that sleek projectile body
Jutted a gigantic reddened phallus
Mauled by the Cook Strait squid.
Under the sunset fires it seemed to be
The body of our common love
That bedrooms, bar rooms never killed,
The natural power behind our acts and verses
Murdered by triviality.
-- James K. Baxter
James K. Baxter is a New Zealand poet. This poem was adjudged the most "phallic and phallogocentric" of one hundred finalists by our trucking-mama troika of major truth-fucking mammals on balconies above angels behind archways between alleys in the blazing afternoon.