CHEATING PT. IV

Let's go to the bathroom
I love a lover that's discreet
first time i heard your voice
was like a lightbulb

she said / he said

My crush is a fat fuck
I like a crush who can shut up

Did you take something from me?
Cuz one thing I hate is to lose something.

The coach sounded really
fucked up on drugs

He made us kneel in 

a choir is screaming

tell me that's not Cher

THE FINE ART OF PROCRASTINATION

This is a poem about you, son
endless mirror images
taken on a fucking Macbook

You staring you down
in endless mirrors of annoyance
your dumb face

O, the terror of anger at friends
"the long road down"
and the hot time before it

History was a drag
a Hallowe'en mask
whipping on a string

When being too busy was
being busy and not being
annoyed by one another

VAN HOUTEN

In the middle of a party, they pulled the scarecrow into the doctor's office and set it aflame. "That'll teach him for scaring away the birds -- the birds that bring us doctors, nurses and orderlies a certain special something with their song," said the doctor.

The nurse piped up: "I love the songs the birds used to make. I'd awaken in my farm bed to the KAW KAW of the grackle."

"Yeah, this scarecrow is a real dicksucker," said the orderly. "I haaaaaate him!!" He took a plastic fork and stabbed the effigy in the guts. All of a sudden, the room filled with light from a car out front.

"Oh my god! Did we leave someone at the strip club?!" said the nurse.

The doctor began counting. "No, all three of us are here."

"I'm scared," said the orderly. "And that Long Island Iced Tea is doing a number on my spaghetti house."

"Shut the eff up," said the doctor.

"Why say 'eff'?," said the orderly. "Is THE MAN gonna' get you for using a few blue words!?"

But what these assholes didn't realize was that it wasn't THE MAN they had to worry about. In fact, it wasn't men at all. It was four women. And good lord, don't call them 'gals.'

Perhaps you've heard of 'moxy.' Well, these women bought up all the stock. These women OWN moxy.

Perhaps you've heard of lace gloves. Well, these women have nothing to do with those. In fact, they gathered up all the lace gloves in the western hemisphere and threw them into a vat of acid.

Perhaps you've heard of corn dogs. Well, I'm sick of talking about corn dogs.

What you really ought to know about all this -- what you should really hear about -- is this gang, these women... they're called Van Houten. And they're right fuckin' here.

I FELT (A POEM)

Well, I'll tell you what I DIDN'T feel:

I didn't feel chumpchanged by God
God didn't gyp me
I didn't been had by God
God didn't jew me out of every last nickel
I wasn't pantsed by God
God didn't laugh at my penis

It was a good morning!
I had a Dr. Pepper
and then a hot dog
from a friend!

GLOTARD, SLITWHISTLER, AND PICKLE-TITS

Perfukt Pup had a puking
license of which no
dangler could touch!

A hot item with a bracelet
of ribbons, tears,
beads of perspiration

A leper would wink and
its eyelid would fall
off

I heard a deep basement
scream from upstairs
I saw a whole slew of bare
feet of babes tramping
down a catwalk.

Deep creases of the face,
an animal shaved into
the back of your head.

The pin-up collection on
the front door and
the degenerate laughter

Peas in the shag, split
pleather chair and
you were wiping your eyes, little
baby

Sad, sad raccoon
eyes. The saddest I ever
saw, I think, just
for a second cuz I only
saw you for a second.

MANHATTAN MANNEQUIN MAKEOUT MEETING

I came in the room and said, the whole gang is here! There are large windows with heavy cloth drapes. It reminded me of a funeral home but not in a morbid way. We were just smoking cigarettes in here. My man was wearing a turnip on his lapel. I said, what's that mean? He glared at me like a crook. He raised his hand, rubbing his index finger and thumb. If it had been his index finger AND his middle finger and thumb I would have thought one thing: MONEY. But I didn't know what this meant.

I've got a little mosquito, he said. Right here, he said. Do you know about The Bull and The Mosquito?

HEY JACK

If you want to get in
on a good racket,
start wearing a helmet
at places like Meijer.

They make you take a little
wheelchair/Amigo thing
and you can steal
all kinds of shit.

The Amigo is sweet.

If you get a key
you're set for life.

Any K-Mart anywhere
in the world
is yours to drive
around the parking lot in.

Let's Amigo,
Amigo!

They will bust you
when they see you
with an Amigo
so tie that key
to a string
around your wrist.

My brother tried
to look dopey
and it seemed to work.

Never got caught.

CHEATING PT III: EULOGY

 Gang leaders take note. Punishment is not a curse, but a strange blessing. The true curse is apathy & there is nothing if not the extreme. A set of snow white wings, a bleeding sparrow.

 Are there any warriors here tonight? Are you taking back the street? Do the streets need to be taken? … What of the earth? Is it right to be in nature? Is it right to be of nature? Our saint was heaven sent with a halo bent.

 The best person I have ever known, she is just one of a few children but a fierce light of her own entire. The love she held in her heart could raise a poor girl in the projects. This is what singers sang about when they referred to the ghetto. A spirit named “L-U-V.”

 Her height belied her tall capacity to give, a saint like no other but not unlike every other saint. She could transform an angel food cake into an avocado, frost to fruit, a bird into a stone.

 Have you ever really touched a satin cloth? Have you ever really felt a wedding gown? Does the cloak of a nun inspire thee? Would you blow into the ear of your oppressors? Our saint. Our saint.

 Imagine the air turned to glass. Imagine a halo of burrs. A crown of doves. The leaves of a pine. She taught me how to put on makeup. She taught me how to wear clothes so that I’ll always look my best: “A bow tie, a cummerbund, a single lace sock.”

 Who here helped at the funeral? Who held our saint’s hand? Were you there when they bit the umbilical cord? Did you say something sweet to your neighbor? Raise your hands or don’t; there is apathy, there is damnation, there is enticement, there is a hot cross bun.

 We sat in the basement eating bread. When I did not want starch, she showed me her bruise. “How shallow of me,” I thought. And then I tasted the bread.

CHEATING PT II

The roar of a cycle
heard in the distance.

Imagine a bad thing,
a bad bad thing.
Imagine a bad thing,
a bad bad thing.

Who were his enemies?
And was it the police?
Is there blood on his hands?
Or is he a thief?

Imagine a bad thing,

a bad bad thing.

Imagine a bad thing,

a bad bad thing.

The wind is blowing,

it's doing its thing.

Feeling it in my face,

dang danger dang.

Did he call his gal

a blushing who-ore?

And just how did he escape

with his thing caught in the door?

Imagine a bad thing,

a bad bad thing.

CHEATING PT I

His roommate was listening to us talk about a few women we knew. He asked us to talk about a woman we knew with redeeming qualities. My friend didn't know what he meant. His roommate explained: "That's what's the matter with you." Then he explained what a redeeming quality was. We tried to think of anyone we knew with redeeming qualities. It was next to impossible. We talked about my ex and we talked about her father who we called the 'potato on toothpicks' because he was a small guy & wanted to be tough so he let his stomach get all big but he still had twiggy little legs. Ever since then I've been on the wrong side of the law.

HER SHINING DULCET HAMMER

A band of frigid nuns overheard a guy:

"I'm a lucky one. I've not met a frigid woman."

He continued:

"I'm kind of living through a tension I have not known.

The feeling is almost of euphoria."

What would the movement have to say about this?
And could this man ever look at a baby and guess its age?

The nuns begin to converge,
the rapping of clogs of black leather on stone.

THE TAR FLATS

We were inside a Canadian cabin
with a boot of Canadian Club
and no deck of cards and no dice.

The forecast had been correct
but we don't want to be the kind
to talk of weather.

We're going to die die die
which is something we joke about
but seems feasible.

The door hasn't budged in days
and a dirty patch of carpet
reminded me of something.

A rubber blanket weeps sex sweat:
we weren't in a cabin
we were in a motel.

The dirty patch of carpet is here
and the tan flecks of skin
from sun beating through a sweater.

Move to Memphis and fall in love
and fall in love with Memphis
a kind of Memphis torture.

Soft skin, a heated argument over soup

"You look like a bunch of girls,"
he said to he.

THE MORAL COMPASS IS SO WEIRD...

A classic Christian execution
at fledermaus HQ.

And the moon burped at me,
the moon spit at me.

And I,
I farted at the moon.

Sometimes I regret what I said
about dreams
because this time
you were stripping in the car.

The bruise of horse manure

because it is pleasant
does not mean that it's soothing!!

EXCERPT FROM THE FORTHCOMING RELEASE, THE CATALOG: LANE

". . . it’s pure insanity to tear the zombies away.” A little booze changes their eyes into human “boob reflectors” -- which just goes to say that Lane’s boobs are pretty remarkable projections in their own right.
The semi-tropical atmosphere of the Wabangi Lounge -- home for such famous dances as the Watusi, and the old Wall Street slogan: “You bangi me, I’ll bangi you” -- adds background to Lane’s dancing style. After a couple of hours of pounding flesh, Lane begins to sound like a kettle drum. In fact, they fired the drummer because the beat she makes as her teats pound on her stomach, creates a more dramatic effect anyway. And once those old jungle sounds rise from the chasm of her chest, “honey” drips from the zombies’ erected cones.

HOT WATER & LEMON COCKSUCKER

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

SKULL WITH HAIR

He said to the sweet little thing:

Why hello there you sweet little thing! I didn't even see you coming my way and don't know how neither what with your natural radiance lighting up the night like this. Girl, you are a beauty. I love what you do with your hair.  You got a natural class. I can see your thighs in the stars and I wanna smooch 'em smooch 'em smooch 'em. I wanna kiss you on the wrist. I'll take you up to the trees. Some of them have little houses in 'em. What do ya' say, little darlin'?

The master of the house had carved a tunnel in the earth below the stairs; a cave of black sand with a host of rifles stacked neatly atop shelves. She remembered the rifles and how the stairs had rotted away to reveal the rifles. She and her mother saw the rifles. Then they saw the cave.

If she can get to the rifles. The moon lurked like a skull hovering above the staircase.

THE SORCERERS OF METHWICK

union leaders

with their mustangs 

and fancy toupées

talking to burger,

modeling laundry

crushing little tabbies

like a curse.

A CHARACTER NAMED DICK DOVER

conceptual whorehouse
vaginal video
reputable satanism
sobriety allergy
horny chatter

MEMORIAL DAY BONUS: "CLASS RING" BY SKATE LAWS

Something's obscene.

Something in here
is obscene.

What is it?
What is that thing?

Sorry, father!
NO CLASS RING!

"BAT IN THE FACE" BY SKATE LAWS

The paper
had the photo
of the winner

A bat in the face
a prize winner,
photo in the paper

Yeah

So where is our hero?
With his tennis racket?

A bat in the face!
That is no prize!