The Meaning of Lifelessness

Girls are idiots,
Tried and true,
Through and through.
Man's power rests
In "I love you",
Then pressing breasts
On his hot chest,
"I love you too."
It's time to settle down
And nest.

Gold

For all the blood spilt over its possession,
All the fiends cast in pursuit of and obsession,
(I value dirt more though less shiny)
You'd think that we'd have learnt our lesson.

Divorce

Man's broken dominion
Over his lovely counterpart.
He must hear her opinion
As in Bishop's "One Art".

Dead Horses

To Mexico never go.
When your wallet's gone,
And your thirst is strong,
You'll know.

Cold Turkey

The simple bliss
Of forgetfullness
Above all else
Is what I miss.

Secret Places

I try and I fail I feel;
It's time to retreat.
Too often has the sting
Of insult and mock
Ruffled my feathers
And made dull my bright countenance.
I'm going away.

I'll remove myself from scrutiny,
Withdrawn from the world,
Seperated from the real.
Cached in a dugout somewhere
Where the mind's trespassings
Go without rebuke,
And silence is the single rule.

Noise and clutter are the norm.
I seek shelter from that trifling storm.
Vain and selfish the human race is,
So I steal myself to secret places.

Swollen Eye Sockets

You look abstract today.
Is that a compliment?
It's what you want it to be.
I want to be free.

The moon is a gaping hole in the sky

The moon is a gaping hole in the sky
Through which heaven's glow rains down,
And God smiles upon the night,
And men cower and frown,
For night is when the bandits come
From every ill-bred hollow
To steal the little kiddies' toys
To keep and not to borrow.
Night is when the female flesh
Hits the bricks to prey
On innocent, honest white boys
To be their virgin lay.
And way above in heaven
God regards his land
And weeps the tears of sorrow
For the tyranny of man.

Around the piano

Around the piano
Men are standing,
Men are sitting
To hear the new tempos
Of Monsieur Caprizy
Who brags it was easy
By fiddle and meddle
To compose his most moving
Concerto Larghetto.

Monsieur strikes the keys
And jostles his knees
To sound the legatos
That open ears do please.

L'homme là lights a smoke
And tries not to choke
Or cough his throat clear
For the music he hears
Evokes pity and tears
That reflect off his face
Like a vanity mirror.

His motions are smooth.
His melodies sooth.
I wish I could stay
But the note's he's just played
Had the marked tone of finale.

Father

By the first three
There was light,
There was land,
And there was sea.

Then came the birds,
The fish, the plants,
The trees. The beasts
Of land and
All of these.

Then the Lord,
With greatest ease,
Created Adam
And his wife Eve.
So He could have
A race of men
To love as children
And tend His
Garden Eden.
There was no want
Of food nor drink,
No extremity
Of season,
Yet how did they
This gift repay
But with heresy
And treason?

Then God cupped His hands
So no one could see
The power of
His majesty.

Paradise lost.
Now sinner repent!
For next time we see Him,
We'll be at The End.

High School

The kind of girl
Who wouldn't blush
But strokes her hair again
With brush.

Absence

I'm Switzerland.
While others stomp their feet,
I go skiing
At my Alpine retreat.

Where were we wandering before

Where were we wandering before,
In the autumn and winter months?
Your wings were then a shield to me
From the realities of March.

No matter if the cold wind blew,
I hadn't but to think of you,
And happiness, my bird of song, I knew.

But Spring has come alas too soon.
While poppies in the meadows bloom,
Inside their eggs the fledglings scratch
And seek their infant bonds to crack.

So young nests will be broken down,
And none should mourn or cry.
Wingspans must be folded out
So babes may learn to fly.

Eine Klein Nach Musik

A blue canvas bare
Leaned on a chair.
"You have to look at what's not there."

Relief

This hose I aim's
My pride and shame.
I play a game
To write my name.

Bud

Why is it I take delight
In introducing widow white
To artificial firelight?

Babble

My foreign friend
Held no rung
On the ladder of
The English tongue,
So one lone spell
I taught him well:
Simply just,
"I was takin' a piss."
For who can find
Himself in deep
If he keeps in mind
This phrase to repeat.

He stayed with me
For seasons three,
And by that time
He spoke just fine.
His English rythymn
Kept in time,
And almost equalled
That of mine.

On the eve
Of his flight back
To his native habitat,
We were on
An empty street,
Chillin' out and
Smokin' reef
When brights go on
And cops we see.
Skeet.

I dragged the J
Then let it toss,
Hoping we could
Play this off.
By then the cops
Were within reach.
One yelled firstly
"Where's the weed!
And whose rights
Do I need to read?"
"Yours?" he screamed
And stared at me,
"Or yours?" he turned
His glance to Guy.

Something in his
Fearful face
Made the cop put
Hand to mace
And utter words
With pithy grace,
"What were you just doing
At this place?"

I still cannot
Define the cause
Of what would make
Mon ami pause
And offer up
As his reply
"I was takin' a piss."
A stupid lie!
Why not come
Clean or deny?
There's no profit
In poking eyes.
I thought these things
But spoke them not.
My collar itched
And bothered hot.

"What'd you say
You little punk?"
A tight fist clenched,
And Guy it struck.
A sucker shot
Straight to the gut.
And then a knee to
My friend's nose.
His head flew back
And smacked the road.

"Alright you kids,"
He proceeded to say,
"That's enough problems
From you for the day.
I don't want to see you,
Stay out of my way."
Then the cops got inside,
And their car sped away.

Whenever you visit
A foreign land,
Learn the local
Customs and,
Don't provoke the
Wolves at hand.

Pearl Harbor

My fellow Americans,
It would make sense,
In light of this morning's untidy events,
To call for attacks on Japan to commence,
So across the Pacific they'll be sure of it hence
Our boys can put up a proper defense!

Spring

Forget the groundhog,
He doesn't know.
I'll tell by the cut
Of womens' clothes.

Look at the birds of the air

Locking myself in a house I hope's empty
Save me. The key brings the lock to latch
Sounding the violent crash of bolt to brass,
A signal I use to alert haunters
That I'm home, and it's time to scamper off.
But they never do seem to scamper off
Or do any less than threaten me
Behind every door I open and
Within every dark room I can't see in.
They're always behind me, standing, as a rule,
As if verging on confrontation.
I can only spin my head so many times
Before uneasiness sets in. In
Bed too they will lurk and lie in wait
For my dreaming and vulnerable thoughts
To be hoaxed into concern and excitation.
I must try to sleep now but we'll see,
For the worst like to set in at night.

What profanity

What profanity
And vanity I'd have to be
To give account of all about
Me and lover's moans and shouts
Just to ease your worthless doubts
Of a love well shared by she and me.

I'm not sure if you've heard the rumor

I'm not sure if you've heard the rumor,
But truth be told there's just two humors:
One is blue and labelled satisfaction.
The other's frustration and its company inaction.

It is too late

It is too late.
I have taken too long to bed,
And now I cannot shut my eyes
For fear of being tired when I wake.
Out my window stands a broad gate,
Spear-sharped, long and lank.
Shadows inhabit its grates,
So where in light surety waits,
In its place illusions my mind creates.

A frequenting tom
Is again on the prowl,
Pouncing his way down the rough concrete aisle.
He jumps on my barrier and guards me with stare,
As the moonlight allumes the bleached hue of his hair,
'Til the shriek of an errant call gives him a scare.
His paw lands on the peak of a pin iron pike.
A silent reaction echoes shrilly through the night,
And with no meow he leaps away.
I'm sleepy now, so long today.

Advice

I am a traveler,
Long since wandering through woods.
In the cold and hot
Whether drenched in rain or hit by hail
I walk.
In my years of traveling
Seldom have I stopped,
And the several times I have
Now I wish I had not,
For far too often charlatans and bandits
My purse they had sought,
And held no qualms whether or not
My heart beat boldly
Or my sullied corpse would rot.

And here you are a traveler,
Wandering too.
Where are you traveling, why, and with who?
Take off your pack, rest, take my place.
Use my old kerchief to wipe the sweat from your face.
Now, friend, don't panic, don't scream, and don't run,
And you won't have to meet the raw end of my gun.
I'll have all your money,
And away I will race.
Have fun.

War!

These are the shirts and pants we don
When Uncle Sam calls the fighting on.
While mama's crying on the lawn
Papa's pipe puffs short and long.
Into the fray like leaping pawns
We'll meet the bishops' bayonets
Approaching them without regret.
Our shot will cry in bloody moans,
In sardine cans we're air-mailed home.
We'll charge and scream and win the war!
It's honor we are fighting for
Or God or gold or nothing more.
Our heels are flush, our scalps are shorn,
We'll prove ourselves in uniform!

Nothing

Grass's leaves
Blow by the noontime breeze
And bow on bended knees
Beneath twelve cypress trees' tight shade
In an ovular Appian glade
Commissioned by Julius Caesar
To please her.

Feminism in the 69th Century

There once was a man with no shoes and no bed,
He'd no gold in his pouch nor a hat for his head.
The man could have sold his only son for bread
But chose to sell his wife and daughters instead,
So in exchange for petty silver they would give head,
And their tight fitting, flattering clothing they'd shed.

The boy would constantly cry to his father and whine
Where has mommy been all of this time?!
I love you my boy, his father would say,
But when it comes to family business stay out of my way!
I'm the man of the house, the one who is able
To put nutritious fresh food on the table.
Your sisters and mother live in a brothel
Where living conditions are let's just say awful,
But I'd sell them all again with no quarrel
If I though it'd buy you a waffle!

Paranoia!?

What shiftless spectres can appear
At the passing of the midnight hour?
As the moon plays lightly on the flowers
In the clay pot jar garden below.

In the dark grow the fruit of the night,
Stemmed from creepers that grasp the air,
And branch into the weary willing eye.
I'm Really High.