Sweet Twang

Saturday,
September 17, 2011

7:17 PM

Ran off with my
ears, sounds cheeky, so I smile whitely while I shaft you  nightly.

Eww for gross, good
taste, poor choice, your sick lamberts, not bright enough to floss your potty
mouth,

Drawn like butter,
born to drizzle, melt my shine,

smack your lips,
syrup-syrup,  hissy s.o.s.’s is best for
a rescue ,

Gristle slipped and
criss-crossed the concourse,

I’m petty, in
staccato octaves to boot,

I other one the
Ottawa and must of meant Toronto.

If all the sniffle
snouts waft us

from the mist hot
spitting off the pasta

still mucky steaming
up from the cast net colander,

then I’ll holler
fe’r to calling you to dinner.

I prittle prit pat
the pattern activate. I peek past the histories and we last from persistence
press perks up and prints coupons for the trash they’re selling, audience
establishes continental expectations, gotta draw the line so long and round
that the fence will come out even bigger ever the border we cross is the fringe
we name with ecstatic discovery re-founding the native civilization and
stretching our legs like we own the place we put a man on the months third
Thursday and we celebrate the second grade and never learn any fuhrer further
even though the light touch chicken hawks feathered a few prez who certainly
came home to roost with the foxes like he figured out how to finance his
entitlement, and we voted for a videogame where the angry birds steeping in a
kettle party on and explode the foundations of their missing eggs and abortions
legal bitches, register their litters with the legislature, neuter the senate,
spay the congress, elect the meaning of the mis-information and interpret your
government however you like, ride on Harley anarchists, so easily bought off by
cocaine and bar-rooms,  maybe you’ll
sober up and king George like the rest of them poor dogs porch tied and picking
all the pictures where the premature babies looked the alivest, are you a funny
troll now scowling all the hounds of heart taint and stuck with needles
bleeding necessary in order to let life leech and complete, engorged on the
poison pumped in your veins, the vampires are dizzy and sloppy as hell, might
just make it obvious and enslave us in the day-light, like a prom queen
finally, for once in my life, fire bombing the embassy just when the explosion
smoke blows bits of her perfume and she asks me if I want to just give in to
chaos, ride outta this casket trashing the powers above and around us, just
because we oughta, winning one for the individual who cares not about the
repercussions of society, it’s the enemy, and I don’t even consider saying no
to a pretty girl, wants to give me an excuse to lead a revolution, and let the
bones roll, fight hard for as long as I can find a reason, cutting down bridges
just to make the rats swim, plastic floats, spraying all the law offices in
kerosene, showing justice to a lost cause and giving the poor peoples
collective memory lasting scars I want to watch the battle roar from the hole
in the wall of my living room, when we’re fighting in the street for no reason,
just because we got a message, it’s over, rabble on, fierceness takes it in the
last impact of the gavel strike is irrelevant, that the law is actually all the
violent possibilities of force in the hands of lesser men, ordered by the
primal need for dominance that obvious, animal ideologue barking but they line
up for a talking dog, so thanks for the designer camouflage, now lets get your
slaughter on.

The old man buttons
his cardigan, sips his tea and says, “Savoring the feelings of a young
man, wish I had a reason in my time.”

Old Teeth

Saturday,
September 10, 2011

2:17 AM

It was only a matter
of time before 8 twenty some things, young folks, as they’re called, seated
around a fire, drunk and stoned out of their minds, and on the eve of the ten
year anniversary of 9/11, only a matter of time until they start talking about where
they were that day, what happened to them, how it crippled their child hoods,
the way it reminds them of their parents divorce, the realization that adults
were and still are scumbags, none of them had so much as threw a punch before,
estrogen in the water maybe, mind control, government conspiracy, life is just
a bunch of assholes taking turns fucking each other, so they got high and
boiled salt potatoes.

Un-employed with a
glass pipe, cashing out the Department of Labor ATM cards, paying Bank of
America $4, from the fee on an un-unemployment debit account, where weekly
money makes it way, 1,200 a month between 3 people in food assistance, waiting
for a pending court case, grilling shish-kabobs, chicken, baby corn, water
chestnut, credible non-specific evidence that we barely exist for real, so
meaningless reports that another attack is planned, D.C., NYC, and no one
admits it but some of these intoxicated humans secretly wish that something
interesting would explode, maybe a church.

Because some humans
became cast as jaded nihilists when they were 13.  When the sanity they had left had no context
to frame the decay of our better selves.
Was it post traumatic or actually, the whole event just a name, nay even
a catalyst, for the dark realization that we had lost our childhood. Queue
social turmoil, gaze awkward at the prettiest girl in school, white flowered
dress and her cocaine change purse, pledging the flag while she’s half in the
bag, like it means something other than Hail G.W.B. W.M.D.

All before we could
learn how to drive drunk, watching our parents from well-buckled seats, letting
me know that they cared enough to strap me in, that they had done the
calculation and decided that it was safer for me to be latched while they
swerved through the lane. They gave me great strategies for coping, because I
can scream louder even without the correct point of view, I can assume wrong at
the hands of a civilian, who votes like the sun’s not going to come out
tomorrow, has 4 years, has 8 years to wait for salvation, for the
optimistic dream is one I’ll sleep late for, until we woke up and realized,
that one man, even one of our best, can not heal the corrupt cruel minds of
scared old white people, who are famous for raising a bluster, bursting their
hearts over high blood pressures,  and
spoiling the good of the upbringing of their children. These damn republicans
want us to just buckle up, and we just want them to drive sober.