Poster of the Year Exploratory Committee

KY, KY, everywhere,
And all the holes did shrink;
KY, KY, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very smell did rot: O, Christ!
But the thread may yet be moot!
Yea, slimy thread did crawl with posts
Upon the slimy Boots.

 

In Anything Goes did member Boots
A stately pleasure-hole decree:
Where Astroglide, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five inches of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of assery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the brown hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this Boots in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Boots heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the hole of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-hole with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would fuck that hole without despair,
That sunny hole! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
Her flashing eyes, her floating hair!
Weave a circle round her wide,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For Boots on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Astroglide.

 

Well fucking done, Doc. I'll keep my claim on the best bastardizing of Anthony Burgess, but I'll never challenge your Coleridge.

That first stanza alone is, well...poetry.

 

Sure, it's good and all but Doc should be banned from POY consideration.

My sources say that the Good Doctor is under the influence of performance enhancing substances.

 

Coleridge favored a mix of opium and alcohol. 8)

And Socrates himself was permanently pissed.

 

Since when is black tar heroin a performance-enhancing substance?

If anything, I should receive bonus points for simply being able to function.

 

Performance-enhancing substances: verboten.
Performance-impairing substances: it's your call.