«♫ Scuttling crabs & gulping clams,

blood runs in all grains o’ sa—♪

Whoa, whoa, whoa…

Not so quick, slick…

Ha, ha, you didn’t think you were expected here, ¿did you?

Not when you’re like that—

no, don’t think we didn’t notice that. We did.

Look, I’m sure there are plenty o’ places for that…

Well, then that just proves our point, doesn’t it.

Look, I’m not hissing orders here,

but I think it’d be better for all o’ us

if you went somewhere else».

‘Hind the soft slam o’ the door

one hears the singing resume…

«♫ Chocolate butter, apple jam,

sugar seeps in every can… ♪»

…but shrunken & funneled.

I can’t hate your flapping mouth,

iron pelican; I care

nothing ‘bout their slander, ‘bout

stereotypes: I’ll scrub you fair.

¡But I did clean your bathroom! ¡How rude!

(Laugh track’s stabbed your back, my man.)

«You can’t scrub the rust from rust;

dust shall always stick to dust.»

Gray-brown seaweed clings my hands &

drags them drain-down, drowning ‘neath

water will not drain @ random.

Now this nightmare ne’er comes clean.

Till toilet flushes wake us, & we drown

in boiling tubs o’ fresh blood with a frown.

Don’t those vacuums suck, ¿‘mirite?

But a’least I’m clean this time.

Accompanying music.

Recuerdo una vez que yo era de niño

y hurgaba en una lata de café

que era llenado de dados colorados,

gomas élasticas,

dispersas piezas de rompecabezas,

peniques,

pedazos de LEGO,

fichas de Monopoly Jr.,

y naipes de juegos de mesa obscuros.

Esta fue el día que aprendí lo que es arte.

When I was young

I remember looking into a coffee can

filled with colored dice,

rubber bands,

stray puzzle pieces,

pennies,

LEGO pieces,

Monopoly Jr. tokens,

& cards from obscure board games.

This was when I learned what art is.

Accompanying music.

Forest Frenzy
scent
in my backyard.

Accompanying music

Feeding thirsty leaves, the grapes

paint the concrete oily yellow;

& they keep unique pastel glow

e’en when wrinkled by dry age.

Get’n to business pecks the crow,

front & back, that beaky drummer;

no concern that e’en in summer

faded mountains still smell like snow.

But that sun was far too distance;

now there’s shade. The fact, though, is that

still these crows get down to business.

Starry dreams
pink & baby blue:
morning moon.

Schließlich kommen
Blätter und Erdnussbutterschokoladenriegelpapier
zusammen endlich.

Finally–
leaves & peanut-butter-chocolate-bar-wrappers
together @ last.

Accompanying music.

I can taste the bloody iron

in your sticky spinach clinging

to the rocks, your simple sirens,

though its your leaves that are singing.

There is safety in remains,

memories o’ wine-sweet bliss;

ride on waves, on ships, on chains,

green all that is colorless.

Still you cling to my gray shoes;

though I love your ugly fruit,

progress says you get the boot.

Accompanying music.

Ignore the sun’s slander:

as much as there is in the golden retriever,

there is strawberry syrup in the heart o’ the salamander.

Black is the color o’ cola & chocolate,

& I can feel the moon’s flour crumble in my fingertips,

can feel the soggy brown leaves hug my feet

as they pass poems by Hershy, Sunkist, & Tim’s scattered through the street.

Like ancient Greek plays,

torrents quench nerves dried sick by sunburns;

& there’s peace in the chaos o’ carpet floors

scattered with papers, wires, & shirts.

For what is beauty but that which we accept?

Thus, if we accept ugliness, misery, & death…

No.

They don’t.

I take it all back:

all o’ the muddy foot tracks,

all o’ the red marks left by tacks,

all o’ the limbs blown onto my yard,

all o’ the cheap rom hacks o’ Mario Kart.

There’s only room for either day or night,

& the moon’s not full ‘nough to finish that fight;

so we must all be subjected to the light

—the lactose intolerant to be sacrificed.

Sun-burnt eyes:
sparrows snatch turtles
toward tides.