Italian Nights

I sucked the balls right out of the room

when I put my severed leg up on the table

or should I say

when I put the empty space where my un-severed leg once was...up on the table

I stuffed a steaming hot golden brown dinner roll in my mouth

Burnt cheeks?

I care not.

I'll rub stringy red prosciutto on my leg

You gonna stop me - uh what's your name - uh? Fane?

Oh, Jane.

Goddamn nametag makes it look like an F.

Goddammmmit.

What Jane?

You don't think my leg is really severed?

Taste this blood.

It's good with parmesan.

Bring me more rolls.

King Arthur’s Mother’s Round Dining Room Table

Lookin’ about the table
D&D stronghold, these fuckers aint got nothing on me
I’m their fucking master,
The s&m dungeonmaster.
Look at their faces! Disgusting!
Are those chocolate stains?
Really, Jeffrey? Go clean your face!
Now, let’s get down to business!
To defrost these cinnabons!
Wizards, tobacconists, haberdashers, caresses.
Wave after wave I throw
Frank and his level 2 gravedigger go down like dominos.
Next goes Bartholomew and his level 40 aristoclown,
victims of my pantsthief horde.
Only Darrel remains, him
and his negromancer.
They’re always the last ones, always testing my wit.
I’ll figure something out, they’re going down.
Fuck them.
I guess it's just a pretty normal night
In King Arthur’s mother’s round dining room table

Jimmy O'Connor

The newsprint read:
Jimmy O'Connor: The Spindly Six-Legged Boy Wonder.

Jimmy kept to himself, Mostly.
His complexion was pale, some said ghostly.
He drew diagrams of chimps,
And wrote letters to pimps.
Wearing sweaters to keep himself toasty.

Then came the day
So early in May
When a knock came to young Jimmy's door.
It revealed with surprise,
Sending fear to his eyes.
An eight foot tall Siamese whore.

One head said, in a tone like a beast,
That on virgin souls should Jimmy's mouth feast
The other one said, with a voice like a mule
That the other head jests, you are not to be cruel.

Jimmy learned his fate that night.
Cold windsickles fluttered around his headgear as the whore(s)
Strolled casually,
Sauntered,
Into the darkness.

The music had died,
The rhyme,
Disappeared.

Jimmy O'Connor was now







SPIDERMAN

Tweet!

Tweet! Tweet!
goes the canary,
heavenly isotrope.
Lordy!
Wingéd lover,
devilthorned grouse.
Tweet! Tweet!
goes the canary.
The canary on my plate

Tweet! Tweet!
goes the stallion,
tubthumping, clubpumping.
Hoofbeats upon hoofbeats upon hoofbeets
cross the prairie, beneath native bottom,
beneath open sky, as bucked-off native yells.
Tweet! Tweet!
goes the stallion.
The scallion on my plate

Tweet! Tweet!
goes the old man.
Trapped in his
time machine.
It bore him,
Through the depression,
the war, the
other war, and
another war still.
Now it rests him.
Tweet! Tweet!
goes the old man.
The old man on my plate

The Bicentennial Dollar Man: A Collaboration

The bicentennial dollar man
Struts his way through the junkyard drawgate door.
Pulls out his manskin diamond wallet.
Spends like there aint no life worth livin’ for.

Hairspray clogs the mandroid’s cavities.
Red snakeskin boots intensify the dust.
Procuring mannequins tenfold,
’75 Chevy grinds on through the night

No pleasure here for this rambling bob, this weary blues traveler.
Who plays his flesh to the carnal crowds of women and men alike.
No pleasure here for this money-spender cock-lender devil-pretender.
By the time the leather melts down his crooked spine onto the seat of the Chevy, he will be dead.

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 8

Weasel crowed at dawn
Pa said that weren't no weasel
Soon I'ma git it

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 8

Mr. Tom's Ankles
Very bloody and funny
Where did he get them?

Hump Day Haiku Vol. 8

Two apes doing it.
That's all that we'll ever be,
so let's get it on!