Licking Debbie's Chalice

Her name was Debbie. Dude that’s all I got, because I just ate a magic brownie.
When I start saying “dude”, dude I’m caked, though I swear I’m not (yet)
So I start up the chalice bang. I’m now in the studio of a beat box gang.
She’s big and a bit tight, so I stop the music and don’t want to write
this shit, doesn’t matter why, rich as it is (not). I’ll shut up (not).
I’ll find a way to think outside her box when time upends and
the music transcends. I was nearly dead when she said  
I wrote the end, but what does it matter. Up your slit!
Why? It always turns erotic when I’m in the rye
How does this gang bang on the box and
know when to stop like nice poets do?                                                  

Bang, I just found a clit! (‘)                                
                                    
In the center of Debbie’s cup                  
So crank The Dead and begin again
Her 70’s porn bush burns blue and then
I row with this hoe. Be still my pole, and up
The charlie horse is hard as true glue again. Please,
I’m trying hard to deposit my two cents worth of ten CC’s
Wait a sec’, where? because this is the place where it mustn't go
What if I die in this dick & pony show? This poem is now on its knees
but on I row with this thick hoe. My theories pile up around my keys… so
Say it man, in case you pass. Her cup is never full, you ignorant clown. She’ll clamp
her claws around your dead charlie and salute your passing when you drown in her tight ass.