He snagged his skin on the thorns and tore off his coverings-
standing nude- before the Kaiser or the Kremlin.
The spear plunged forward spilled his pungent innards-
Like the pulp and flesh of a scavenged fruit,
Sunk ugly in the mud of death and water.
He stuck his sword and clenched tightly his crippled heart,
Dying for his soul,
unsaved and carried on by the charging gusts.
Stampeded frenzy, and meat pulled apart by decayed teeth.
Searching for shelter from cold,
upon a bed of dead animals.
It turned his feet soles to black ash,
and smoke-filled his lungs.
Never cried from the stillness, Never loved the sex,
In the stinking cave of sweat and heat smells-
beneath his own unhealthy desires.
There was nothing of companionship,
Among man, woman or child.
But the war party drum beat in loud echoes-
Shadows of primitive dances, and deranged chanting-
And the mothers wept when their babies were born,
Knowing only the sickly, or the dead.
Man held aloft his torch into the unsettled grey sky.
Without love’s charity, he was made to witness-
The cursed day of his cruel birth.
Lost and not understanding God.
The Moon
Sitting alone in the park tonight beneath a silver birch tree,
The wind rustling, and a trickle of rain from the dark sky-
I beheld the perfect heavens in the mirror of the moon.
The raiment of God, wearing silver tassels.
I looked up into that voluminous sky,
And parted the dangling branches with my dishonest looking.
I bore witness to the quivering leaf which wavered there on the branch.
Servile to the will of the father, and heavy with dew-
It leapt from his clutches and sought flight from the vision.
Seeing it there beside me, I lamented-
I lamented not for the leaf.
Worship the Cunt
I got a call from a girl.
She was fun.
She liked to dress up as a Cat, because her name was Kat.
It was the physical representation of her name.
She thought it clever.
She said she was kinky, and into vampires, and wild sex.
I said “Twilight is a little girl sex thing.”
I went and picked her up in my cheap car.
I put my scents on and dressed up in my best,
least torn clothing.
I shaved in a cracked mirror.
My studio apartment has one room and bars on the window.
I had never met her before,
and had only spoken to her over the phone-
She had approached me through my computer.
We ate and drank and walked.
I bought her a steak, and said
“It’s the best damn steak in the city.”
When the steak came it was made of wax.
She was a prime-cut herself, and put on a pretty smile.
She had the cutie pie, take me stud, demeanor.
It’s a very endearing thing for the young.
We went to a movie and played awkward caresses in the dark.
I said, “I’m going to make movies,”
She said, “I’m a great actress.”
She referred to me as “her director.”
It was a blank screen for an hour and a half.
The projector must have broken.
I said “your lips taste like bubble gum.”
She said, “your lips taste like a steak and a cigarette.”
We got up, the lights came on.
I took her to a quiet spot in my cheap car-
I had already cleaned the seats and thrown out the stale coffee cups,
If only she knew how disgusting I am.
I pulled over and made the Humphrey Bogart eyes-
I wanted to be serious and lusty and passionate.
I said, “darlin’, you got what I need.”
She said “you’re such a nice guy.”
She unzipped my pants and played with my cock.
I couldn’t get very hard and couldn’t cum.
She asked “what is the matter with you?”
She said “if you can’t fuck, then we’ll just have to be friends.”
I said, “I’m a poet, but not good for much else.”
And the earth only said “worship the cunt.”
I tried again the next weekend.
I found a brand new girl to walk and drink and talk.
She also appeared out of my computer.
I most often use the computer for pornography-
I type “sex” into search,
It is the most often searched for word in the world.
They say the internet has other uses.
This time I didn’t bother with the scents or clothes or car.
I was too tired for pretence, and only wanted sex- didn’t care for dignity.
I left the paper cups down below, where my passenger’s feet would be.
I drove to the Starbucks in the mall.
This is where I was to see and speak to her.
I hadn’t spoken to her yet-
We had only texted back and forth on my ipod, iphone, electric ear.
When I saw her I realized she was an exception.
She was four feet tall, fat, and had cracks in her toe-nails in the flip-flops.
She was very kind- her mother was with her.
I saw she was mentally slow- she was dim- she was born without a hope.
I had liked her being without hope when she messaged me-
I thought she would be gentle.
I have forgotten her name.
Her mother abandoned her to me.
I bought her a coffee and said, “I basically live at Starbucks.”
I said this in my most cool voice- which helps me not to stumble.
I’m a great actor.
She didn’t care about that.
She was too busy being awkward.
She recognized her worthlessness and wanted to hide it.
She snorted and made a strange face when she laughed.
She laughed without understanding.
I walked with her through the mall.
She wanted to go to the puppy store.
We watched the orphan puppies wiggling their butts in their cages.
She snorted and laughed.
I took her to McDonalds- because she wanted a happy meal.
I had a burger made of dog food from the dollar menu.
She had ketchup and a pickle sliver in the corner of her mouth.
I said “this shit tastes like it fell on the floor.”
She said, “I’d like to eat it everyday.”
I said “I’m broke, and I do.”
I bought her an ice cream cone.
She played with her happy meal toy.
I took her to the movies.
We watched Batman meets the Wolfman versus Freddy the Revolution part 3.
It had George Clooney and Kevin Spacey in it.
Hollywood is so clever.
After the movie I took her home in my cheap car.
On the way she told me she was kinky, into vampires, and wild sex.
She said she had sex once on a mountain top.
I asked, “was it romantic and passionate and beautiful?”
She said, “I don’t remember- I just
remember being scared so I couldn’t think.”
She said “he held me down, he finished, and I passed out.”
I pulled up to her house.
It was hard to find because she had several times forgotten the way.
She smiled and said “lets go next weekend again.”
I said “Maybe, but I got a lot of other stuff to do.”
She may have been dim, but as she walked to the door I saw it in her face.
I can no longer live with this.
And the earth only says “worship the cunt.”
I went to work.
At work the boss gave me a dollar.
He said “this dollar multiplies in value of eight.”
It takes up all my time.
After work, I went to the package store and bought a bottle of Jack.
I bought a fresh pack of cigarettes.
I went to the doctor around the corner and got a bottle of poison pills.
I took out the pill container and swallowed a relaxer.
I needed to relax.
I shot the bottle of Jack.
I smoked a whole pack of cigarettes.
I went to the toilet and the toilet said, “kneel down and pray.”
I had to take a shit and puked up in my hands.
I said, “Jack Daniels is a good and a bad thing.”
I went outside and sat on the curb.
I tried to sober up, but went for a swim instead.
I couldn’t find my way home.
I wanted to watch porn on my laptop and to masturbate.
I usually take a two hour shower with my head in the drain.
I stumbled around in front of the store.
A man in a flannel suit came forward and emptied my pockets.
He said, “for you, a dollar multiplies in the value of eight.”
I said, “yeah, but not all at once.”
He said “for me I get it on percentage, its better, and I use coercion.”
I said, “I’m only four feet tall, and nobody would be persuaded.”
He also stole my ipod, iphone, electric ear.
With no money or phone I went down to the red light district.
I came across a man named Friedrich.
He yelled into a crowd standing out front of a theater.
He called them all slaves.
He played the bongos, and called it thunder.
Friedrich is a crazy motherfucker.
Standing next to the bongo man were two drifters.
One said he was called William, the other said he was called Bukowski.
One asked “you got any junk?” the other asked “you got any booze?”
Over by the door of the theater was a workingman.
He had on dirty clothes with paint and metal chips tangled up in the fabric.
He had hands all grimy and beaten up and stained.
I said “hi dad.”
He said “you know you’re a real piece of shit.”
I said “yeah I know, gonna have it on my tombstone.”
Ridiculous Insignificant Piece of Shit.
R.I.Piece of Shit.
I asked “wanna go watch the show inside?”
He said “alright but your mother is waiting for me.”
We went into the theater.
The show began and the actors flew out on wires above the crowd.
They were elevated above us for an hour and a half.
The lights came up.
I realized they were just puppets.
As I was leaving I said “see ya later pops.”
He said, “remember your brother’s birthday is next week.”
I walked around for a while,
My drunken sickness was disappearing.
I saw a girl in a coffee shop window dressed up as a Cat.
It must be a new thing to do, I thought.
She was very beautiful with black hair- I like black hair.
I had a fondness for her for no reason.
She was made-up wild, but I thought it hip and appealing.
I found a piece of newspaper on the ground by the sewer.
I took out my pocket pen and wrote a poem for her in between the print.
I linked her beauty to a concept and slammed it on the page.
Feeling extraordinary, and looking well upon my verse,
and feeling all dramatic and courageous like-
having just come from the theater,
I took my poem in hand and walked directly into the coffee shop.
I slammed it on the table in front of her.
I demanded an answer, “so what do you think of this?”
I asked it in a wild dramatic way.
She read it and I saw she really did admire it as well.
She looked up at me and asked “who’s it for?”
I said, “I wrote it for you, because you're beautiful.”
She looked down at the paper thoughtfully.
She said, “I would give my life to be able to write like you.”
I looked down at her thoughtfully and said, “I have.”
I say “I’m a poet, but not good for much else.”
The earth only says, “worship the cunt.”
Walking out of the coffee shop I traveled down to the shore.
I went straight out and stood on the edge of a cliff with the sea down below.
The gulls were flying overhead and swooping down into the flow and foam-
Snatching up the little fishes.
I watched the sun come up.
I watched every color in existence flash in the sky on the horizon-
as the light came up.
I watched the waves throwing themselves in opposition upon the rocks-
and breaking.
The earth only says, “worship the cunt.”
Man on the Wires
Where did the black dragon come from?
He made a sound like ROOAAAAAARRRRRRR!
And spouted fire- blazing the pigeons up on the wire.
They were lit to flying burning comets
and crashed into the earth.
I ran down the alley,
slipped on the slime
and tore a muscle in the escape.
In the apartment I climbed into the refrigerator-
which makes a sound like GGGGRRRRRUUUUUMMMMMPPPPPP.
I sat in darkness-
the little light goes off when you shut the door.
I got scared when I felt the cheese between my toes and milk run up my legs.
I pushed my way through and thrust out the apartment door.
I got out on the street again and decided to walk with my face.
I knew one day my pretty face would get me somewhere,
don't believe me, talk to my cheese toes!!!!
I ran up to a telephone pole and began slamming my head into the iron.
Which made a sound like PAAAAANNNNGGGGGGGGGG!
Up on the wires you feel free.
So I wriggled myself up the pole- to sit on the telephone wires.
The pigeons looked at me. I tried to listen in on everyone's conversation.
I couldn't hear anything- as I stuck a finger in their mouths.
I got myself electrocuted and fell to the earth like a comet.
FUCKING PIGEON'S, YOU SHITS !!!!!!!!!!!
Social/Political Poems
I sometimes consider the political world and write poems about it, although I write most of my political thought in essay form. These poems are made up of considerations of our social lives and also our political lives. They are not intended to be read looking for ideology, but more intended to speak to our lives liv
ing in a social context, or searching for the purpose of an individual life.
Come to Me O Lost Ones
Come to me O lost ones,
those who are wild in the night,
who fight in the bars, drunken,
or challenge the police.
The unsung heathens,
who wreck themselves in sin.
We, all of us sinners, in that we hurt,
without knowing why.
Come to me O lost ones,
to the lonely worker, who earns little for his day,
a meaningless empty wage,
who spends the nights alone,
counting the bottle caps that stack up-
like his bills on the countertops,
like his envy, of better lives lived.
Come to me O lost ones,
to the hair colored faggot,
or the rock 'n' roll dreamer,
who melt with the amplifier waves,
dreaming of sex, and a new connection,
in a world where passion is fleeting.
Come to me O lost ones,
to the whore on the street,
weeping for the aborted child,
her scraped up and bruised knees,
and the scars which never will heal.
Come to me O lost ones,
to the immigrants without a home,
the cowboys and the Indians,
that roam, far over the endless fields,
shooting at one another from horseback,
killing each other for little reason.
The bandits without mothers,
who have to hide their tears.
Come to me O lost ones,
The first born or the last born,
those who will die in the flood,
or in the midwife's bloody hands-
their stories untold-
their great works never written.
Come to me O lost ones,
for you are of myself,
and I wish to know you through myself.
Look. Listen. Feel
Now you wait right there- stop in this meandering about.
End this revolving door nightmare, end this abstention.
Stop the chamber dancers and their chamber pot mouths.
Stop the clamber for the milkman, and this feeble remonstrance.
Stop the traffic, both inhuman and human, on this crowded city street.
Stop the newspaper men, stop the printing press, stop the infomercial.
Sit down here beside me and Look. Listen. Feel.
Know that it is all here among you,
It has always been here among you- all of you.
Do not deceive yourself with fanciful futures.
Do not conceal yourself with trivial discussion, and behaviors.
Do not repudiate this struggle and this day.
Do not replace for pleasure this pain.
Do not dismiss yourself from this man, or this woman.
If you would only stop and Look. Listen. Feel.
You too could hear the agonized soundings of the lyre-
and better know the songs and moods of our many worlds.
Animal Cages