Monday, April 30, 2012

nothing like the sun

your brown, greasy locks, make me think of a moose
your pants are too tight and your shirt is too loose
your lips are too glossy, your cheeks the wrong shade
your eyeliner's smeared and your breath reeks of raid

your bare, winter legs shout "i wanna get laid"
your implants show us you've been curved on a grade
the only thing not 'round your neck is a noose
your sweater's too fluffy, you look like a goose

you flutter your eyelids and expect to be paid
with your nose in the sky, through the city you wade
ignoring the world as you wobble your rear
but your act, not your face, is what makes people jeer

is there someone who loves you, is faithful and cares?
who won't find it funny when you fall down the stairs?

Sunday, April 29, 2012

a world without flowers

the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze
into tight corners of the post-atomic daze
the concrete alley floor, with its broken flower pot
is dead and cracked and quiet, and it's steaming, baking hot

the dark red flower pot lies empty and unused
the seeds that used to lie in it were x-rayed 'til they bruised
then pop-pop-popped like popcorn, like the fireworks and guns
that sprayed the world with pesticide, that coated nature's lungs

as i walk through the alley of the shadow of death
i'm human and unbeing as i draw my last breath
it smells like the safety of gunpowder and bombs
like the laughter of kids screaming and the slaughter of songs

the walking dead surround me, but they think they're alive
as they shamble through the broken-mirrored halls of their hive
they only see themselves, so i'm not sure if i'm real
i don't know where i came from and i don't know what to feel

i think i might be floating, might be drowning, might be dead
so who am i to judge these folks for giving in to dread
when our lungs are choked with violence and our beds are made with gold
these are the laws that make reality so cold

us wriggling worms are spawned into tiny shaped cells
and we're growing in our prisons that make tiny shapely hells
sanitized insanity in work and in play
we're dying by the hour and we're dying by the day

the queen desires nothing that's not one-of-a-kind
and it's not like she'd know, 'cause the old bitch is blind
so we feed and we grow and we're always moving on
like locusts to the harvest, like the choppers to king kong

on our insect shoulders we have carried great beasts
from their homes in ancient eden to bright long-tabled feasts
but now we eat in silence in dark concrete parkades
while we stare at cave paintings of electric charades

the emperor's new clothes are all hanging on my line
with which i thread this needle's eye so i can sew you a rhyme
the worth of my own rags is embarrassing at best
but i wrap myself in them to get 'em off of my chest

if only guns shot flowers, and the atom bomb was stopped
if money could buy oxygen and politics were dropped
perhaps the hive would open up, let in a bit of light
the bears could have their honey and the bees a sense of sight

but there are no more flowers for the bees to pollinate
say a prayer for the flowers, 'cause for them it's too late

Monday, April 23, 2012

renewed hope in the face of experience

i'd forgotten what spring feels like
after long, fat winter lying dormant
prone, or on the couch
but not out there
not up there
not through there

now i remember
with birds singing and the breeze puffing dandelions in the gentle sunlight
summer is the exhaustion,
from life and survival
from running, from jumping, from climbing
sore fingers, sore back, sore feet
all bandaged and plastered with smiles
adrenaline and elation
and the faint hope
that this summer will be just like spring

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

memorial day fun

is the supermarket a "house of pleasure"
that it closes its doors on holocaust memorial day?
are the workers inside?
are they pleasuring themselves?
under bright lights
with the fruits
and the vegetables
the bread sticks
and the soft, warm government whole loaves?

are they sprawled across the aisle
where the liquor stands
laughing and playing amidst the mounds
of burst bags of candy and marshmallows
their hands and faces and bodies sticky with ecstasy?

here i am stuck on the lonely, desolate sidewalk
in the quiet, empty night
with nobody to beg a dime from
and nothing i'd be able to use it for


i don't know
what privation is
or is not any more
than i
know the squiggles and teeth
of the horse, whose head lies
between crocodile's

i know what i know
is what i don't know
is pre-oedipal pre-conscious pre-lacking
and its sublime sublimation sees me
pencils instead
of my words
did i hear
that? or is it mere phantasm?
or is it...

come, come, you
it's not so hard,
is it?
are you your mother's
or did you...?

no, no. yes. no. and then, maybe i'm wrong and i'm actually on the right
look, here's the chain
of signifiers
significant? no
meaning to the symbols,
but you can't have them
and thats not frustrating at all
here's the key, but it has
no key
to figure out how to turn it
it bites, the horse
clamps down
on the crocodile's jugular. its phallus?
poor child. poor mother. poor sigma'd
freud. frustrated he would be

if he knew what we didn't.


"but it's made of gold... and puppies... you can't ask for more fair 'n that!"

"easy bub, just take it easy. your statue's great, you know, but we're not a single entity and we have to consider the masses - just because it's not very popular doesn't mean it's not very good. either way it certainly doesn't justify jumping off a building... although if you must, as far as buildings go," his voice faded momentarily as he leaned over the edge, "i gotta say that this one's pretty tall, so i can tell you with confidence that your taste in doom is far enough from what one could call masochistic."

Saturday, April 14, 2012

special moments

the elephant apologized to the kangaroo for stepping on the eggs, then raised his trunk maliciously.

Saturday, April 7, 2012


i locked myself in my own cage
convinced it was for my own good
i hated myself
was ashamed of myself
and broke out as soon as i could

we were soldiers

we painted our faces
we readied our spears
fucked our wives goodbye
then left to their cheers