I have a festering blister on the inside o' my mouth...
That wasn't a metaphor.
I truly do.
& it hurts quite a lot, too.
D'you know how to get rid o' it, please?
Blister in the Gum
2015 June 1
LLAMANDO EN MI DESCREMADA ESTES ÚTEROS NO LES PONDRÁN TACONES
2015 May 23
‘Twas lovely wandering summer evening parks.
‘Twas in Gelat’nousboulder1 where I saw
trash all scattered ‘long the vomit lawn, accomp’nied by
globs o’ doggie shit & feel-good posters taped on tree
boughs. ¡How nice o’ nature, serving such important needs!
Surely tacky clip-art betters boring orchids. ¡Phhh!
Luckily I saw the man whose dog improved the park
with its priceless art. Enraptured, I went up to him,
carrying the excrement in question, & I said,
I said to him,
—Hey, buddy, I know both your game & your frame--
& I don’t think either tastes too tangy.
¿Qué es tu puto cuño,
San Buzo?—
& he’s all like,
—¿You like it? I just whipped them up this morning in FrontPage. I think the kitten in the box saying, «Cat in winter box. Pondering meaning of life. ¿What’s it all mean, cat?» is the funniest part—.
I jammed them down the man’s esophagus;
& that’s why I’m in jail for 60 months.
Footnotes
- [1] Slogan: “Supports iambicish pentameter.”
Where You Can’t Get Me
2015 May 22
Ha, ha, ha!
I’ve gotten you funky fuckers yet!
I found the loophole.
& you can’t stop me.
I’ve found the 1 place I’m safe,
where you can’t find me–
your kryptonite cavern.
I may not be able to do anything wrong without being punished;
I may not be able to say anything wrong without being punished;
But I can think whatever wrong I want without fear o’ punishment.
That’s right–
try & stop me from thinking my vile thoughts ’bout you.
You can’t.
You don’t even know I’m thinking ’bout you.
You don’t know anything I’m thinking.
I bet that truly drenches your trousers in horror.
Good.
Failed to Pass My Introspection
2015 May 16
Hey.
I saw what you’re trying to do--
& I can tell you right now,
it won’t work.
You’re trying to sneak into a li’l niche through you infirmities,
¿Sí?
You thought you could ‘scape.
You were wrong.
We found you out like a trout,
flopping flippantly like febrile phalluses,
spraying your jizz all o’er my exquisite slacks.
That’s gross.
You have no class.
Wipe that mucus from your chin,
wipe that droll from your nose,
pee on the carpet, please:
it needs cleaning.
Just look @ your face.
¡Wait!
¿How’d you do that?
Those who can see their own faces
can only do so through craned eyes.
You’re crazy, man.
Stay ‘way from me, man.
But your door’s locked.
I know you’re doors locked ‘cause you’re still such a substantial dumbshit to fucking find it.
So now I’m stuck with you,
caught in curfew,
when profusely I could be drinking in the smoky air,
sitting on squeaky benches--all o’ them @ once--under maple elms or swimming in seas o’ lucre green--
figuratively, ‘cause it’d truly be in a bank, obviously--
driving, climbing, computing,
eating o’ the arts—culinary or not--all for which I pined,
fed my conscience by catering sentiments o’ my own...
But no--
¡too rich for your veins!
¡Party in the checkered sheets o’ shame!
Waiting. ¿For what?
You’ve filtered the falsities in every nutritious solution;
you know what must be done.
There’s no talking to you.
What kind o’ crazy must I be to be talking to--
¡O Jesus!
¡It’s in me, too!
& therefore it’d be crazy for it to be in you,
which means it’d be crazy for it to be in me, too.
¿What’s wrong with you?
Funnybones
2015 May 12
You probably think this is some kind o’ joke,
some kind o’ game.
I bet you think it’s a true dickslapper,
you cock-nosed pile o’ cu--
No!
No, it’s worse!
You think this isn’t funny!
You’re sitting there bored,
saying to yourself,
“Yeah, yeah:
you’re a freak;
I got it, bro.”
Well, let me tell you something,
you whippersnapper:
Straighten that back.
Tighten that tie.
Put that hand back into your pants.
You... heh. You thought I wouldn’t see you, didn’t you?
Well, I did.
I see everything.
Awoken
2015 May 11
Suddenly, finally, I woke from that long, fevered dream, only to find myself in an empty, dark void.
Damn.
Though This Be Method, Yet There Is Madness In’t
2015 May 10
I.
A soufflé carefully cooked,
hour by hour...
SLAM!
Oven door’s open 1 second suddenly.
It’s dead.
I can hear the bomb ticking in my brain...
I can feel the knife scraping my neck & forehead;
constricting, suffocation,
moldy blue skin.
A tepid leaf floating flimsily on the edge o’ a bough
till the hands reach out &--
CRUNCH!
I saw it.
You didn’t saw it.
They didn’t even saw it.
No! No, no, wait...
Hands don’t reach out...
The feet!
Those poor giants stumble forward on their feet & step on the leaves,
crumbling them to dust
too fine to see.
O, but the withered dust is so sexy.
We should thank our giants for this masterpiece.
The realm must be improved:
all sores must be cured,
all stains wiped with clean rags & disinfectant,
all trash must be taken & recycled.
That which has no purpose must be repurposed:
hearts & minds lying round should be cooked into a delightful stew,
skin must be peeled...
The ethical hunter must use all parts o’ the animal’s body so that nothing goes to waste...
as it went to waste ‘fore the hunting.
II.
There’s no time for gasps & cries.
Just stop your rude interruptions o’ the rolling dice.
I never interrupted you during your turn.
You didn’t get a turn.
You didn’t need 1.
You’re already dead.
III.
I know I’ll be next.
We’ll all be next ‘ventually.
& that’s OK.
Everything’s safe here.
‘Cause when you’re guaranteed death,
nothing can be dangerous anymo’.
Death is the safest place to be.
Like a warm pillow caressing the back o’ your head...
Mmm...
That is till it STRIKES!
WHAT I FOUND IN THIS TOWN I’M HEADED FOR A BREAKDOWN NOOOO!
2015 May 8
No!
You can't leave.
Not yet!
...
We've just started.
I won't let you!
...
[It slips out the fire 'scape.]
Though in my eye 'twas all the time,
it 'scaped my sight till th'apex of its flight.
Where did the warm orange tea go?
Ran out the door hours ago;
& it didn't even take its aftertaste.
Remember the times inside rainy days?
When we'd save Toad from dumped paint?
You were there--you'd know.
I remember all the warm dank caves.
You didn't like them, but I did just the same.
(& this is 'bout me, anyway
--make your own shame.)
When they seem lost, I get a glimpse o' their glow;
but this time it seems as if they're truly gone.
Today I saw burnt-black mushrooms on the lawn.
Maybe they'll be fed by rain.
But I'm sure it'll leave them just the same:
slid out the 'scape in just the same way.
That's how they get you, it seems:
feed you up on that bitchin' graham cracker cuisine,
till it digs a li'l hole where it always lives,
& then they try to fill it with that lobster shit.
Not me.
I don't know where it's been.
I'm not ready.
I've just started.
Please may we have peace?
That blasted sweet melody!
Do do... do, do-do-do...
Fuck, I can't even get it right.
It won't last the night, you know.
Nothing will.
Don't think your childish inanities are too good to go.
'Sides, now we have a heavy beat.
Bum, dum dum dum-dum...
I can't that right, either.
Say, this reminds me o' that time I was ill.
Isn't the way we look back @ such seeming tragedies kinda neat?
Yeah, me neither.
& you know what's sick?
I'm sure I'll look back @ this with a slick grin.
Well, no, I s'pose I've exaggerated;
I'll look back in an autumn o' content.
How we cheer @ the leaves regrown,
ignoring their predecessors thrown.
For though I know I look stupid bending my own stem,
Know some o' us aren't smart 'nough to stop.
& 'sides, a'least I get to hear those groovy tunes in the interim.
Da da da da da-da da...
Bucket
2015 May 1
Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
The bucket must be dumped whenever it gets full,
or it'll spill & feed mold,
killing us all with its toxic fumes.
But 1 day I will forget.
I try not to, but my mind,
it slips.
I can't waste time--
there's only so much;
but like the heathen that is I,
I let it leave my clutch.
I count the hours squandered.
I count the hours squandered counting the hours.
Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
Must hurry.
Don't I know my worries will wane
if I only stop wasting my time in worry?
& here I worry mo' time worrying 'bout my worrying.
I have no one to blame but myself.
I know I should probably ask for help.
No!
I most certainly should not ask for help.
I shouldn't stuff my face with your pie while giving nigh.
No!
I most certainly should stuff my face with your pie.
How uncouth would be such a denial?
We all want to take our vital vials;
but sometimes prescriptions cause contradictions,
& the lord that is logic itself stipulates
that some must be deprived.
So I'll dump that bucket 'gain & 'gain,
Relishing its empty moments.
Though I see the wall straight 'head,
I know my smash will be sudden.
Fuck it.
TODO QUE TOCO LO ROMPO (QUIERO ROMPERTE)
2015 April 27
Me olvidé de guardar los platos. Ahora están infestado de cucarachas para siempre. Bien hecho.
I forgot to put the plate 'way. Now it's covered w/ roaches forever. Good job.
