Archive for October, 2013

To Build an Ice Loogie

October 29, 2013

When I’d walk to school in winter
there was always this compulsive urge
like OCD
to constantly touch my tongue
to the zipper pull-tab of my puffy coat
it’d stick to it until the warmth
of breath and saliva
would disrupt the bond
it’d swing away in a small arc
and make the tiniest click of metal on metal
I did this again and again
all the way to the play yard
all down through the path in the woods
as I walked along that dirt trail
snow crunching under moon boots
I’d get to thinking
this story the teacher had us read
about a man and his wolf
in the Yukon or Alaska or somewhere
he’s a bad man
or at least not good to the wolf
eventually he dies for this
freezes to death for animal cruelty
but to survive he’d had have to of
gut the dog anyway so it makes you wonder
but it was a part in there
where the guy spits
and the spittle cracks
like — SNAP! – in midair
it’s so cold
occasionally me and other kids
we’d hawk up big gobs
onto street signs
metal poles and the like
and watch it grow sluggish
frozen fast to the post
I wished often for it to be colder
cold enough to do the man’s trick
his spit trick
liquid to solid – snicker-snack
like jumping off a bridge
and dying before you hit bottom
but where I lived the temperature
never dropped that low
I suppose that’s a good thing
because as it was
three of my fingers got frostbit anyway
without it ever
reaching the dire point
it takes for sudden rapidly violent state change
of fluid into ice



October 27, 2013

I prefer my enemies imaginary
when we battle I’m quite extraordinary
fascists and communists
when make believe
lay down their weapons very rapidly
there’s nothing like a straw man
in a fight
dried up brittle
bleeding hearts ignite
shining my dark conservative skies bright
better than an energy efficient light

Brown Stain of Sin

October 25, 2013

cleanliness is next to Godliness
but trespasses do not wipe away
forgiveness stems from Jesus
His sacrifice upon the cross
beaten brutally
muscle and skin flayed to bone
speared, crowned in thorns
and hung out to dry
thirsty, hungry, burned
under a hot desert sun
the old god
scorching the New
the usurper Son
who escapes the rays
by a descent into hell
eventually, after not too long for him
since a hundred years is but a blink of the eye
three days is no sweat, really
He comes back better than ever
resurrected like new
if He was a used car
He’d be like the one
driven to church on Sundays by a little old lady
you’d buy Him
probably feel uncomfortable
come down & dirty backseat time
but don’t forget the cleanliness
Jesus is there to shine good Godly graces on filth
it’s true
why do you think He came back
to save humanity
to purify the human race
wash our sins away in His gore
like a bloody bidet
toilet paper for heathens
pray away the dingleberries
pray away the brown stain

Something Living

October 23, 2013

Back left to nothing
where it was born
in the doorway she stands
potted plant cradled to her chest
in her hands, alive
between the rain in front
and the metallic brown security door

She is a hieroglyph for loss
once again my illiteracy serves me
in the downpour I cannot read
trails on her cheeks
is it tears or precipitation
both will dry, evaporating words after the end

I click the turn signal down
check my left shoulder blind spot
steer away from the curb and her
catch a last peripheral flash of Chinese Evergreen
bought for me
a gift I couldn’t accept
she said
in my house
dwells nought but death


October 21, 2013

Behind armed forces
hide cowards
who worship monsters as heros
mistake shields for valor
and pledge allegiance
to the very blood-soaked banner
to suffocate them of their lives

Weapons are their beloved
to threats of violence they are betrothed
power through posturing
that’s how a man makes of himself a man

When they perceive,
rightly or wrongly,
that the hostility of their murderous nation
turns inward upon them
they rail and wail
horribly against it
squealing piggies caught
in traps they done set themselves

To the gaoler they’ve granted the keys
locked themselves inside at their leisure
sit comfortable at keyboards screaming
into digital space they lodge their complaints
oppressed white males
howling mad at moon-cast shadows
phantoms out to thieve
from the last warehouse of liberty
where brave soldiers sip
at the big public tit

Cable Package

October 18, 2013

north winds garbage blow
sucking debris down southbound stream
red neck blossoms plucked and pruned
florally arranged, thorns removed
pretty vase displays on the box shown
airwave static roars
heaps of wreckage cultural soar
new dawns for wasted antiquity
across the east sun-rising sky
predatory opportunists tuning in
clockwise circles spiral descending
carrion feeders supping Honey
lick Dynastic lips cracked, chapped
fresh self-blood on the tongue
bitten red to sing its poisons
running thicker than water into Swamp
non-metaphorical muck raked and appraised
leave no least common denominator unturned
brought to the top, over the line every time
profits few, bankrupts to the call
screeched round and round on the way down
a national treasure of fools
saddled to its back, reins in hand like a TV clicker
surfing the vulture broken on the beach

Festering Entropy

October 16, 2013

mold takes hold
blue and green
decay in the grey-white cheese
my mind grows
naught now but rotting holes
painful abscesses where once was I
lapses in the continuity of myself lie
my memory – forgetfulness
of places, times, people
scattered order
as if the past
is lottery balls
popcorn ping-ponging in the machine
a random jumble
of bad luck, guesses and misplaced dreams
slowly, who we are
is not us
and it gets so bad
we can’t recall properly
if we were dead before we were born
or born before we’re dead
years are meaningless
prone to rearrangement
dropping out completely
falling into
one of these great flowering abysses
where identity used to dwell
until like a dark singularity
we are a void
born in the demise of a star
a big bright beautiful star
inescapably collapsed
lost to all but the distance
where its fires can still burn

Cock Noir

October 14, 2013

What would the MPAA rate me
if I were to pull down my pants
dangling man parts on display
instant “R” for sure
but if the trousers drop
and up like a jack knife pops a prick
stiff, angry, veiny
why then I’m sure
NC-17 is the judgment
unless, of course
I am turned about
buttocks directed camerawards
like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes
running naked, wild
into a rating
for general audiences – “G”
there are many ways
to rate me
when I am pantsless
but I prefer a genre
fantasy johnson, comedy dink, horror rod
penis noir – now that’s the one
a shadow cast sinister
across the cock’s left side
I see it there, taking a piss
in its fedora, suspicious
striking a match on the urinal divider
lighting a camel
smooth Turkish smoke rising in a shaft of light
stern focused expression
private dick ruminating a case
then, suddenly… BAM! out of nowhere
bullet to the heart
done in by some icy dame
viscous white bleeding from the top of his head
entombed in a dark damp grave
wrapped up within the mystery
happily, ever so happily


October 11, 2013

in cases of sweetest entrapment
the undercover pig lets you fuck her first
all fireworks and earthquakes
she gasps for breath, trembles
holds you tight
confesses both her love
and her crime
which was loving you, she sighs
but also, and this surprises
since the act was done
the handcuffs embrace your wrists
with a click
that sounds like a parting kiss
under arrest
for solicitation
you have the right to remain silent
until you cry in passion
your crime growing greater
within her womb
your child
within her cell
trapped in a love cage
singing canary
songs of bitter lust
here sooie, sooie, sooie
woo pig sooie!
chanting until your release
on parole
nowhere to go
no place to call home
or a child of your own
so you call nine-one-one
dialing it with your tongue
because that’s how you make the police come

Dry Fart

October 9, 2013

In an alternate reality 1989
The Seinfeld Chronicles
never became a show
careers were never made
influences never felt
no Friends, no Coupling
no Curb Your Enthusiasm
water cooler conversations never happen
a million other things or nothing are discussed
and from this one difference
many people never meet
thousands of children who now exist
are never born
and unborn with them
all they do, create
who they love, unloved
no Must See TV, no syndication reruns
no low talkers, no jimmy legs or soup Nazis
one little thing
one network exec’s budgetary discretion
it doesn’t have to be
the South or Hitler winning some war
it doesn’t have to be life or death or Earth shattering
to or not to
your decision
in and of itself
it’s big
and in another reality
it might’ve really fucked some shit up
fortunately here in ours
it didn’t
and you ain’t worth a dry god damn fart