Our Band: Gorgeosity made flesh

Slap!
Jobe’s groovy bass
Pluck!
The stinging strings of Dave Singer’s six string
Shit!
Duke, the funky drummer,
We left him
At the gas station.
Carl!
Turn up the volume
But wait until a million souls are present.
Our audience
Is your militia
Use them,
At your will.

Making the band.
2009.

Ruby (Tuesday) Slippers

I left my innocence
Sitting in a Ruby Tuesday’s booth.
Should I go back and get it?

Naw.

Besides, the waitress probably thought it was her tip.
My innocence,
that fragrant beast;
that melodious Frankfurt shepherd-
bound up in that saucy wench’s apron pouch
like some alabaster glasses case!
Terrible thoughts…
We left it there, you and I and your little brother,
(I hate that he comes on dates with us)
after a pleasant dinner, a peasant dinner, a pheasant dinner
the present dinner.
We should go back.
Turn the car around, mom.
I said turn the fucking car around.

A Night To Remember

We spent the night in a dumpy motel
Playing cards on a gyrating bed.
We played by Mike’s rules (three-halves-naked)
Sharing nightmares (orgran grinder's egregious hump)
Making plans (tour of my basement?)
Forgetting the homeless existed.
We twisted our bodies
In glorious expression
Of how trees must scream
When the brutal axemen
Screw them un-politely.
We painted impressions.
Oh, what impressions!
You called me your little Monet.
I called you my ‘mongous Manet.
We always did get them confused.
An artist and a gentleman.
An artist and an artist.
I knew you didn’t smelled like a prostitute.

Harvey Sleevemaker

Soak up the sun! Soak up the sun! Soak up the sun!
Shout the chancellors from their high horses
Where on earth do they get such high horses?
Whipping the vomiting slaves in the streets
Relentless whippings for the non-soakers!
Tenacious beatings for the don’t-funhavers!
Serious bleedings for the bored-claimers!
Knives to the face?
Spiders to the crotch?
Mild slaps to the genitals?
Men
Named
“Gordon”
up the butt?
Bruises on my unspeakables.

Harvey Sleevemaker stands up.
struck down.
bled out.
fucked up.

God, I hate my babysitter.

J. Edgar Hoover's Tombstone

Cardinal George said “don’t go in there”
Cardinal Groucho said “don’t go in bare”
Cardinal Luigi said “don’t go in hair”
Cardinal Stev said “don’t grow in bare”
Cardinal Stephan said “don’t grow in hair”
Cardinal Franz said “don’t throw in there”
Cardinal Bonna said “don’t stow in mare”
Cardinal Mahmoud said “don’t flow and stare”
Screw them
I did all that, and more.

The Scientist's Mating Call

Hey lady,
Hey baby,
Wanna feel some man?
Wanna rub up
Against a big time scientist?
Let me show you the stars
Then let me show you my scars(gamma radiation injury).
We can party in the steppe,
Or in the sub-tropical monsoon forests,
Or in the Taiga.
Be my Ribosome,
I’ll be your Golgi Apparatus,
Squeezing
Your nodules.

Let’s have intercourse.
2009.

Crunch Time

Crunch time,
Squeeze time,
Got to feel my way around this garden of earthly delight,
Lunch in the vestibule
Beautifying in Marie’s parlor
Swimming by the bog,
Writing up a log,
On the hours spent,
Drying grandpa’s trousers.
So much to do
So little time
What was I doing last week?
That so ungraciously swallowed up this poet’s time?

Ate crickets
Danced too hard
Smoked royal poison
Carved up a real gangster with my right hand.

Now there’s time though.

Oh, Imma make it happen.

Crunch time 2009.

Pina Coladas and Summer Storms

Whooptailing and smackballing
The gunnery pirates know best
Where to find sharp knives at True Value.
Its so hot in here,
So fucking hot in here
Open the screen,
Empty the furnace
Pour the mango sauce on my feathery skin
Let it all hang out.


Summer 2009.

O Frabjous Day!

O! Garden of earthly delights
Alights outside my dusty classroom window!
Old tomes shine from sunlit dustbunnies.

A veritable garden of Eden-

A veritable discotheque of Eden-
A veritable rodeo of Eden-
A Veritable Waterloo of Eden-
Whatever it is, it must be Eden!

Ticking clocks
Ticking down the seconds of life until that sweet sweet freedom
of this garden of pleasures.
Birds, lovemaking on the springtime breeze
Deer, lovemaking on the springtime breeze
Steve, lovemaking on the springtime breeze
Oh shit, he’s at it again. Somebody get the hose.
Ow!
Sorry professor,
a dog walked by the window,
you know how I get sometimes.
RRRRIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGG
Done! I’m outta here!
Do? What should I do?
carpe the diem, as my Uncle Roberst would say?
Ab asino lanam, as my friend Butch Er would say?
Ave caesar! Morituri te salutamus, as Cuz Frightyear would say?
Nope, I’m going home to sleep
I’m going gravedigging come the bewitching hour…

It's the Freakin' Weekend

Yo dawg, let the poet flesh out his mind
and tell you ‘bout his weekend-

Friday

School’s out;
bell’s rung-
work’s done.
Fuck this I’m too high strung.
Let’s go to the club!
Insidious boogiebeats, tropical drinks
Breezin on the breeze, coconut tanspray sinks
to the floor, to the spiked-hair, to my lungs
I don’t care. Fuck it it’s the weekend.

Saturday

Tequila sunrise, turn on FoxNews- Fuckyeah-representin’ GOP!
Eat some poet chow, crunchberries and hotsauce. Two hours later-
dog park time, little Barnaby’s gotta pee.
Finished that malarkey in no-time flat, nobody makes a dog piss like this bard, this madrigal.
Lunch with Linda, gotta have lunch with Linda(How else is a poet supposed to get any?).
Afternoon with homeboys, afternoon with books, afternoon at the Laundromat.
I saw some ghosts there, no biggie. I’m a poet, this stuff don’t scare me!
No clubbin for this patriot, this scoundrel of letters,
early to bed, early to rise, I got plans for tomorrow.

Sunday

Gotta go to church, I’s a man of god.
I preach the prophet’s verse, the lord’s lyric.

Monday

The weekend aint over yet…
Not till I say so

The Flame

Awaking in the night,
A solitudinous candle
at the foot of my bed,
flickers,
a reflection in my mind.
I can't believe
I've never tasted the flame.

I lean
I crawl
Under sheets
Past pillows
Tongue first
into the flame

Ow.
the flame
tastes like burnt tongue.

The ink onto the paper, the paper into the trash.

Twenty years without them man,
They fall like cards out from my hand.
A Dodo bird in a whooping can.
What does all this shit mean?

I never fucked a little hooker
In a little kitchen.

Who the FUCK
Do you think I am?

I may sound like an angry dude.
I don’t mean to be rude.
Don’t get all nude don’t get all lewd.

And a shot rang out.
And ten shots rang out.
The bodies fell fast.
And hard.

When blood spurts.
Angels learn.
How to give a shit.

Don’t get all fast don’t get all rude.
Don’t take off you clothes,
Please don’t get nude.

Send Me Back

I haggled with a barterman
Who launched me insults father than
the ancient sun washed sea wherein
he dined on simple feasts again
reiterating points because
he always will and never was
the man who started World War Three
and taught me ways of husbandry
how to be free with me you see
forget your silence touch the stream
of conscious feeling mixed with cream
a coffee in a coffee shop is hotter than
the eagle’s back that carries suns
and calls me back to fields of youth
that soothe the soul and call me friend
begin again begin again
the cycle that will never end
and ever send me back

Hey man -

Hey man -
Don’t crotch my hammer
Hey man -
Don’t wave my banner
Don’t burn my wood
Don’t lounge in my manor
Hey man -

The Man of the House
Strokes up down the corridors
He keeps things in order
He strokes down the steps
Leading down to the foyer
Hey man –
Don’t swing my chandelier
Hey man –
Don’t sex in my chamber.

The Beast of the Assembly
Gains upon midnight the pains
Of a century.
He rips through his passage
And sips through his wine
He gets up his getup
Only to find:

Hey man –
Woah man –
Never again man -
Put on your clothes.
And get out of my house.

The Maiden Voyage of the HMS Meriwether

Much fun was had by the Meriwether’s crew
When the captain presented his world-famous stew.
The first mate had seconds
The second mate had thirds
There was even enough to feed all the sea birds.
The captain sat proud at his table;
Proud father of a stew that was able
To satisfy these salty sea dogs,
sea men, sea beasts, and sea hogs.
The admiral was summoned and upon his arrival
The crew had descended to a party most vile.
Crewmen hung from all of the rafters,
What a terrible sight for this grandiose quartermaster!
A trial was held; the captain was tried
Everyone thought his freedom would be denied.
The judge was an old landlubber of course
Whose face was weathered and whose voice was coarse.
The trial began and the prosecution took rest,
Then the captain’s stew was put to the test.
Exhibit A, it was, for the captain’s crime
But the stew’s moleculation had changed with time.
Old Judge took a bite,
But it was nothing to fright.
“Delicious,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong here.”
And the captain was freed, and Old Judge even bought him a beer

Very Early on Wednesday Morning

Swallow sweet jibblets
Of qumptiomous joy,
Melodious greecities,
Calhoon’s wistful flavor.

Twipsy woverhauls,
Temptation and turnaquettes.
The Jowlers bargain,
The Zaggersours' fruit.

The nindegency of power rardors.
Flactoon all over the doches of lovers
Past.

Youthful vigor?
Of the frewhors?
Day of tarckening?

I think so.

A Ship Named Jenny

A restaurant called Applebees,
A plea to all these companies,
To make a burger filled with fleas,
And call it Riceroni.

I ate-fucked-drank and
Smoked and called,
But no one ever had the balls,
To tell me where we were at fault.
And carved a ship named Jenny.

Twenty lizards licking Twenty lizards licking Twenty lizards licking
Twenty lizards licking Twenty lizards licking
Twenty lizards licking

A hardy post of wood.

This Poem Was Inspired By A Pooch

The Vanderhooves gallop,
Trusty steeds astride;
Salisbury plain has never seen
The likes of this.
Actually…
it has.
Ere a fortnight has passed
Since that terrifying sighting
Of some dog-pattern-baldness.

I hear you get it from your mother’s side.

Crown of Gold

I left you standing in a
parking lot with no cars
Whimpering in an empty space
Caught between two neat white lines
The stars were out
I looked behind and
There you were.
And then.
You weren’t.
I was alone on the road.
Me and the devil.
He stroked me with a crown of gold
And told me I did right.
I did right – I did I did.
But then I remember
That night in December
When your heart was dismembered
By me.
the devil.
And a gas station employee.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 4

Satans of New York!
Silence your booming voices,
and observe the child.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 4

Ectoplasmic cows,
drinking all grandpa's whiskey.
Weekend at Bernie's

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 4

Tweety bird sleeps tight,
Hungry cats fuck around him.
Shit tweety bird run.

The Black Man's Burden

Bitch Please,
Nigga Please,
Ghost please,

This stuff needs to be passed down,
To our progeny.

If weren’t a beat poet,
A dirty white meat poet-

I might not have the lyrical chops,
I might not have the musical props,

To lay down the rhythm,
The one thing that’s still alive in this town.

Down town,
Old town,
Sweaty man town,
The dark man’s town,
The white man’s
Burden.

His over burden,
His under burden.
His tailings,
His gangue.

Who rocks the mic?

I rock the mic.

But who rocks the mic?

God rocks the mic.

Strange Alaska

Oak tree oak tree
Underneath the smoke tree
A secret sewer of mystery
Humping rather violently
Two monsters groaned
Italians stroaned
And baked a strange
Alaska

There's a Moratorium on Field Trips

Billy stood there, awestruck
Mouth agape, evolved-from-ape.
Notblinking, notmoving.
Stan, well he just hit himself
And hit himself, and hit himself
Neverstopping, neversmiling.
Bernard laughed
And laughed, and laughed.
There’s something wrong with Bernard
My lawyer tells me, my father tells me too.
So does the old lady next door.
Everyone thinks there’s something wrong with Bernard.
Marvin shouted, and shouted,

and shouted.

It was a C sharp, I think.
Antoine smiled and wept,

smiled and wept.

Johann stared too, but fists flew

at Davey’s face.

They tell me that Theodore locked himself in the janitor’s
Closet.
I’d rather not go looking for him.

The slaughterhouse is a horrible place for a field trip.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 3

Essential Garments,
Banana Hammocks are not.
Just grab some boxers.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 3

Three goats make man-love!
I hate grandpa's magazines.
Go away grandpa.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 3

No, Steve, Goddammit!
Wolves must never sleep with hounds!
Or else we're all dead!

My Cuddly Noodle

Please have a nibble
Of my cuddly noodle.

You can lick him,
Or call him on the telephone.

Always remember,
He loves you.

The Mathematician's Plea

Stop!
The decimal places.

Hold!
The remainder.

Add two hearts locked
In perilous battle.

What do you get?

525,600 minutes.

Subtract this

From the time it takes,

To realize,

That you,

You sir.

You.

Are doomed.

The Seven Plagues of 2009

On the first day,
Every woman was forced to make love,
To powerful ghosts.

On the second day,
Every toddler grew a second ass,
On their ass.

On the third day,
The coal miners
Shot themselves.

On the fourth day,
There were birds of every manner,
Fucking newborns.

On the fifth day,
A billion drunk old men,
Descended on the land and shat.

On the sixth day,
There were storms of every manner,
But mostly shit storms.

On the seventh day,
The walrus flu took millions,
Of healthy fuckers.

The year ended on a very low note.

Lord Stanley Sits

“Just call me Lord Stanley”, he tells me.
This man
with the gilded codpiece who

released me

from this mental prison.
Restricting me from my true potential
Like a stripper’s clothes restricting
The stripper from its nude potential.
Opens mouth,
tongue-and-lips ebb and flow
like the tides of passion,
forming words in an ol' dead tongue.
I

can

comprehend

Them.

Slowly, but Shirley Temple,
sweet nothings are whispered into my faceless pagan ears.
My mind, like Thor’s skull, is shattered;
mental chockablocks, thoughts clouded by deceit;
words stampede over my cerebral cortex, knocking
me metaphysically unconscious.
Slowly, bestial braingoop coagulates;
translating Lord Stanley’s words-
----------------------------------------------------------
“Every shower King Midas ever took was golden”

Untitled

Oh shit, dad.
That was nothing like how it was
on T.V.

Don

I put Don to bed.

I waited until Don fell asleep,

when I could hear Don sleep-breathing.

I kissed Don's gentle brow.

My Don.

I walked to Don's door,

but turned back towards Don's nightstand.

I licked Don's half-eaten apple.

I licked Don's floral wallpaper.

I climbed on Don's bed.

And licked the dust off Don's ceiling fan.

I licked the juice stain on Don's rug.

I licked Don's light switch.

Off.

On.

Off.

Good-Night Don.