K-9 to 5

I’d like a manual labor dog
To work all day
and howl away pain under the moon

Science can figure this out
They grew an ear on a mouse back
made pigs glow green
cloned sheep
And if mammoths are coming soon
What’s the problem?

A dog with opposable thumbs
Little dog sized ones
Grafted right onto the paws
Along with four hairy fingers
Front legs and back
paint the house
pave the road
doggedly man the line
they can work the dog biscuit factory
toil in the squeaky bone mines
manufacture flea collars
because right now
men are doing this in shifts
day and night for the dogs
1st, 2nd, 3rd
‘round the clock
24 hour dogshit

I’m not asking much
A Lhasa
for light typing
A Rhodesian
for rubdowns
A Toy Fox
to drink-fix
And a Dandie Dinmont for…
precisely what you’d think a Dandie Dinmont for
and no more

but the special jobs,
hard toil,
heavy labor,
work not fit for a dog
goes to the beautiful Basenji
the African mongrel
who doesn’t yip; doesn’t yap
can’t bark or go “wuff”
perfection, silent, taking it

too bad there’s no way
its bark is worse than its bite

Employee Discount Card

The glint in the eye holding the small spark of power
is the worst eye
the worst life elevated
to likes of foreman, supervisor,
day-shift manager, team leader,
assistant to the assistant in charge of assistance…
whatever the trumped up designation
it provokes a swell of chest
gush of endorphin
a smirk only worn when the whip’s handle
is in hand and the lash lashes outward
a giddy gleam lights their insides
like adrenalin sweat when contemplating death
they have been chosen
singled out and lifted over the rabble
a shining example
of what solid work ethic,
pride in the job
can get you:
50 cents more per hour
and 40% off any in-store purchases
of one hundred dollars or more
excluding sales items

Pop Stark Raving Mad

Missiles rained, exploding hospitals, hurling the infirm
whistling end over end
like a blood-spouting pinwheel in the wind
bodies S-shaped in the air, passing in flight
bombs bursting, flash bulbs popping
catching star-crossed lovers
forming a swastika
synchronized corpses in the searchlight
and all the while a pop singer died

Priestly cassocks lifted exposing erect cocks
holy scepters bobbing tumultuously
before the clear happy faces of pre-adolescent boys
and all the while a pop star died

Fires probed the hillsides of the wealthy
questing past fortress gates
reaching out for mansion rooftops
burning them out of house – poor rich men
homeless for a couple hours
servants trapped by flames in their laborers prison
and all the while a pop singer died

A battered wife forgives her drunk husband (again)
a gay teenager turns the gun the wrong way (inward)
a sweatshop raided, eleven lives deported
and all the while a pop singer died

Schools closed
state budget’s chopped
soldiers dying in homeland poverty
and all the while a pop singer died

The pop star died alone and on drugs
the pop star died alone and on the evening news
the pop star died so nothing else matters
the pop star died to obscure our sins

Lazy Lord Loser

You could tell by his hair
like a mangy red sheep’s wool
and his ears
out-sized liver spotted radar dishes, but the hands
dainty, unlined
each finger a newly emerged bean sprout
so fresh and unused
for what was surely an antiquitous age
he was like god – he was god
a bent feeble being
beaten by time’s indifferent rhythms
fast, crawly and the speed of light
skin shrunk to the skull
taut over that Jew nose –
the only nose for a proper god –
mind slipping,
defeated by logic centuries ago
first by the enlightenment’s faint lamps
and then the gas lights
before the blaze of streaming electrons
the ancient Lord defeated at long last
holding his soft hands out in surrender
those hands that have
so obviously
never done a real day’s work – a lazy welfare loser –
portrait of a food stamp god
on the dole since the dawn

Irish Ophiology

Deranged lunatic rancor
preposterous delirium
lost in reactionary bronze age law
fearful of progress
Jesus is a hammer
a crude rock lashed
to the end of a stick
wielded by cavemen
cracking skull of foe
crusade of supremacy
one God to rule them all
one God, one interpretation
biblically blinded against plurality
a blinkered monomania
ascendant to the throne is the Lord of exclusion
a store of stones, readied
hurled at targets judged unholy:
women, homosexuals, jews, muslims
cunts, faggots, kikes and mud-slimes
a brave new acid scrambled world
where Islamic atheists and fascist commies
clutch hands and chant
in secular socialist unison
bringing about the end game
of lengthy complex liberal conspiracy
to do away with the constitution
censor speech, confiscate guns
ban religious worship
it all makes so much sense
after getting bludgeoned your whole life
by the weaponized Christ, proud son
heir to the legacy of aggressive ignorance
beloved by steadfast practitioners
of deliberate and strict factual aversion
mired in paranoiac fantasy
that an imaginary America of the past
is being forever changed –
devious secular forces
gnawing at the Christian foundations
of their once great nation
against this colossal fiction they rally,
flailing sightessly at all not like themselves
dreading creeping Sharia, they create it
under another name
fearing curtailment of constitutional rights,
they inflict treasonous harm upon it
preservation of delusion
has become their singular calling
out of a cowardly terror
an anxious inability to face the future
a future with no need for spiritual bullshit
and theological hooey
salvation, a sugar cube on the tongue, dissolving
a race towards obsolescence
a people with an atrophied vision
as misguided and useful
as an ophiologist in Ireland

I’m a Hungry Animal

Unpredictable and dangerous
comparisons of human beings to wild animals
made by those who won’t accept
Homo sapiens and all other species
are united beasts under one genetic flag
and we shouldn’t feed the bears
because – as our national park service says
they will become dependent
upon the hand of man
they will become incapable of providing for themselves,
but contrarily – as our welfare system says
we should provide for our fellow citizens, food stamps,
when they’re down
in need of assistance
when their children go hungry
and choices need to be made
between paying the phone bill
and eating lunch – but fuck them!
they own phones and refrigerators
and it’s so easy to get a job without the former
and so cheap to go to the grocers, buying fresh food daily,
without the latter, and the case is made
people are bears
and are to be treated as such
money is hard-earned by hard workers
possessed of hard hearts
lacking compassion
dumping kibble in dog bowls
dumping hard-times in gutters
lumping us with animals
unpredictable and dangerous animals,
but especially so
when we’re hungry
and you’re not at home
or are you
and we get startled
and I hope you know how unfortunate it can be
to surprise a mother looking out or her cubs

Ego in Disguise

Fluffy-white thought bubble like a cloud
filled with the motes of your being
turbulent, thunder-headed
crackling in ideas – it is you, your mind
you cut it off
call it God
whatever better object for veneration could be found?

You adore you
in love with yourself
you tie yourself down and fuck you
put yourself on top, and then invert it
The Lord rides cowgirl
now you are its
made in the image of…
flesh become a reflection of spirit

And we wipe the crust from our eyes
look around anew and see
all our neighbors – so many worldwide
are, like us, enamored
by that festering dark smog
a noisomely smug vapor
putrescent in self-aggrandizement
to keep it fresh
people come together
mingle their stinks
deodorize in lavish rituals
a sprinkle of water
a burn of incense, a swing of censer
this way and that – pleasant smoke rising
freshening the collective God of collective conscious
safely again, smelling sweetly
we go down on it

Denialocaust

pits of the dead
bodies tossed higgledy-piggledy
lying every which way like the aftermath of a
temper tantrum
corpses, thousands rotting – skin and bones
half starved but fully dead
crooked arms, bare feet and genitals, knobby knees and bulbous elbows
legs twisted and intertwined
it’s like a bowlful of sugary children’s cereal gone soggy
all composed of funny animal shapes, but mostly
shaved emaciated apes
sodium hydroxide and water poured like milk
disgusting belching holes of putrid gases
it’s al so… all so…
unGerman, and you’re trying to tell me
these people of efficiency and meticulous order
these people of precision and finely tuned engineering
that they’re responsible for this?
I find it hard to believe
now the German way would be to measure plots
perfectly excavated to the meagerest fraction of an inch
like an Olympic swimming pool
encase the bodies neatly in cling wrap
roll them round and round, bound up like mummies
and laid in careful stacks – passed down
assembly line style
from the shower to the mass grave
stacked like campfire logs… yeah,
nice and clean and no unsightly nudity
that’s the way – if it’d have been like that I’d’ve believed it,
but as it is, this Holocaust thing… obvious hoax, right?

Pig Fuck Failure God #5

His wrath is hurricane and drought
His love, a cool breeze and light rain
He is a simple linear continuum of pleasure and pain
omniscient, maybe, but certainly creatively lazy
for one who calls Himself a Creator
That dog of the Torah
That pig of the Quran
That crucified meat puppet of the Bible
is a Goldilocks God
not too wet; not too dry
but just right, unless He gets pissed,
and who knows what will provoke Him this week:
eating meat on Friday
pulling out of your brother’s widow
and ejaculating onto the ground on Wednesday
not wearing the veil on Monday…
it’s never easy to determine what’s going to set Him off
it could be the ACLU or lesbians or US foreign policy…

“The extended forecast calls for widespread tornadic activity
throughout Missouri because Betty Lou in Stoughton, WI
coveted her neighbor’s Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse,
and then immediately disrespected her parents with sass
when they wouldn’t buy her one.
Crops in Georgia are expected to suffer
major hailstorm damage
when New England nursing school student
Cynthia Marquez refill her birth control prescription.
It’s this Theological Meteorologist’s opinion that
all of our much deserved, if slightly misaimed, divine punishment
could be avoided by summarily executing the sluts.
His will be done. God bless and now sports!”
“Thanks Phil. Denver’s coach says they’ve been praying
heavily all week
foregoing the methods of hard work
and training employed by other teams and
are the favorites to route San Diego
this Sunday.”

…He is a capricious God who punishes pleasure
who creates to destroy
who bestows souls to torture
thus far, all predictive models to assess His will
have failed, which is something
blessed as we humans are
with our ability to detect patterns,
but in that cosmically desultory Mind
of vicissitudes and oscillation
we have found nothing
it’s a Mind wanting of reason
bereft of even the most basic cause and effect logic
put simply, it’s a monster – an aborted horror
chewed up and spat out of a far more sensible universe
and it’s high time we do the same
and kick that motherfucker on down the line

What a Pity

the dance ends before the record spins
what a pity
a man half-born, a lifetime trapped in cunt
what a pity
in love with your own voice, never getting the attention deserved
never overcoming your disorders: obsession, compulsion, attention deficit
but we already covered that last
what a pity
tormented by Christ, fantasy, misinformation
flunky in a world that just isn’t the way you feel it ought to be
so you attack it for the things it is and ain’t,
casting upon it a reflection of your personal failings:
obesity, impotency, addiction,
whore mongery…
these corrosive agents dribble from your greasy lips
and eat away at your enemies, who,
numbered among them, is anybody happy,
physically fit, enjoying a rollicking sex life, unboughten
with a full head of long faggoty hair
what a pity
people who feel good exist
what a pity
they live lives free of the self-inflicted hatred
you feel for yourself and use all your power
to lay upon them until gun barrels clatter
between teenage teeth and the
suicide toll rises
what a pity
you refuse responsibility
what a pity
the record hits a snag and finally you dance
to the skipping beat over and over… eternally repeat forever
what a pity
you will never recognize this for damnation
as the rest of us do