Monday, November 26, 2007


Dream brain waves molesting your
ar-pigfood contraptions-m.
Admit your failures,
the M-16 float makes love to peg-leg pirates
while Dora onionizes her tears.
big chin
waves to the little children
while jacking off against the rail.
Did you see the hunger-
constipation mustache
on that handicapped man?
My garbage disposal
sounds like a jet plain taking off-
lake house we go.
Token sweet cranberry ass?
Every once in a while,
my snow comes with color.
No, not just yellow,
not your human waste reds and
tans and Santa’s blue blue eyes.
Snow like the fish
and good ol’ cranberry ass,
sprinkled in brown sugar-
never mind the mistakes.
Where WOULD you put the sweet potatoes?
Sweet mother of god
I can’t get enough of the cranberry ass!
Red and glazed
and drizzled all over my hot turkey chest.
Stuff me from behind
you big man of country twang.

and the Jolly Jiggly man?

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Identity Theory

Mariah Carey dances in heaven
with her lovely
lovely boyfriend.

"Have you ever seen
someone so lovely?"
I ask Panda at the zoo.

Scratching his balls,
"nope, never a more lovely."

Child’s playpen jamboree,
those balls are not my balls-
my balls are far more lovely.
The child is peeing on those balls-
Not my balls.

Canon fires at oncoming heaven-
explosive balls-
That damage is so lovely.
I made that hole,
and that hole,
that hole,
and that hole.
All the lovely holes
with miniature cats in suits
dancing the waltz.

The waltz is so lovely.
If Mariah Carey could do
the waltz
I’d put a bow tie around her neck
and call her lover
and lover and I-
don’t you think we
would be so lovely?

"Yes," says Panda,
scratching his balls.

These balls are not my balls.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Experience Materials As Such

Does this make any?
Umbrella shook up flow
and give me something-needs to.
Yea, yea, you’ve got sexy hands
and I am touching you.
So you left your stuff
at my hut and I am creaming
sandals of uncreativity
and suggesting what was asked
of the chairs and rich subject.
Sculpt this kitty,
weather of a year
and this is umm, the news.
Cold front coming from cartoons
painted on eye lids
of 14 lines- cut up-cut up,
belt undone and that dream
last night woke me up in class.
Western cowboy sing that song.
Bow-tied soul patch
and so on.

Played out,
date this foot
and set clocks back
thirty some hours ago
yet just the moment
you looked up.
Market stage of Little Mermaid,
legs popping out.
Where does one buy
a peg leg these days?
Of words plastered across
cheeks and beyond that-
published "best sex" and we are
too awkward.
Categorically freed grid,
we are on the road to chalk
so tell me what it is
you big steamy mess.

When A Banana Writes, He Dances

I flushed the cat down the toilet because I was sick of watching her get nervous and run away whenever someone saw her in the litter box which stunk real bad because I didn’t want to clean it and neither did "the third roommate"
so we flushed her down the toilet too before hijacking razor scooter being pushed uphill by a small 25 year old fella and turning to my heterosexual life mate asked if it would be alright if I peed in her twitching eye, "it’ll make things feel better, I swear" and look, here comes that sexy- older- man we are supposed to ignore
but I ask him to jump on my scooter and push until we get to the plaza and begin jumping around in banana/monkey suits,
I’ll be your monkey if you banana me-costume lover, can I pee in your twitching eye too? and then comes along Robin Hood and his sexologist girlfriend, Miss. Hooker and they are selling blue drinks by the dozen and I think we could fit a case or two on the back of my scooter along with dangerous sexy man, life partner and us all orgying it up in costumes so I offer pee in exchange for a case and head to the porta-potty behind the porno store
where luck would have it, Robin Hood and Miss. Hooker are now injecting blue liquid shit into each other’s

nostrils and not wanting to appear rude, we join in but not for long seeing that it is 4pm and pushing the whole kitten caboodle up the hill via scooter, meet up with the entireties of the freshmen rugby team and start up a game of beer pong until little Biff and I retreat to his dorm room and begin fucking on his shitty twin bed taking note to leave the blinds open so Jim Morrison look-a-like across the way can see me in action.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

A Future Trip

There was a time when
I dreamed of existing
in the Jungle Book-
where loin cloths
held all the secrets and
today we are making home
of a place with no light fixture
in the livingroom
so I attach putty-
glow-in-the-dark stars to my fingertips
and place them on the underside of tables
for tired waitresses and waiters
to find and drive off with,
down the Rio Grande
where a handsome man once told me
an eagle landed beside him
and he never needed drugs again,
so I began thinking maybe
Polaroids fade for a reason
and the letter I sent to a friend last week
is history of these tire tracks
before the internet
set fireworks off in our eyes
and jelly fish oozed from the corners.
Maybe I connected
jungle fever with your hands
when really I could have just
given you some lotion
and been done with this
years ago but now
Jungle Book segues into On The Road-
segues into my velocity
can beat this
once mob mentality dies down
and we sleep in the desert.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

I Am Hugging the Silver Fox of Dreams

We are taught to use I statements.
I am part of a generation locked
into a box with mechanical
controllers, who exercise indoors.

I am things difficult because
simplicity could bring happy endings.

I am virtually stalking the world of
broken hearts and things claimed
not to be regrets.

I am staring at the clock as it goes
from midnight to noon
and wondering where the time went.

I am liking of unicorns despite. . .

I am not, will not, label not.

I am Almost Famous
to infinity and beyond.

I am not free-box underwear,
but handmade Halloween costumes,
thunderstorm forts and
puddle-splashing funorama junky.

I am eye-flickering dizzy spells
of ear aches and forgotten
massages from fantasized lovers.

I am wonderments wonderwall of
discertainty and confident walks.

I am neon orange rubbing alcohol- flavor
from golden years and
past greasy pancake lunches.

I am driving sex to work.

I am one part of greatness.

I am a Toys R Us kid.

I am once a writer.

I am not up or even down
just tired.

I am 19th century Polaroid-
these pictures are fading
and turning a funny color.

I am Mrs. Robinson
with the body of a 15 year old
and I am trying to seduce you.

I am fish egg screams outlined
in tan lines, dotted with
vitamin c and GMOs’.

I am cliche velocity,
road trips
and spooning.

I am Scream in the old sense.

I am saying you are in my writing.

I am drooling llama- coloring book
because the colors always felt right.

I am hugging the silver fox of dreams.

I am questioning skunk aroma,
turning on the switch to star filled sheets.

I am golden tasseled- teal couches
laying on the floor amidst swaying
walls and broken ceramic pots.

I am carnival fun house,
universe painted on the ceiling-
library of fragmented sentences.

I am a directionally challenged bag
of burnt popcorn.

I am nobody’s dried hands
but my own.

I am eight up and down,
left and right
and back again.

I am remember.

I am 1:11 am red cup
full of water hardcore bitch
and this,
this is all happening.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

The Way Blinking Stutters Sight

The feeling of holding a heating pad to your back while peeing.
The way most people mean to do good.
The way wind wisping by your ear, mimicking the ocean can feel like going deaf.
The way I put my hands down my pants when no one is looking.
The way I have not heard this song in years.

(In LA)
The way thin palms trees look like puff balls amongst smog and brick walls blocking highways from sight.
The way it is summer in November.
The way the stereo cuts out in a tunnel and then comes right back as soon as you are out.
The way everyone wears red shirts on game day.
The way most shuttle drivers are never nice and no one talks to each other.
The way the sky turns orange and the image of palm trees.
The way no one moves to the back of the bus.
The way pollution accentuates color.
The way people sit across from each other and look at one another without ever looking.

An Incident During the Civil War

Today’s Sabbath quits!
Zen said staple categories to nachos,
multiple nachos of history
for rigorous principle debates
Commit /Commit /Commit
backbone of nobodies fish,
you stupid work-study,
Zen needs someone to come in the house
and I know no one-
no 1 combo to igloo.

Retreat fiction,
tampon’s visitor personalizes
almighty sober lexis.
And what of-
Zen said pardon, pardon,
porcupines ascend gates.
Make haste and lay low
the didgeridoo.
A sensual chick saw llama.
Gotta have, GOTTA HAVE
and sins culture saluted.