Caring Tan
The sun clung to her skin
like a marching band in soft slippers
and when she walked by
the whole world turned into headphones
because she was playing my favorite song
it was a marching band version
so it had that tone, and too many trumpets
staring into their cell phones as
the trombones utterly butchered the verses
Shit! It’s still a great song though,
no matter how you play it
I counted all the big drums
until she was gone
Grass Bat
Her hair was the color of yesterday’s favorite chew toy
and his eyes reminded her of a blue crayon
left to die in the mud
their love held on like a bat made out of grass
they lived in a cave surrounded by lawnmowers
but they had a defensive arsenal of dvds
and compensable sex parts
and for a while the lawnmowers couldn’t get them
until eventually even the cave turned against them
because nothing lasts forever except war
and that goddamn Celine Dion song
I mean, fuck, it just goes on forever
unlike the grass bats
a grass bat has the shelf life of a sensitive mammal
made out of uprooted plant clippings
(fuck) all these goddamn every day-by-day extinctions
(historic note: that’s how watching
For Your Eyes Only alone was invented)
the grass bats are gone
Bank Butt
Hey, Bank Butt
Is that where you keep your cautiously-horded investments these days?
Because I’m in need of some saving
and I wouldn’t have thought of keeping it there
I’d like to apply for a debit card
What exactly would be the process………….Wait!
I mean, if I ain’t thought of something like that already
(ergo: stashing such things in the butt)
What other things have I forgot to think about?
(insert alternate curse-type word for ‘shit and/or fuck: there)
What if sharks love Rice Crispy Treats more than people?
My penis is not bigger than that cake pan, damn it
How long has it been again exactly, that I’ve been this
alone?
Bank Butts,
A new term made to represent a robot’s interpretation of color
but (not butt)
what are robots supposed to know about finance and anaL?
Finance: Shit, most likely a bunch, actually
(Historical Note: as soon as the robots learn greed
like the robots have already learned greed: we’re fucked)
Anal: either,
Pretty much everything there is to be known about all of it
(I miss you)
or …………. nothing at all
Unmellow Yellow
Han Solo had a 10 Parsec
long dong
vertically hairy
and Black Vest-idly
strong
He named it Chewbacca
and the Chewbacca you remember
from childhood is a figment
of Han Solo’s overly exaggerated mind
so, as a separate entity, the thick Wookie
that sat beside him co-piloting
the Millenium Falcon
doesn’t actually exist
(not in the way in which we perceive it)
Chewbacca is in reality a simple manifestation
of Han Solo’s grand thoughts about his own penis
a grand thought
so strong that it became
a shared vision
we all went along with it
It’s like Jimmy Stewart in Harvey
only Jimmy saw the rabbit
it’s like that, except on a much larger scale
because Han Solo wasn’t alone
we all saw Chewbacca!
even though he wasn’t there
or, in a sense, he was there
but not in the way our culturally connected minds perceived him to be there
he was there, in the literal sense, tucked inside
Han Solo’s pants
even though we perceived Chewie, as Han Solo did
as an eight foot tall best pal who’s posture slightly
stiffened every time Princess Lea entered and room
and haimishly gargled at all of Han’s jokes
we all saw it, ergo:
we’re all
in every sense
and in all actuality
totally nuts
and speaking of nuts
what kind of man nicknames his dick
Chewie?
The Unmellow Universe
is not only a coward
and hesitantly expanding
it’s judging us, about shit like this
unjustly
and thinking things like
if it had it to do all over again
it would’ve liked to have gotten a degree in Psychology
or something like that
instead of becoming what it is
an enormously nervous Tea Cup
that contains Everything
including Cocky Bastards
with Talking Teddy Bear dick
fantasies
so powerful
that everyone he comes
into celluloid contact with
as if dazzled by the variant amount
of loneliness and special effects
winds up believing
in the fantasy
too
Neon Carrot
in the vegetable garden
of this evening’s cracked sanity
there’s something wrong with these
goddamned carrots!
the local rabbits who subsist on such things
have grown talk shows on their knee caps
and their piss has turned the color
of Jay Leno’s chin
a humorless shade of pink marshmallows
and overpriced car wax
the Experts suggest Pesticides
and the Pesticides suggest Experts
which leads me to believe it’s all just
one big con job and the fucking thin skins
are in on this thing together
so instead of fumigating between hillsides
which at this point
would be futile
I grab another notebook
and start over
The air smells like robot shadows
and laundry mat solar flares
as I write something down about the air
smelling like robot shadows and laundry mats
and try my best to avoid eye contact
with these goddamn radioactive carrots
that have taken over
too much
almost everything
that’s been left
in our ground
poor me
life overhears everything
the sounds of
your voice on a telephone
talking
about calendars and your
need to let go
rainbows go color blind
rivers get lost
birds become allergic
to the sky
the sun gets laid
off
the ground puts on
a jacket
dandelions mistake pepsi
for coke
crayons lose their way
back to the wax
butterflies de-evolve into walking
sticks of margarine
and where am I in all
of this
I’m the guy standing at the
front of the line
it’s my turn to lose you
tree lines catch pneumonia and develop
an aversion for pixie sticks
I don’t want to let you
go
(from my book Beautiful Graveyards, Farfalla Press)
