Just Out of Ice

Smoking pot on a cot with a lot of hot spotted lillypad babies
Pass pass puff
Methods and subjects go hand in hand do they not

What some might call
Too soon
For me to catch the patch
I need to walk a hundred miles
And shoot myself in the head
Then I'll get up and find the woman
I'm legally obligated to tell you that I
Have no intention of carrying out anything
That I tell you

In other words, fly with me.

a silent weeping willow
gazes neath
its windswept leaves

Barbarians

I think the hurly-burly's done
The homo sapien's lost his fun
The spirit father's son of man
Can walk above, maintain his tan
There is no greater fish to fry
The fish beneath our feet do fly
But this man walks where we cannot
We must assure that he will rot
His magic does not understand
The limitations of a man
Look at him bleed
Look at him bleed
No other corpse is cause to feed

Song for the Girl

One look
One time
One form
Two blinks
Get thee to a nunnery
I'll meet you there
Underneath the barriers and headaches
Down in the pew
And your vagina light
Will sing, 'matter of fact

I think she's on fire

Slammed Flat

Slowly you told me, I was beautiful and not you
I wanted to punch you in the face
Instead I jumped straight into your lap
Like some pussy. Never mind

One day music can rock this sad shit
Into a white sock. Hurl it at neighbors
Knowing in the hovering raisins
Of flying musical turds every which way
I will stick my nose in majestic and arrogant

I'm Sick of the Kill

It's Cold These Days
And Nothing Pays
So Sit and Wait
For Purple Haze
Fool Me Once
Fool Me Again
Fool Me Again
Fool Me Again
fool me again
and again
and again

Something has been lost, a poem.

Knowing Knotseams

You're the Shakespeare
You have to say what you mean
I meant you mean what you say
You have to mean what you say
I meant I have to
Mean
What you say
But I would have been saying
Not all snippets have a whole
Not all bliss will open doors
Not all burgers have a bun
Not all planets have a sun
Not all readers can digest
Not all ladies can protest
Not all sausages are mean
Not all meal is cooked so clean
Not all dancer's Balanchine
Or comparable to Ben Vereen
Not all thought can be controlled and
Every mountain is a mole

Until its got into his head
When asked to be or not to be
He boasts the pleasant answer, "Read."

The Coffee One

The cup of coffee we share
Is two
One in my hand, one in yours
Sip, until the probable gulp
I never watch you take
Bars us from talk of elections
Our mouths turn and twist
From eyes to chairs and television
Clapping and aging alone
Acorns raining from the sky
Tormenting our dreams
Thinking twice

Casual Friday, Naked Tuesday

Wind instruments from the curb
Paint the picture that I see
Of the church and how
They gather people to praise
And to compel, the worse of them.
There shall be no compulsion.
When all is said and done
Who shall and shall not place
A hand upon your shoulder
Makes life worth living
And fuck is a breakfast pastry