Jesus in the Ice Cream

I’m tempted to reveal it
Like Jesus in the wilderness

Hidden secrets,

Darkened treasures
Ancient memories that can’t bear to see the light of day

It’s sitting in my basement
Waiting not to be revealed

I must tell!

No! Fuck no!

I swore a sacred oath upon Frankie’s grave
At Jimmy’s funeral
And again at Steve’s wake
But,
The devil that tempts me taunts me
With sugary teats:

Chocolate-covered men
Chocolate-stained overalls
Chocolate-stained rugs
Chocolate-stained breath

He plays a chocolate fiddle

O glorious music play!
O Caloo Monet!

Quickly moving Satan-hands
Over strings made of lost souls

Oh how I am tempted...
The promises he makes!

You will have kings before you, hands on their swords
You will have beasts of all kind call you master
You will have all 151 Pokémon (including mew)
You will have souls coming out the wazoo
You will have me…

I think I might reveal it
Like Jesus at the Ice-Cream Social

50 Days to San Jose's

Atop the parapet
stands a noble beast?
A lion, perhaps? A Busey?
No, it is I, king of kings and spacetime.

I stand

atop the parapet
Cosmic lasers!

Shot from my bosom!

God’s divine breath in laser form
God’s divine fury in bosom form.

I falter…
Poised to puke
eons of regurgitates from
atop the parapet.
The parapet crumbles,
weighed down by the wearies of weights of eons of lovemaking
atop the parapet.

Grandparents
Regular ol’ parents
Future parents
Never-parents

All of them once in bygone yesterdays
atop the parapet.
I fall
alongside the crumbly parapet.
atop and abelow
the falling parapet.
I scream…
but all I scream is-
“Atop the parapet.”

Common European Ash Mountain

My grandfather used to sit me on his lap
“Grandson, somewhere, beyond all your tomorrows, lies a mountain.”
He never got further,

his denture glue wouldn’t allow it.
his wrinkled face wouldn’t allow it
his hairy ears wouldn’t allow it
his nagging wife wouldn’t allow it

Now I know what grandfather meant.

I think

Please don’t quote me on this

Beyond everyone lies a mountain
Not a real one, figurative
It could be love

Or drugs

Or coyote sculptures

Or cigar-store Indians

Or island tikis

We all must
climb the mountain
Bloody, briny cunts that we are
We all must transcend the monotony of the rat race
The demagoguery of life
All represented by the mountain beyond our tomorrows
Mine is made of ‘75 Chevy Camaro’s

Water is the Curse of the Drinking Classes

Have you ever seen a man with two dicks on each dick?

I have

Have you ever seen ghosts that walk like men?

I have

Have you ever heard the smells of sages long dead?

I have

Have you ever fallen in love with something you can’t comprehend?

I have

Have you ever gleaned the teeth of the bishop?

I have

Have you ever praised the devil that mocks your life?

I have

Have you ever planted your seed in foreign soil?

I have, many times

Have you ever gyrated to the disco beat with prairie dogs and coyotes?

I have

Have you ever read true love in the pages of Dickens?

I have

Have you ever blasted snot from the caverns of denial?

I have

Have you ever plunked out fantasies of lordship on a sitar?

I have

Have you ever kissed the walrus prince?

I have

Have you ever rapped with an ancient Hindu god?

I have

Have you ever laughed at monks playing on a jungle-gym?

I have

Have you ever schmoozed about with harlots with harts of gold?

I have

Have you ever felt the breeze run through your mustache?

I have

Have you ever seen my manhood?
I haven’t

Cadaverous Ghostlies

Lizard eyes and top hat
Stare at me from beyond my tomorrow
And my today
My love lies

barren, in a field of dicks.

Big dicks

Small dicks

Samoan ones, mostly
But they are all dicks in their unique way

The lizardface hisses and pisses
Ejaculating ink into words on the papers strewn across my flesh
Novels of ecstasy and semen and divine judgment from my estranged uncle
O Frabjous Day!
Caloo Calay!

The lizardface speaks to me in a dead language I cannot fathom
Tongue-lashings, no doubt, from my grandchild’s ghost
That hasn’t been born yet, but speaks through time
Like the ancients used to say
You can’t judge my cock by its cover…

Unless

That cover looks like my cock

A Werewolf‘s Obloquy

Alas!

For a dogman

Is what I am not
Scorn!

Terrible shame

The stinging blows upon my testes
Fat townspeople

laughing their asses

On.
Rocks tumble ‘gainst my scrote launched from the hands of a child

Acceptance!

That whory grail!

Chalice of blunders?

Jungle jiving hips sway in the breeze
Cowboy tits

and Rooster calls

The dogmen laugh

Acceptance they have

Souls they do not

Souls I have

Acceptance I do not

Parents Just Don’t Understand

Felicity, That Harlot so Pure

Mother asked me today
“Where have all the good men gone?”

I
Told
Her

They’ve gone to a land beyond the buttercup trees
Where they laugh and love and do what they please
Father plays with his bar buddies all hours of the day
Sister(yes, sister) chomps of gumdrop flowers
Stepbrother I hate has no fun, No Way!
Grandfather I hear, has now tremendous powers
To kill and be killed, or to love and be loved
They say
He walks through the fields
Watching love grow
From the smallest titmouse
To the tallest giraffe
And the flowers and bees and boars and bards
Grow tall from the ground and fruitful they are
It never rains, and the sun never shines
No snow, no wind, no dark coal mines
For the men to slave away in.

Mother
Was
Pleased
And
Bought
Me
Iced
Cream

But I lied

The good men have not gone to that beautiful place beyond
The buttercup trees.
They’re all upstairs
In my closet drawers.

One-Third Pi R Squared Times Height

That which haunteth my dreams
Has come forth to me from beyond my grave
And image most foul!
Hounds sprouting everywhere
Like houndlike trees
Limbs like fish skeletons
Skeleton like fish
Teeth of bone, and bones of teeth

Hair on the body like the burning wild heath.

The feet of a pauper, the skin of a lord

A pleasant aroma wafts from the word-hoard.

Fingers like daggers piercing my plum pie

Shrieks and moans come from its eye

A laugh like that clown that sits upon my bed

And never knows when to shut its clownish head

Egads! Methinks, ye Gods have overrun
The world with a goblin apocalypse now has begun!

This beast!
Which feeds on my tears
Eats at my sorrow
Nibbles my misery
Loves thine melancholy

My Uncle Jerry

I Have Seen Things

I have seen things
No dog should ever see
The wife of the butcher loving on a stork
The dogs of the city floating on sausage breezes

mailmen fucking

like drunken sailors

Peasants fucking

like drunken sailors

Wizards fucking

like drunken sailors

The mayor fucking

like drunken sailors

Obama fucking

like drunken sailors

my accountant fucking

like drunken sailors

Greasemonkeys fucking

like drunken sailors

The king fucking

some drunken sailors

I have seen mountains of boobs fall to the sea of rage
the high Dennis Quaid on my doorstep blues

The high priest freaking out like a weird fucker

The king and his courtesans playing parcheesi with humans

Lords and peasants alike, holding hands and swapping dicks


Christmas 1986