Saturday, January 14, 2012


Outsource your diatribe
For thirty cents an hour

Alleviate your condition(s)
With extended well-sprung
Pantomimic shows of her

Gratify your suspect
Coin-dance lair of tricky

Coddle the park bench
As the soft hands lay with me

Pour the milky function
Straight from it’s tap,
A bovine beauty known
Colloquially as “nominal bessy-jane”

Driven to succeed, despite your every attempt to fault your wrist—
Backgammon supersets of clustered polarity and inner-thought
Conformity, are but symptoms
Of a mantra…much larger than anything built by hand

Easy solvency
The easy out
Forget what it is, of which people talk about
Forge a path, all your own, from individualized stylistics and obsessive push
And if so, if be it strikes the kindling right
Your spark will be belittled from all those
Irreverent sheepling eyes—copy, ape
Polecat thief…(but) won’t make a difference, as to what those carbons think…cause when you strip away the dye and tasty tinge from flavored milk…its still milk….it still comes from cows…unless it doesn’t…

Strap the vine
Squeezing ink
Into cup…
Drink.  Drink. Slurp, sip…(and) there’s a
Little bit of red still lingering upon the right portion of the smile’s curve
“That’s ok, will taste better when the purity’s been earned”  and I think (outloud) “?”

Toss the leopard in her cage
Dig up the scaffolding beneath well-behaved cadavers sleeping, in suits, in suits so many could use to make a first impression, much more civic, much more human.  BURY THE DEAD AS THEY CAME TO BE,  Let the cloth alone, let it the F(#@ alone

…and the fragments of neuroses simmered.. still
I could feel the asthmatic truncated air.  Stale. Dimmed (and)…
Forcibly (entering
“Boy I sure could need the calm of rest” some voice inside me dressed the space with, that middling, meddlesome, bead (lets) of sweet, sweet, sweat and decaying decanters of decadence…

Before the next elixir in geltab coats arrives to play,,,
Steering wheel
Drive me
Drive creation forward
In some whacked out expletively laden flash-bomb emotive carcinogenic shell of amnesiatic afterthought in-glow

Hop open the trove unearthed… Bless the tomorrow UNREHEARSED

…and the ground, or floor, or whatever polity that you dear term— where soles lay to rest, when not under the weight of homosapienated duress— started feeling awfully tedious from the too, too frequent tapping, of toes…nervous, nervous, little toes.

In the kitchen nook…
Piggy-back pork-cut loins, lathered in balsamic vinegar, afloat in boiling 450 degrees or some temperature unbecoming to the flesh of swine.  Hunger pains, far too great…(starting to bawl) outloud.  The Carrots, co-companions of this soon-to-be-eaten, danced in an orange glaze, as would be done, by any number of underqualified synchronized swimmers, caught in some sort, of Halloween Fete-like celebratory soiree, where showing off is mandated…so I guess a dip in the lake of water dyed pumpkin, or vice versa (matters naught) would have had to do.

…and then, the pill’s orgasm clicked, as personified by that first warm sweat originating from the just under hairline mark and the ocular tendency of flashing those pearly blood-shot whites, unbroken yet.  But soon, very soon…the tributaries will expand/expunge…the light—slowly stretching light from distinction, slowly providing an opinion on their irritation’s cure…Sleep…well deserved.

I outsourced my diatribe
To some other me

My condition has not alleviated
But at present, I don’t care
For I feel nothing.

…doo doo doo deedle dee doo doo do.

1 comment:

  1. haha like how this one went, as you let the grammar get a bit bent, but then fixed it up and still showed the slight hiccup. Always fun to see when something gets taken out of context because a word or two was forgotten for flushed down the loo.