“My Marxist feminist dialectic brings all the boys to the yard.”
--The Internet
Adam pissed on the apple tree to claim it for his own
mark his alpha bullshit territory
scum the air before we tasted the flesh of nature’s dirt in your eye
salt in the wound, canary in the mine shaft,
precious metals my ass what’s so impressive about a diamond a mirror and falling into Hades’ river a mythical joke and a fraud
mistaken for the music is always buffering
putting a stopper in the whiskey bottle he was saving
but now seems as good a time as any
as he locks the stairs that lead to the attic at the beginning
or the end of a b-list horror movie
quite frankly Scarlett darling I don’t understand the point of scary movies,
I mean if someone put one on I could sit there and watch it
but I wouldn’t necessarily enjoy it
unless it’s so bad that we all can laugh about it.
My cough is mucus in my palm, the last of too many cigarettes
it’s one of those things where I have to surrender control
and admit that even if I haven’t had one for a week a year whatever
I am still trying to quit.
The perks of being young and beautiful
far outweigh the responsibilities of being someone’s midlife
appendicitis of the mind and now the monkey is out of the bottle
once Pandora stops playing and a commercial pops in
I’m going to shit myself thank you Mozart
but all artists are crazy.
A house full of writers is a beautiful frightening thought.
I couldn’t limit myself to my roommates or we would all join forces
and self-destruct by default.
I can’t speak for the others, but Van Gogh did chop his ear off.
Tapping the keyboard like a piano
harpsichord mother Southern California here we come
pray the baking sun can break the smug of L.A. swelter
palm trees suffocating locusts preying
praying mantises eating off the heads of their lovers
under the covers with Bob Dylan again
and the world is ending outside right now but we don’t care
he’s talking about World War III
and I’m talking the Fourth, the after party
the coked up stage fright
muscled age right about eighteen seems kind of young but it’s legal,
if it were the other way around you wouldn’t call it weird.
I always want to say wired when I see the word weird
some kind of enjoyment in the term dyslexia
established itself when Mister Gorbachev tore down that wall,
we set fruit bats loose in the hall and called it a prank
a tank rolled down Tiananmen don’t be a square
you’re already there she wants it anyway
but he has concerns about women being closer to the front lines
the point in rhyming is to draw your attention to something
don’t they teach you anything in school
the complete repertoire of white trash mental retardations
and masturbation in the library, coming on Dickinson’s collected works
jerking off on Hamlet’s Ticonderoga No.5
masticate my wenis Mister Feeney
Mean Girls and 1980’s jocks with Ken doll haircuts
he’s twenty four and tries to act forty
but he’s as immature as the rest of us
and Napoleon he’ll have that for the rest of his life
unless he deals with Electra
which I guess means the complement is true
that I have penis envy.
I’d try it out for a week to see what it’s like
but I’d rather be a woman
keep your brute strength, the only way you’ve maintained your Goddamn tree
is with the threat of it.
It’s really ill evolved and brutish of you
the whole notion of the Art of War.
Put your gun down or shoot me.
I’d rather die than be put into stilettos and tube top
rot in your sacred halls of pedophilia and extortion
vestment and greed are cousins of the same closed mind
the unreceptive brain drying out slowly over a lifetime
shriveling to a walnut before it heaves and gives out
leaves the child with doubt in their own happiness
to be listless and follow is the proper knowledge of our tradition
and we are to uphold the good family name for posterity and reputation sake
it’s all about saving face in this our great nation
the state of the union is in peril and we’re freaking out over Whitney Houston
we have a problem worth solving
the proof only takes five hundred twenty one thousand six hundred pages to solve,
a computer could do it in half a second.
I’ve always been fickle in taste and in subject matter,
format and punctuation patter, cobwebs in my diamond play ball if there’s grass
swing a sword of knightly phallus and so win fair ladies fart
candle lit bromance on the bearskin rug with Natty Light
and pornography pin-ups are not what they used to be
it’s a Martha Stewart good thing if the women find empowerment through it
but overall feminists argue that it does not help the situation of our status.
The climate surrounds us like African mothers
blocking their government from leaving work until they would stop the violence,
We are sick of it they told the men who stood there
deer-faced and bug-eyed not knowing what to do
but acquiesce that they have behaved poorly and badly and ugly.
We are busy studying the same tired old wars as if they are glorious
yes please Texas text book editing company
censor my history to pretend like your being sensitive
what’s really offensive is not Janet’s wardrobe malfunction
but your complete lack of ability to highly function as a human being
clinging to indifference and fat ass consumption
the presumption is that I would stop driving when the light turns yellow—
No comments:
Post a Comment