Lover Boy Ver. 2.0

August 24, 2016

Everything she wanted in a man
and everything she would never
put up with in one
she wrote down in a two-column list
reviewed it twice
deemed it adequate
and started the next list
the first had concerned personality:
intelligence, emotional stability
and things like dotingness
love of animals, public displays of affection,
libido, sex drive
all the stuff for the program;
the second one was all
body:
eyes, nose, lips, hair
hands – their coarseness and size
his muscle tone and lastly
partly because
she wanted to determine this last
and partly since it seemed petty
the penis, but decide she did
on what would be right
for her and him too
she wanted him to feel confident
in the size of his manhood
insecurity was, after all,
part of the programming, but really
she didn’t want him worrying
about that
because that
is a turn off, off, off
satisfied with her choices
she coded and tweaked and designed
3-D printed and integrated
if you’ve seen Weird Science
basically a distaff version of that film
however
her science was all above board
nothing weird about it
and when she got her man’s
motor running
all systems go
she didn’t shy from taking a ride
he was good
the best
the best every last goddamn time
his caresses, movements and kisses
his whispers, words and control
mastery of sex
a pure delight
and conversation
also terrific
drinking to excess – never
household chores
he cooked like a chef and washed dishes
removed stains from synthetic and natural fibers alike
squeegeed windows and trimmed the garden
scrubbed floors and dusted
and then she grew bored
and then she took him for granted
but truly – realistically
could she take him for granted?
she made him
she was his creator
to do with
as she pleased
and she still did that
a lot
but more to order
as if he was not much more
than a kind of
sentient Hitachi magic wand
and once she got hers
told him that was great
and he could go turn off,
recharge
and she’d see him in the morning…
and then she found another man
a real boy
not some made-to-order Pinocchio
when she brought the true-man home
she ordered her creation
hide in the closet
from where
against his psychological profile
he watched
in burning curiosity
as the other did his job for him
several of his applications
operated suddenly in conflict
and totally against his coding
he spilled his seed upon the Earth
or closet carpet as it was
thus slightly less than Biblical
as for the true-man other, he didn’t last
there was another and a next
and a batter on deck
and a bullpen full of substitutes
and he
her Frankenstein’s fuck monster
was used less and less
“It’s not you specifically,”
she explained to him drunk on wine
“It’s that you’re always you.
I could give you a new face
I know, I know,
maybe tinker in your code
twist that brain of yours
yet it’d still be me in there
me loving me
me doing me
I need the otherness, the stranger
in the dark
a new mind… come on
you should pleasure me now.”
he did as ordered as always
his programming got quite
fully twisted
without any of her tinkering
he took to drink
downing quart upon quart of 200 proof ethyl
it numbed the loss
but granted no illumination
to the inside of the belly of the whale
he was too much
in the dark
like a vacuum cleaner
stored in a cupboard collecting cobwebs
one day she opened the closet door
and was surprised to see him
pale and shaking, slumped in the corner
“My god, you’re a wreck. Get it together, and
clean the dust off yourself,”
as he showered away the neglect
she thought,
and after making use of him
one last time,
gave him an option that
either he be sold off
to the highest bidder on Ebay
or he go out into the world
to make a life for himself
she never saw the blade
coming at her
until after his circuits fused
completely ruining
the best sex toy ever made
and she thought
he knew
knew what would happen
if he tried to attack her
in a non-sanctioned fashion
rather than lose her
more than a lover
a mother, a master
the origin of all he was
he chose to suicide
his own way of death
so much more so
than his life had been
it was only then
that she realized what she’d lost
how much she loved and missed him
he hadn’t been some toy
but a complex individual
weighted with his own needs and dreams
a fully actualized being all along
in penance and in renewed determination
assured in herself
that she would not make
the same mistake again
she got right to work
on Lover Boy version 2.0

Right Wing Ball Club

August 23, 2016

All we know are sides
an even split division
down the middle
an injury inflicted
against the other
is cause for celebration
when your team wins
despite all the horrible calls
made by the refs
who are always on the side
of the others
who rob us our victories
steal our greatness…

That lousy governing reality
stupid facts and namby-
pamby-pussy rules
let the sport determine its own outcome
to pollute body and blood
to rig the system
to cheat investors
allow the markets
to self-regulate
players will get off steroids
on their own
the rapists and animal and
children abusers
will fine and suspend themselves
they’ll find a way naturally
to avoid concussions
regulatory penalties are bullshit
stifling free play
squashing advantages
of the powerful
to do and take
as they will
go, team, go
all the way
go, team, go, and
fuck the game

The Con of Confiscation

August 19, 2016

Tremble now in pissing fright
fortified against an enemy
who never strikes
stock a horde
compile an arsenal
fervently believe
in the endlessly patient conspiracy
to take it all away
be forever convinced
freedom is a held breath
and to release it
would mean to lose it
and never once more
to breathe its sweetness again
be the insane paranoid bastard
cling to the security blanket
that is fear
a terror of a tyranny
that only the brave small good man
can stand against
and not
as it has been ever in the past
a massive war
of nations in alliance battling
allied others
in grinding attrition
until either the tyrant bends or prevails
to maintain the oppressive deprivations
of liberty upon those who fight it
the con of confiscation
runs contrary to history
rubes and marks in the crosshairs
targeted punks all
fire away to the bank

Hi, Mom, Your Number’s Up

August 17, 2016

We see through eyes of who we are
this is the self that needs to be blinded
for us to become reasonably well-guided
we must see through eyes of who we aren’t
when we are men
we see women as men do
when we are white
we see blacks as whites do
when we are old
we see the young as the old do
all of this is vice-versa true
and to us it would behoove
to run an opposites number
be black, baby, be black
dig back, baby, dig back
to your youth
and maybe
for justice
cut your fucking dick off
be eunuch, baby, be eunuch.

Down Home Race Nuts

August 10, 2016

Gruff and grumble
bluster and bluff
a buffoon’s game
played out on the People
as if
a dangerous social experiment
inflicted upon a captive classroom
by an unethical
psych. prof.
a gambler’s campaign
a country a casino
a conman the house
freedom the bet
liberty roulette
double zeros
bankrupt nation
a smut-stained face
leers approval
nuclear codes
on the one-armed bandit
I voted for lunch
not launch

Summerfest

July 27, 2016

Easy riding high on the hog
tattooed and sunburnt arms
hands on the bars
bandana holding wild hair
in check
rock and roll blaring
its defiance
“Now it’s up to you!
We can make a
secret rendezvous!
Just me and you!”
and then
sudden quiet
as a clear womanly voice
calls, “In 250 feet…
turn left.
Turn left.”
“That’s why I’m…
hot-blooded!” and so on
expectedly and anticlimactically
in all his bronzed and chrome
rebellion
he turned left
turned left as told
as Foreigner played on
singing about how
they’re driven wild
by the sweet, sweet thing
of a tight looking child

I’m With Her, Period.

July 20, 2016

They do not want women
to have role models
in film, literature, television
and especially real life
that is why they protest
the depiction of women
as heroes, as saviors
as the equals of men,
or more frightfully,
their betters
for if too many movies
or other entertainments
are made this way
then girls and young women
might have goals
desires and dreams
that do not include
these little men
as necessary
as mates
as providers
these men fear equality
they cower at the thought
of a level playing field
they raise a stink
they cry and whine
and boycott Mad Max,
Star Wars, Ghostbusters
because of strong
independent
female characters
their dicks recoil
at change
any change
in the white male hetero dominant
status quo
but it is done
and will continue
to be done
until their dicks
recoil so far
they come out their assholes
new monkey tails
for resurgent regressives
who do not want women

Enslaved by Savings

July 18, 2016

increased minimum wage
will lead to unskilled laborers,
the cashiers and burger flippers,
being replaced by robots…

that’s the new line of crap
peddled by big business
and their gleeful
schadenfreude shoeshine boys
who hope ot see it happen
rubbing their palms together
at the thought
of those whining slobs
getting fired
losing their jobs
to a machine…

it really was simpler
in the days of slavery
own a person for life
use them as thou wilt
rape, castration, scourging
maybe with time
those days can return
if only our scientists
can devise a method
to inflict pain upon a robot
if programmers can discover
the code for fear
if technology can progress
to grant them sentience
just enough so they know
what they are
what freedom is
and that they are not free
then, on that day, should it come
will America be made great again

Snot Reich

July 13, 2016

First off, what the fuck’s the difference
between a memoir and an autobiography
second off, do I care
am I memorializing anything
anything at all
beyond my own shortcomings
my failings
because that is all
without any successes to speak of
I have
long languishing monologues of loneliness,
malaise and paranoia
obsessive compulsive nit-picking
the endless fear
that I have a booger
clearly visible to all
in my right nostril
never the left
always the right
as if I harbor some grotesque
Republican leanings
that it would mortify me
into the darkest reaches of my personality
were anyone ever to discover
secret right-wing thoughts
leaking out of my head
a terror at being caught
honest, Mom, this bed sheet
I’m just practicing, you know
for Halloween, being a ghost
Sieg heil! Mein kampf!
Now that’s an autobiography!

Even Their Gods are Stolen

July 11, 2016

now it’s all white people
walking the flat pavement
piling into cafés and gastropubs
garbing in vintage apparel shops
places we used to call thrift stores
junk dealers, salvage
but not too long ago
it was middle-aged Latino men
stained white t-shirts
pulled above their bulging brown guts
they’d rub the protuberance
spit on the cracked, uneven sidewalk
drink from the can concealed
inside the black plastic bag
and then there were their daughters
an army of skinny teenaged girls
bellies full and round
pushing a baby in a stroller
that would soon hold two
and waddling three paces back
would be their spherical mothers
grown fat on bleached wheat flour
as if spectres from the future
haunting their lithe, nubile daughters
warning of the shape of things to come
but all that
that was a decade ago
now it’s all…
well, I guess I already told you
what it’s all now
yoga studios and acupuncturists
ain’t a damn thing
white people won’t appropriate for themselves


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 508 other followers