Archive for November, 2015

Jesuit Date Night

November 30, 2015

In his treatise
On Somnambulatory Copulation Strategies
Saint Thomas Aquinas suggested
to, in the sleepwalker’s path,
lay a coin
and he who stoops to acquire
is not a man of the Lord
rendering unto Caesar
and thus as worthy
a good bit of torpid buggery
as any secular ass
however, a second suggestion
was laid out for when
slumber-bug might be found
staggering off from bed
on either an early or late Friday
to simply dab upon prick’s end
a dab of fish glue
and thereon stick
a morsel of pork
and if when waved below
slumberous pedestrian’s nose
their mouth doth water
and hungrily yawn
then jam all in, thrust content
until thou art jolly
and thy load is spent

For clear reasons
one might guess
from the flock these teachings were deemed
in dire need of remaining concealed
as much as all God’s glory
is considered a must to be revealed
this was one of the cases
where it was assumed the masses
would find questionable
the theological issue
and veritably, too much to swallow
amongst, however, the clergy high
in close regard to this day
is the seminal work held


A Gracious Host

November 27, 2015

Every surface
must be assumed
to be infested
the man bent at the waist
face an inch off
the back of the chair
eyes unhinged
ogling orbs
rapt in intense examination
for the slightest hint
of nit or movement
the man who sits
upright as a sign post
never to let his back
touch seat back
as at the bar
he studies adjacent
their stools their hair
the verminous menace
they represent
all is potentially acrawl
in lice, scabies, bedbugs
the world
a swollen sea
of pestilence
mindlessly breeding
in dark places
bent on conquering
and inhabiting new domains
the horrible thought
the certain knowledge
of it
raises on the neck
the hairs
where the unknown
may now amass
to bite to feed
he must scratch
nails dig into dry scalp
uproot follicles
claw up old scabs
like rotting logs in the forest
to expose to daylight
the wriggling writhing
enemies of sanctity
that thrive
under the skin
just below the surface
in need of peeling away
to tear further into
subcutaneous tissues
draw forth the foulness
cleansing blood
to run free
is such a relief
as all turn upon the scene
the bouncer
afraid to touch
escorts the bleeding man
to the street
as he curses and condemns
the filth the sickness the dirt
this unclean existence
everyone will be sorry
everyone will despair
loved ones consumed alive
bones picked clean
for even the vultures
there will be nothing left
just pure white bones
pure and white
like the foam
at the corners of his mouth

The Decline of Print Journalism is a Blessing Unto Dog

November 25, 2015

To turn the ecosystem toxic
and destroy animals by the thousands
is of no moral conflict
when it comes to
protecting themselves, their children
pets, shelter, food stores
yet they will cry in grievous outrage
over a football player
who pits dog against dog to the death
for amusement’s sake
cruelty to their preferred species
is intolerable
and upon the perpetrators
they wish violence
they would condemn them
to be torn apart by rabid snarling beasts
mouths dripping gore
as they rip and gnaw at the viscera
pulling off hunks of meat
as lions form a fallen impala
it is justifiable
for he was a big mean meanie
to poor, dear, innocent
Fido, Fluffy and Fifi
but since this punishment
is gratifyingly beyond the scope of law
they call for a national registry
of animal abusers
but that is not either what they want
acts of barbarism against mice and rats
the genocide of individual colonies
of fleas and lice
these do not concern them
it is only the fortunate few
whose tormenting bullies would make the list
would be marked by shame
lucky are the canines to be cared for so
that man would be branded a criminal
for kicking you when he returns home

A Wrinkle in Time

November 20, 2015

Lead shortens
slack once; now
taut and pulled
wasted, billowed
an age
an adage
old age
a leash to let
aroam illusion
never given
jerked fish on a Jamaican plate
a worm adangle
jaws to bite
the sever complete
sag unto death

Pubes and Pestilence

November 16, 2015

our waitress was the kind of woman
who shaves her pussy in the morning
but it grows back quick and coarse by night
to friction fry all would-be comers
but that has nothing to do
with anything
crass and uncalled for
I apologize
when under the weather
I’m not a nice person
I woke up this morning
to lungs heavy and sore
a vicious full-body wrack cough
gobs of orange-brown phlegm
spat into the decidedly untidy bowl
sniffles, aches
it persists still
I’m fucking sick, which brings me back
to the waitress
with a sand paper merkin for a cunt
she comes
takes our order – eggs and other garbage
and it’s busy at the Coco’s
and one of our party mentions it
and our wait girl says,
“Oh, yes. It has been lately
and it’s even worse because
instantly I am terror stricken
this typhoid Mary of the greasy spoon
not only wants to burn my dick
but infect me and every other customer
there’s nowhere to go
I consider running away screaming
but she speaks the death sentence
as she places the plates
and right here
over morning breakfast
is another example
of how fucked this country is
workers in the food preparation industry
will spread infirmity
throughout the community
all because our labor laws
are so atrociously weak
employees fear financial ruin
if they call in ill
conservative Republicans
and their anti-union, anti-labor
policies directly result
in millions of Americans per year
coming down with
preventable illnesses
fuck them and their appalling greed
and what’s with the price of razors these days
I know they love Bush so much
they’re looking to elect a third one
but come on
think of that poor waitress
her pestilence and her pubes

Neither a Man Has Wept Nor Dashed a Thousand Kim

November 11, 2015

arrogant cackles
born of religious inversion
crosses twisted and turned
Christ’s head swells with blood
turns as red-faced
as his howling followers
who profess to hang too
as he does
martyred, persecuted
in the name of freedom and liberty
they invoke the names
of civil rights icons
as they justify their flipped
mirror-world battle
to deny rights to others
that inflict no harm upon them
in their backwards Kingdom
bus drivers
who ordered blacks to the back
and white-hooded goons
watching as the body
kicks at the end of the rope
are the true heroes
to be hailed
in the struggle to achieve justice
for them
equality is a right of refusal
for them, under the shelter of law,
to condemn and humiliate
those who can feel love in ways they cannot
they neither lead nor follow
but choose instead
to get in the way
proudly flying their flag of ignorance
halting progress
quoting scripture
raising arms
pumping fists in pious triumph
as they stand
in adoration of a callous hag
and the politicians eager for the opportunity
to blow sunshine
up her thrice divorced
and four-times married cunt
but this is the way of the right wing
anger is everything
their motivations are loveless, without compassion
grown by nurturing their cowardice and fear
fucked insane by endless rage
fed a steady diet of yammering hate
the center of their humanity falls away into decay
they are left with a core of infected rot
enabling them
to castigate those who care
as bleeding hearts,
uproariously applaud intolerance
of the infirm, the impoverished, the dispossessed
against them
all people, decent and true, must stand
those who hail the likes of Kim Davis, Josh Duggar,
Darren Wilson, George Zimmerman
as champions of Christ and justice
are the enemies of Christ and justice
shit on them


November 10, 2015

High above the toilet
it flaps and hops against the window
I reach to it gently
take it into my grasp
and carry it soft to the camp site
where the fire roars
in my palm I expose it
verdant and to my drunk eyes
trembling there green
silhouetted in orange bon-flame
a quick jerk of my wrist
and it flutters off
toward the nearest twisted maple
as marijuana and alcohol
tug me sleepwise

In the morning sunrise
out of the tent
I find the kadydid again
this time
crawling a crimson towel
hung from the tree
drawn to it in the night
like a bull to the cape
green long-horns clung desperate to red
and I wonder-worry
worrinder what
if maybe me
befell that bug
was the bathroom
its dying wish
the place where it chose
its life to surrender
the elephant burial ground of the cricket
and away I took it
to be confused unto death
by fire and human hands
and towels the color of fire

Friendship’s Winter

November 5, 2015

admittance of failure and malfeasance
was beyond the limits
of his personal responsibility
all fault flowed from sources extraneous
to himself
acceptance for all what went well however
could be laid at his door
all that was with the world and right
was within him
all that was with the world and wrong
was without him
for no problem was there
that the finger could not be directed
an accusation yoked
gently but firmly
to the shoulders of another
whoever was convenient
the nearest at hand
a loved one, a trusted confidant, a child
to what end this may fall is uncertain
but a short Fall is a guarantee
the love, the trust
the heroic father-like presence
becomes a frozen, dark, wind-blasted waste
when the artifice of fair weather
warmth, sunshine, gentle breeze
loses all structural integrity
and collapses in a loose pile
of hungry
picked clean bones
white as the snow that buries them


November 4, 2015

She was Muslim
that was not her misfortune
a piece of place and birth and time
married at first blood
her wedding night rapist
five years her father’s senior
put her with child
one week before, to the day,
her twelfth birthday
she bore her husband a son
well pleased
the nightly mauling returned
persistent, mechanical and dry
by nearly sixteen
her second daughter was born
as the American brung war
went on uninvited
it came anyway to the celebration
the cluster bomb tore them all apart
her mother and father,
the former holding newborn Ai’isha,
grandparents, husband, children
she alone in the wreckage alive
burnt, mutilated right arm & leg
saved, nursed, made whole
except for the aforementioned arm and leg
those were gone with her face
with her son, daughters, folks
even her loyally devoted rapist
on top of it all
she missed her sweet sixteenth
in some cultures
they consider that when you become a woman
that would have been fun on that day
to pretend, but it was gone now
like her arm, like Muhammad, like her mama
orphan, widow, amputee and
whatever you call it when your kids are dead
maybe that’s the word

(inter)Generation(al) Hex

November 3, 2015

I am not here to be in a hurry
to race on my course to the end
where again the gun fires
impatience erupting anew
the waitress who took too long,
the bartender who served you
out of order,
the check-out clerk at the grocery store
who spent precious minutes
working out the intricacies
of a coupon that would not scan
any moment
in which I find I must wait
I become aggrieved, angry
for even when before I was not
now I am in a hurry
now all of a sudden
my time has value, meaning
I am important
my arrogance demands immediate attention
for my needs always to be fed post-haste
I do not know
how I got this way
what factors shaped this feeling
was it perhaps school
life lived under a bell
timed tests – hurry up and answer
half hour lunch – hurry up and eat
twenty minute recess – hurry up and play
rigorous schedules against which
we are powerless
designed to not prepare or propel
but condition
for the factory floor
for the nuclear family of four
still now in an age when
the factory floor has moved to China
when the life track of:
job, marriage, home ownership,
child-rearing, retirement, golden years
is but the out of date daydream
of a whited and wasted generation
spent wallowed away
in privilege, selfishness and greed
they spent their lives in a hurry
imposed the hurry upon their descendants
and thus
I am in a hurry I was not meant for
a slow shark suffocating
in waters too fast