I can’t imagine watching
Myself being eaten alive
By a wild animal
It’s bad enough angels take
Chunks out of me every
Day of every month of
Every year / microscopic
Portions / maybe / yet
Every hour I feel lighter
Bouncing up and down
Like an out-of-body
Experience trapped
Within a body / or a hiccup
Suppressed / do angels
Ever suffer indigestion
Constipation / inflammation
Or is it only me
A wild animal with a
Growling stomach and a
Half eaten imagination
He looks inside
Sees the deformed man
Sees him mumble and drool
Over exotic photographs
Of other people’s lives
Only negatives survive
Of his own
He was normal for a minute
But it didn’t take
It’s a lot more fun bein’
ODD / the pay’s not so hot
But the benefits are better
Stacking years of tinder
On the altar of disguise
Just waitin’ for the
Divine Spark
To ignite
(That looks like Daddy...)
[PILE OF FIRE was inspired by the photos of Diane Arbus and a conflagration
my wife and I witnessed in a field while cruising thru Amish country
Saturday. Almost got into a fight with a cowboy in a pickup truck in Amish
country, but I'll file that away for another poem. I don't know if he was an
Amish cowboy or not. Maybe just a Baptist. Are Baptists allowed to 'give the
finger'? I'm quite sure it's not an Amish gesture of endearment...]
He needs to talk to Jesus
To accept his healing
But he’s mad at Jesus
Jesus let him get sick
That white Jesus did
That Jesus in the pictures
That Jesus on T.V.
The one in the shroud
The one in the crowd of
White-sheeted bigots
The one who kills little
Children in Sunday school
The one who builds theme
Parks and bilks old ladies
Out of their pension checks
To pay for ‘em / the one
Who put air conditioning
In his dog house yet
Lets the inner cities starve
The one on the cell phone
Who steals your identity
The one gave you that free
Computer you’re still paying for
The one in the White House
No wonder he’s mad at you
You made him sick and
He’s gonna stay sick
Just to spite you
You white Jesus you
It’s there.
Right in front of you.
Can’t you see it?
You need my glasses?
Maybe squinting would help.
Scrape the crust from
Your repressed vision.
Soak your eyes in a
Cup of ammonia.
Take your mind out of
The pickling jar.
Close your mouth for
A moment.
There.
See it?
If it was a snake…
(Oh, it did?)
[The first of the last 2 poems I sent you (WALKING OUT OF A WALL) was
actually inspired by the 4 photos of the nails on your roof
. It was a bit of a poke at myself. I don't know why I like that kind of stuff but I do. A lot
of my poems are inspired by inanimate objects. I like the way they look and your photos really did them justice. I could imagine all sorts of worlds built around them (maybe I have an inanimate soul / just waiting for that spark of divine intervention)...]
Tonight
While pumping gas
Into my truck
In the midst of
Frozen fumes
The earth
Trembled / tho’
Nothing moved
Nothing rattled
No vibration
Ensued / no
Nervous look
No impromptu gasp
Of recognition
Or knowing smirk
Of precognition
No whistle
No siren
No warning
Only 3 or 4 seconds
A nod
A wink
A sneeze
A question
W/out answer
A ripple
W/out a pond
A sine wave
W/out a currency
An imaginary
Pothole
A black hole
(no Calcutta
inference)
Tonight
The world
Bounced and
No one noticed
So I got back
Into my truck
And drove away
With a smile
Frozen on my face
And a dog’s bark
Fading
In the distance…
Sometimes
After dreaming about sex
I wake up with an erection
That's so hard it hurts
Like a broken heart
So I get out of bed
Head into the bathroom and
Piss for maybe 2 minutes
Flushing my system
Rendering myself empty
And flaccid
Yet my heart still aches
I wonder if my blood pressure
Medication is working
The Fallopians
That long lost tribe
Of Germaphrodites and
Fanatical worshippers
Of Ova / whose writings /
Binary-like / consist
Only of ‘X’s and ‘Y’s
(the Rosetta Stone does
not apply here)
May be the subject of
An in-depth documentary by
Ken Burns / their tragic
Demise had been
Attributed to a spermicidal
Maniac infiltrating their
Gene pool / new information
Uncovered by Monsieur
Burns may prove otherwise
Check future editions of
National Geographic and
Your local PBS station
For more details…
DON’T GO IN THERE
prisons are only ware-
DON’T CROSS THAT THRESHOLD
houses of innocence
FOR BEYOND LIES MADNESS
stocked with insurance
AND TORMENT
salesmen and lawyers
MAYBE A CONSEQUENCE OF
opportunity abounds
INTRACTABLE LIABILITY
learn a new vocation
OR A SPANKING THAT WILL
at the taxpayer’s
REDDEN YOUR REPUTATION
expense
FOR YEARS
with plenty of
I WOULDN”T GO IN THERE
room for advancement
BUT THAT’S JUST ME
apply today
The singing rings hollow
Lifeless as a synthetic
But the money’s good
The crowd’s confused
Then confirmed
Baptized in the latest
Trend / youth / as always
Reigns supreme while
Age commiserates with
Itself / nothing satisfies
Everything satisfies
Wait / turn up the radio
There’s that song I like
Don’t I?
Don’t I want to roll in it
As a dog does a dead fish
On a littered beach
Don’t I want to inject it
Into my over exposed veins
Don’t I want to wear it like
A new perfume wears an
Old idol
Wait / not that song
This new song / wait
Not that song…
I saw a mouse in your garage
But I’d not the heart to speak
Of it / not because there was
Anything wrong or to be
Ashamed of / more like I didn’t
Want anything to intrude this
Shared ignorance / this intimate
Symbiosis between the two of
You / nothing would be gained
In the telling and you might feel
Obligated to take action where
None is required / besides
It keeps the cats away
[I played poker last night and saw a mouse in my friend's garage on my way
out, my way home. I'm still not sure if I won or I lost but I enjoyed the
mouse...]
The road clawed its way
Amidst the moon like
Landscape / any Midwestern
State would resemble and
Resent the dust and emptiness
Of miles / straight racing
The horizon and deserted
Railroad tracks / no signs
Even to advise / only one
Crooked stripe down the middle
White / the crowds long
Dead and married / the houses
Few and tired of one car
Watching at a time (you on
Your side / me on mine)
Black crow picks itself clean
In the heat and ecstasy
Nothing ahead leaves nothing
Behind / only the head light
Screams and conspiracy / in
The cell phone somewhere
It’s for you
This is not the poem I meant
To write / the next one is
This is the poem meant to
Kick me in the pants / this is
The one I steal lines from to
Write the next poem / but
From what I got so far I don’t
See that happenin’ / so far
I got nothin’ / just a bunch of
Words chasin’ each other
Around / tryin’ to formulate
Some kind of idea / maybe
The next poem is the one
Meant to jumpstart the one
After that and this one ain’t
Nothin’ but me blowin’ smoke
Rings up my own ass…
…that reminds me / I’ve got
To get a colonoscopy next
Week / wish I could put that
Off ‘til the next poem…
…like a jester juggling laughter
Erupts in coughs and sneezes
Ejecting germs amidst the once
Antiseptic crowd / expelling
Minute tribes of viscous aliens
Into the fleshy wilderness
To wander from host to host
In search of sanctuary
Invading hospitable
Territory / seeking those damp
Places best suited for
Reproduction and
Replication
Digging deep
Deeper than medicine
Where the needles of
Resentment can’t reach
Where prejudice is burned in
Feverish fire and
Where ‘antidote’ is a goblin
Of whispered innuendo
So deep only time is
Relevant / time and the dark
Appetite of decay
Deep
Into the bowels of God from
Which all hope springs
Internal
So many years of bad poetry
A self-indulgence
No re-write can salvage
Only rip the pages from the book
Rip the pages
Rip the book
Split the spine
Unrhyming bad rhymes
Drawing lines thru the words
For good measure
Rendering incomprehensible
The reprehensible
Finally
Submitting to the junk heap
The revised edition
There
That felt better than
Writing the damn stuff
In the first place
I never went to college after high school
(I went right to work)
Never had my mind altered in that way
(Have had a few mind-altering experiences
Though)
Never had a grant or a scholarship
(I’ve had a few house and car loans)
Never had to worry about a thesis
Or doing a research paper
(Did study for a few government jobs)
Never crammed for an exam
(Never crammed anything anywhere)
Never took a final
(Except for those government jobs)
Never cheated on a final
(Blundered through 'em all on my own)
Never made the dean’s list
(Been on a few ‘shit’ lists)
Won’t ever be in a fraternity
(Never been in a sorority, either)
Never lived in a dorm
(Had a few apartments)
Never been on a panty raid
(But I’ve smelled a few panties)
Won’t ever have a bachelor’s degree
Or a master’s
(I was a master at being a bachelor
‘Til my girlfriend got pregnant)
Won’t ever be a doctor or a lawyer
Or even a CPA
(Some people think I’m certifiable)
I have been to quite a few keg parties
(Does that quantify?)
Keep your money in your pocket
Keep your product to yourself
Walking thru manic industry
There’s too much clamor to hear
I can’t separate / can’t hone in
On any one idea / it’s hit or miss
In an inferno dance with a white
Noise score to settle / grab the
Ring and spoil the rod as it heats
To a liquid stream
Transform the steel
Transcribe the water
Mark as a wager of civilized
Intent
To mold
To mend
To masticate
“Production!” drones the
Assembled line / sweat intrudes
The sanctuary / contaminates
Infrastructure’s symphony
Coruscation screaming
Recycled oil dripping
From stalactite rust / calculated
To scale / to the nth degree
Relevance the question by
Which affluence is determined
While
Overseas ships the disease
Distilling bi-lingual currency
Re-inventing the deal
Beauty served me
She took my order
She brought my food
She smiled
And made small talk
Refilled my coffee cup
And brought my bill
I left a tip then
Paid my bill
I didn’t know
Where to look
Without being obvious
I couldn’t breathe
Waiting for my change
She was everywhere
She filled my eyes
She filled my lungs
Maybe tomorrow
Or the next day
She’ll serve me again
In another town
In another café
She won’t look the same
Different perfume
Different clothes / yet
I’ll know it’s her
She’ll look at me
And I’ll smile
And I’ll sit there
Waiting / wishing
I could serve her
I’d bring her small talk
I’d bring her food
But she won’t notice
As she tiredly whispers
“Have a nice day”
I pretend she means it
Maybe tomorrow
[Sometimes ordinary moments are the most beautiful, even unreciprocated...]
Shadows dance
In flame soaked night
Serves sacrifice
On consumptive plate
And rends the meat
With blood caked teeth
Sucks sanity
Through swollen gums
I retch
I write
To deny what’s first
For what comes next
Assimilate
What makes no sense
Regurgitate
All that’s left
Is riot
A part of me cries
Amputate
The part of me
That obfuscates
And spins the wheel
And rolls the dice
And drinks the drink
That robs me blind
I tilt my head
Precariously
Listen
Your silver sigh is
All that keeps the wolf
At bay
The knock at our door said they
Used to live in this house
So we let them and their stories
Inside / some predating their
Inhabitancy
The goats kept in the basement
The walls painted red to hide
The blood stains / once
The knock at their back door
Was the wild man who used
To live here / they didn’t let
Him inside
After I’d moved out my friend
Took my place / he didn’t last
Long / he’s now dead / but one
Night / in the attic room where
He slept / where I slept / he
Was visited / perhaps by a
Premonition
I had a dog to keep visitors at
Bay / he had his fear and
Bravado / I’m still here but the
Stories are fading
There's a pile of wood
Stacked haphazard
Behind my house
All but forgotten
A weathered refuge
For derelect rodents
And lazy snakes
There's an empty bird feeder
On a rusty pole
Shucked seeds litter the ground
Like tiny crumpled beer cans
There are abandoned nests
In all the naked trees
(save one)
Filled with broken egg shells
The discarded existence
Of migratory indifference
There's a dilapidated dog house
Roof partially gone
Floor boards missing
With only termites
And ghosts
For tenants
There are old bones
Tufts of fur
And wizened spoor
Blowing in the wind
Like yesterday's news
There are occasional screams
A primal discharge
Followed by a great stillness
Then / the wind
Moaning like a siren
Through the trees
Sometimes
When I look out there
Behind my house
I feel like a slum lord
In a wilderness ghetto
Five years I worked at the shipyard
Along with my Father / assorted friends
Miscellaneous enemies
Five years of hard labor and hard drinking
I still dream about it / the danger
The frozen winters / the melting summers
The mud in the bilges / but mostly
I remember the characters
Five years of faces
Rugged / pitted / reddened / leathery
Slightly jaundiced / imbecilic
Intelligent / stern / mirthful / mocking
Caucasian / Hispanic / African American
Tortured / scarred / hideously beautiful
Faces / men with short hair / boys with
Long hair / with beards / moustaches
Broken noses / Missing teeth / missing
Fingers and blood shot eyes
Criminals / murderers / rapists
Addicts / religious fanatics / atheists
Five years of drugs / alcohol / gambling
Pornography / graffiti on rest room walls
Nude women with big breasts
Nude women with legs spread wide
Hungrily awaiting the huge penises
Primitively drawn in the next stall
Dirty school boy words
Five years of smells
Unflushed toilets / dead fish in the dry dock
The wind off Lake Erie from Canada
Sulphuric belches from the neighboring
Steel mill / diesel engines' constant exhaust
Hot pepper boiled egg salami sandwich smells
Human smells of sweat / of foul cigarette
Coffee / vomit / whiskey / and rotted
Teeth breath / of beer farts and the sour piss
Smell of fear / of welders welding and
Burners burning / of stingy fires in grimy barrels
Greasy coal oil smoldering / second hand
Inhaling Pall Malls / Camels / Lucky Strikes
Winston's with yellow stained fingers
The exotic hint of marijuana
Five years of voices
Stuttering / laughing / crying / spitting
Threatening / singing / arguing / yelling
Irritating / demanding / dreaming / snoring
Pleading / screaming / wildly eccentric voices
Raspy last chance voices
And five years of blood and pain
Molten metal dripping into boots
Down shirts / pants on fire / finger tips
Sliced off / carpenters' staging collapsing
Cables breaking / bones breaking
Sections of ships falling / working
In constant dread of seeing my
Father hurt / my friends hurt or
Worse / Hell / They all owed me money
A flower grows in a
Bowl of bone
Curious tendrils explore
Concave openings
Seeking solar visions
The wind is heavy with
Propagation and the
Rain smells of the sea
The trees whisper songs
Of resistance as mist
Falls like tears on a
Grave / modestly shielding
Disinterment as courage
Is plucked and detained
Silence snakes thru the
Evening trailing an
Onerous resolve
Beauty has been
Committed here and
Stands naked / condemned
To a blue vase
Sitting at my desk with blinders on
One-track mind off kilter
Who’s minding the store
Who’s stocking the pages
Writing appears of its own accord
Arbitrary and nonsensical
I’m drawing a blank (literally
doodling in random idioms)
Is it time for lunch
Yet?
Her dress slaps her thigh
As a silent criticism
For showing too much
Or too little leg
The soft swish induced
Whistles informing the latter
Déjà vu’s sweet scent
Stimulates her stride while
She glides down the street
The bright day follows
Mimicking her smile as
She stops / frozen / to admire
When / crack! / from a stone
Or metallic missile
Disintegrating the glass into
Myriad images and for one
Nanosecond she is a
Fragmented star
Imploding the universe
Into the lap of surprise
And the realm of caffeine
Bright the day
She speaks to me
Without pretense
In joyous compose
Confuse my heart
Between the two
With heaving breast
Seducing me
Her scent my breath
Intakes to me
Partakes the musk
Of fearless bloom
Ignoring regard or
Calamity
Her words delight
Her laughter dooms
I covet her time
And touch
Yet not so much
Preventing freedom
In glorious return
Exhale all thoughts of
Abandon here
Comes the night
Into this room
I wrote to you
But I scared you away
I had you for a minute
Or two
Almost convinced you
There / for a second
But then I lost it and
Reality poked thru the
Flimsy condom of
Fantasy I’d been
Wearing and I vented
All over you
Your silence betrayed
Disgust / and /
No matter what I said
However many poems
I sent / you were gone
After all these years
Damn
Why don’t I disgust
Myself
Oh well
Who’s next on the list
[This poem is a true story, sort of. I'd finally found a girl's email
address, a girl / woman that I'd gone to high school with. And I actually
did screw it up, bringing up obscure items from our past. At one time she
was the love of my life, but then, so was the girl after her...]
There’s so much life at a funeral
So much drama dripping from
The eyes of the recently deceased’s
Descendents / defending their right
To mourn like some ancient culture
To tear their hair and gnash their teeth
Yet / taking pictures of the dearly
Departed strikes me as a bit odd / I
Guess when life is gone film endures
While you can always buy snap-shots
Of someone else’s life at antique stores
Or flea markets you never see photos
Of death / I presume these are hoarded
Like a dragons treasure / never to see
The light of day
Consider / the foot fastened to the
Cross / suffering
Consider / the foot on the neck of an
Unfortunate / indenturing
While some feet are tattooed
Some are just dirty
Some are small / big
Some slender / fat
Some have long toes
Some have stubby toes
Missing toes
Too many toes
Or ring-encircled toes
Some have garishly painted nails
Some have fallen arches
Some have sensuous ankles and
Some have calluses
Some have the odor of industry
Some smell sweet and musky
Some have slender veins sinuously
Writhing across the top
Some are smooth and white
Some are smooth and dark
Some I’d like to cradle in the palm
Of my hand and
Some I’d like to lick and kiss and…
...sorry, just thinking out loud
(Saving toe jam for another poem
Not that I'm into toe jam / mind you...)
I prefer funerals in the springtime when
The flowers are randy and you can smell
Their tumescent leakage / the grass is
Green and the mounds of dirt are bright
Brown / the mood is so deliciously morbid
I do not worship death but I’m not afraid
Of it / maybe you’ll take a picture of me
When I’m gone / out here you won’t need
The flash
Expecting to see blood
I dream
But there's no color
I live through age and
Aggravation
I am beaten by dogma
And desire
Until I am black and
Blue
I see visions
Swimming in my tears
Sensuous worms writhing
In glutinous excretions
And ravens frantic
To eat them
A crippled angel stands guard in
The death yard / lone witness to
The raven cloaked mourners
Filing past / those ignorant of the
Brush of wings / like a kiss from
God / as they walk in furrows
Plowed by diabolical beings
The music of dark honey harkens
From jasmine and lilac as notes
In a score unsettled / good and
Evil lie together / corrupted / side
By side / leaving imprints of bone
In the chalk and dust as brittle
Clues to be digested within the
Avian craw of humanity
What once roamed the earth freely
Now suffers accusations of arousal
Pinioned on spikes of rusted metal
Squatting on blocks of pitted stone
Condemned to plots of reverence
And solemn words of inspiration
Awaiting the final insurrection
[I guess I thought this kind of went along with what we (I?) had been talking
about. I don't know if I believe in Angels but I believe in cruelty...]
Linger long the darkness
The setting and the lifting
Light exists in the mean time
The respite depending
All is not lost in bleakness
Much is considered by degree
By shading
From accident to wound
From healing to the inevitable
Often regrettable
But not yet
Not until the moon aligns
The stars and
The rains stop
Thunder silenced
Awaiting the outcome
Painting hieroglyphs on temple walls
Burning incense in sacred fires
Singing simple songs of lightning
Maggots flow like water
Exuberant in their enterprise
Of decomposition / caught
In a moment of transition
I am amazed at their
Number / as the white
Wiggling worms its way
Across the cement I pick
Up the hose and prod them
On their way into the
Humid future / where
Evolution's assured (if they
survive the bright day)
While we are the inventors
Of time they sprout wings
And fly / away
[a poem I wrote last summer cleaning out my garbage cans. Somehow it
seems appropriate]
Between poetry and biography
Inserts a truth so sharp
As to flay purple from the
Grape / the juice conspires
Sending messages to my
Brain / to restrain the
Nuisance of doubt
"Adventure hides in the
Details!" he said / while
Hands-on memory planes
The rough edges I feel
Smooth eternity in waves
Of emotion / the sermon
Changes color...
Sadducee and Pharisee / as in
Fact opposed to wisdom
Leaves nothing for the evening
Edition to dispute
It’s all wrapped up in bitter herbs
Scroll down to the second
Commandment
That’s where the fun begins
That’s where the belly aches
And the side splits
Hey
I’m off the clock
Wait
Button up my flesh for the
Long walk home
And I’ll meet you on the
Other side
We’ll have a drink and a
Taste
…the operation was a success
Only leaving a faint afterthought
Dreams of liquid essence
Swirl about me
Sucked within me
I awake within them
My flesh reacts
My blood hastens
My vision suffers
Phantom scents invade me
Lead me to the edge
I turn and face this torrent
Of unstable emotion
Awaiting the imminent
Betrayal of my soul
Released
Into the greedy cosmos
I am suckled on the
Naked breasts of
Eternity
[And, no, I wasn't thinking of Sharon Reed / Stone when I wrote this one! Or was I?]
Jesus weeps on the wall
Where I work while
Underneath a giant sunflower
A fat one-dimensional bee
Hovers silently / drawn to the
Bright yellow / I’m guessing
Both pictures are faded with
Age but I don’t think anyone
Notices / or cares
To their left is a calendar
To their right hangs an equally
Faded American flag someone
Cut out of a newspaper / I
Wouldn’t be surprised if there
Were only 48 stars on the flag
No wonder Jesus weeps
I feel like crying myself
Takin' a picture don't take a man's measure
Diggin' a hole don't guarantee treasure
Fixin' a bet don't promise a winner
Throwin' up breakfast don't
Hold down your dinner
The butterfly flies on abstract wings
The killer bee kills with mutinous stings
Praying mantis preys without any hands
On the branch of an oak feast carpenter ants
Lookin’ at pictures of
Cemeteries while
Listenin’ to some preacher
On the radio
A stone matron stoically
Poised above the words
‘NOT HERE BUT RISEN’
A stone angel demurely
Proffering a flower
A stone maiden named
Martha / silently
Beckoning
Better than a stone-faced
Sermon prophesying Hell
Better reception
Anyway
Staring life’s essence
Square in the face
Never flinching / forever
(until dust to dust)
Nothing below but bones
And words
Nothing above but prayers
And sky
Well
At least he can’t beat her
Anymore
She beckons with her
Frozen gaze
Eyes glazed in lime and
Avian spore
Braving the elements
While accepting absence
In love’s stead
Stoically bearing the
Spinster’s burden
Of dead gossips at
Her side
(one day my prince
will come)
[
The words for 'Windows' were all taken from pages 1629-1634 of 'Webster's
New World Dictionary of the American Language: College Edition 1953'; which,
incidentally was the year I was born. Everytime
I read this poem the meaning changes, distorts. Like lookin' thru an old
warped window, squinting my eyes...
(Now I've given myself a headache!]
The fragrance of guardian flowers
Lingers in the air / familiar
Reminiscent of melancholia
By calculating the depths of
Despair with aromatics we confuse
Emotion with sedition
Living each day under sentence of
Suspicion and regret
Yet we live each day
And the smell is sweet and the
Smile is spontaneous
I am not sad
I am not ashamed
I only wonder at what this means
And take deep breaths
(Roses? Lilies?)
[I was sitting here at work one day and I smelled flowers. And no one was around. And I hoped I was not having some kind of seizure. And then I remembered I liked funerals but I hate the fact someone has to die in order to have one. Or do they?]
Canine curiosity stares at the floor
Envisioning something only dogs
Can hear / maybe ghosts or un-
Natural acts have been permitted
Here / he circumvents the table
Stalking shadows while poker faces
Observe through eyes of superficial
Intelligence / money jingles and
Laughs mingle with groans of lost
Intent / the cards whisper tales
Of foolishness and greed / fingers
Drip silver while virility's exchanged
For impotence / perhaps it's this
The animal detects / or the blood
Of Abel pooling on the carpet
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
Not me
Not if I have to sit across from that woman
And listen to her sappy repartee
Not if I have to depend on all those idiots
In the audience for a life-line / and she
Wouldn't want to know what I was thinking
Believe me / not after I'd spent the night
Alone in a cheap hotel with a bottle
Of Southern Comfort and a Hustler magazine
Besides / my friends wouldn't know the
Answer to any question about Brittany Spears
Or what chemical anything on this
Planet is made up of and neither would I
(Except maybe water and that would only be
A hundred-dollar question)
And you can 50/50 all night long and I'd
Still guess the wrong answer
I don't need that kind of pressure or
Humiliation / I just don't need the $ that bad
OK?
But Wheel Of Fortune?
Now you're talkin'!!!
Just ask me any question about Vanna White
I may not know the answer but I wouldn't
Mind spinnin' her wheel...
Nail’s round head rusted thru
Bleached hole / halo / worm
Ridden and weary / water
Plagued and saw shorn
Prodding past wood
Crust / seeping salt
And mud smell
Recycled
Mismatched socks and stained underwear
Dirty magazines and fake jewelry
Unused handkerchiefs to sop the tears
Of old love letters and unpaid bills
Pictures of relatives dead or uncaring
Matchbooks from long forgotten bars
Condoms unopened or no condoms at all
Names with numbers no one answers
And an old pocket watch / stopped /
But was it midnight or noon
Where’s a place you can eat breakfast
At 7:00 a.m. in the suburbs after working
All night on the midnight shift where the vibe
Is rustic but the food is good and you don’t have
To talk and you can just sit and eat with your head
In a book or a magazine or you can write if you’ve a mind
To and the coffee is often and hot and the food is ordered what
You got and nobody cares what you look like ‘cause you look like Hell
After working all night and the noise is low but for the lowing of waitresses
Belching orders and cups and plates banging on tables and silver wear dropped
Like cicadas’ song clicking and it all blends into a white noise omelet with whole wheat
Toast and jelly stacked up on the side and it’s not too far a ride into the heart of the suburbs?
His body is old, he coughs brittle excuses
Cigarette memories repeating, pleading
His breath is wasted and his eyes are
Extinguished matches he sits on the edge
Of his bed like a crow on a fence post
Refusing flight he shakes his head
Pieces of his head flake away his
Morning movement leaves him too weak to
Conduct any business so the music plays on
Without him
He looks in the mirror
Sees Death looking back
And he laughs
And Death laughs
And the day begins
Without him
The dog slumbers thru breaking
And entering
The pig revels in its prison
Escaping
The cat chases moles thru
The neighbors bolt holes
While Richard Gere fears the
Hamster's awakening
Working Class Warfare Blues
by Kevin Eberhardt & Steven B. Smith
I see a sign on a locker at work 'Lightning Safety'
Is that a sick joke / am I not getting it / what's
Next / 'Proper Procedures For Slitting Your Wrists'
I worked my ass off and now my pants won't fit
Kiss so much behind my lips are starting to stick
This working class hero bit's just another bag of it
This work is not my work / this life is not my life
I'm a government mule with Uncle Sam on my
Back climbing that endless mountain to my grave
My work is my family / my friends / my dog / my
Would would be word work / or casting asides
Not pimping lawyers and their Babylon bride
Or fighting for companies pumping more blood than
Oil / wood on the fire / no longer desired or believed
Stock sliding down / limp shadows on the ground
Ghosts of gone before host our yet to be / no
Flowers for the finished / no hour for their song
Ground zero works in theory only when you're wrong
With guts for garters / lipstick around the rim / the
General drinks from the bidet while the Major wipes
His past of all mistaken identities and innuendoes
Reason drips in dropped disguise red through white
Through blues departing in the night / the never right
Hype the Man / his chicken stripe / and his doo doo do
Da Da says you did good under the hood of military
Cuisine / cookin' that poteen 'til you can't see
Straight / no chaser / no later than you think (it is)
Weren't for Monk I'd catch Coltrane / weren't for TV
I'd have a brain / heart and soul sold for junk / if I'm
The rat / best step back / I'm not the one gonna jump
We proffered from their genius / they died from all our
Sins / The psychiatrist pronounced them crazy but the
Verdict's not in / I'm keepin' my old records just in case
Our case of killing softly for another's song is based
On Fundamental heresy / their God not near as strong
Says our Mr. Murderer who grows in nose quite long
Pay no attention to the man pulling the strings / it's a
Minimum wage job and the maximum age is 55 miles
Per hour / with clown suit and headset / optional
Give motley to the mass / money to the crass / crack
To the ass / rules to road / fools to goad / loopholes
To close / and to me? / an all-ee all-ee out's in free
Check the eyes of all the passengers / check the
List for all their names / nobody told the engineer that
God was on his train (say 3 Our Fathers & 4 Hail Marys)
I'd eat the rich / but their taste is so bad / I'd serve
The poor / but too many have / I'd play with myself
But I'm not all here / so I asked God She still there
Shake shake shake / shake your booty / dangle your
Diamonds / rub your rubies / Pirate disco / so mis-
Understood / shiver me timbers / island fever reruns
Our country's murdering for profit while dancing
Their lice away / our leaders keep filling their pockets
Costing how many American coffins they won't say
They can't say / they can't count that high without
Removing their shoes / haven't seen their toes in
Years / pot-belly politics staining their white shirts
Mad militarians licking their bombs slowly seal our
Doom / not enough toilet paper to clean Republican
Goons / lie now / pay later / C.O.D. to Judge Crater
Comin' off the freeway / lookin' for that free lunch
Nothin' left of my pay followin' a misshaped hunch
I'm off the screen / can't hit my ass with both hands
My taxes go to Intelligent Design / yet monkeys mock
My monk / dry hump my rub for luck / for butter or
Verse such clues in the blight bring about the dollar
I looked up at the night sky / searchin' for my sign
Realizin' that it dates me / prayin' no one notices
Tryin' to get even just gets me more behind (?)
8 ball boogie gets you every time / tried to fax the
Factors in / they made me stand in line / try to share
My truth with them / they stamp my life as lie
Ain't got no passport / ain't got no visa / ain't got
No ticket to ride / I'm gamblin' with a heart attack
Takin' sucker bets on the side / coughin' up alibis
I agree to agree & consume / my job's to nod and buy
Nod and buy / material junk / shoot and die / lick
Your boots / hold you high / and nod and nod and die
But not to cry / all is rust and dust / particles of life
Dry as a bone / yet happy as a clone in a fun house
So / which is the real me / quick now / time is money
Tithe me 37 cents of your time / I'll make you heel
Brain limbic do limbo in ritual repeal / never kneel
Never bow your head until their money you feel
Or steal before their steel finds you out / out and about
Without a gizmo to re-peal you / to re-seal the deal / all
Miracles happen at closing time / last call / wind fall / ya'll
There's steps in / steps out / there's thoughts to
Conceal / barking wrong tree ain't the right way to
Win / dead don't make you hero / nor loss of limb
Don't rise again / the Beast goes East and the Pest goes
West / the Minister votes for assassination / the Mistress
Missed their assignation / must be his time of the month
We worship Amway / Scientology too / as long as it's
Brand Named / we pay full first born foreskin / may
Be a nipple or two / so break out your dead deal duel
It's high noon at the loony bin / draw your weapons /
(crayons only) / don't eat the yellow snow / remember
Which side the moss grow / and double dippin' is a sin
Take four paces / turn and lie / reach for word with
In / the winner gets to sunset ride / with a new bag
Of begin / the loser goes skinny dipping with friends
Jesus wasn't a Christian / He was a militant-pacifist-Jew
Identities always get us into trouble / especially mistaken
Ones / I crave anonymity / some passions prove painless
I ache therefore I am to thine own self be cruel / or
Others surely will / nothing is free / pay / or pain / or
Suffer shelf / you become your lies / so make em good
Forescore and so many foreskins ago our great forefathers
Forethought themselves out of getting fornicated by the
British / the French make better foi grois anyway / oui oui
This little piggy / that little piggy / all feeding at the
Fray / but these little piggies are already biggies / so
Why not let some of the skinnies play / what you say
The disease spreads from tongue to tongue / from ear to
Ear / from gland to gland / the antidote is given a hand
While the autocrat juggles your balls / turn head / cough
We need autopaper for the autocrap we're fed hourly
Daily weekly monthly forever & never all men and woe
Men too / hear me see me free me Mammon overdrive
For if I am imposter don't tell me / don't remove the mask
To reveal the charlatan beneath / I bequeath to all the fools
And fooled my ignorance / wear it in good health / happy
Happy mirth day certainly for Lady Earth / may Her
Nipples nibble nicely / Her cures move at will / Her
Byways ooze unsightly / best beware / She's no fool
She's the summer rain / she's a hurricane / she's a force
Majeure that can't be bought / can't be taught 'cause
She's always changin' her mind / it's a female's prerogative
I change my mind it's via Dr Frankenstein / he makes
A new man of me / from leftover parts and pieces of
hearts / he re-soles my soul with recharged art farts
And ignites the spark that excites my engine / that races
The Reaper / that misses the turn / that changes direction
And brings me back to the unanswered question / who (?)
And who it goes / this funhouse pome's clone of a close
Now excuse me / in proper procedure I'll slit my wrist
Soon's these reruns of Fever Disco Deceivers are done
