By the time of the fresh green pine. The trees.
They stood their full spring. In their tender green
Branches. They reached straight up as if pulling
Some unseen mark. The years of new growth seen
Only with time to look. Both the new green
And the two men in dark suits. Of man. Birds
And eggs. Frogs. Mice. Rats. And snakes. Existence
Pulled out of their jacket pockets. Hidden
In plain sight. Circumcision. Prayer times. Day.
The sharp black and green parallel lines. Black
Copies of playboys. Off the top of my
Head, they don’t exist in nature. But they
State, come with us, the black and green of life
Your eyes can only pick out when it moves.
The Old Itch and Blister
Straight. It never was, by stories. He had
Some type of “toothpaste” if it fit the wall.
If it wasn’t too small. We’d prop it up
On another piece of scrap and smoke it
As if it were more. When I had tried to
Split the slop we had left bent hanging. It
Wasn’t like weed. But they were supposed to
Expand and contract with the weather. Or
You know. Something like that. We figured it
Would work. I told him that. But that is how
We did things. We took a stab, and it showed
In our work with the itch and blister and
The biting our lips. But in the end,
It got done. Didn’t it? It did. It did.
In applying for this position, I
Rose pledging phantom scented seraphim.
I rose being gravely injured. I rose
To bash the head with a mortal sneeze. To
Promote the burning flag’s area. To
Make me the perfect pick. To contradict
The customer service pro. The lefty
Way of life. The ever heart of Google.
I am a dirt venture. I am any
Countryside attraction where there was a
Raccoon to mount. I am the city. I
Am the taxidermist. I am the stink
Wafting from the carcass. Pregnant. Bloated.
You are only a short drive from either.
Legal time on the island of zombies
Notched Greek wolves can masturbate over their
Bringing Truth to modernity. Ravens
May circle by the fly’s swarm, to their gloom.
The fictions of the wolves lies in a warm
And sticky pool And Complete Castillo
Understands the jest that steams in the sun.
Of Romulus and Remus, was this the
Better part? A Roman penny not too
Aerodynamic as blackened beak pulls
It from the muck. The hall to hell in my
Legal time on the island of zombies
Chasing away the ravens to see what
Wolves left. I am the one tan and foamy.
A curious cat practicing the think.
A Twist on the Dark and Stormy
Start with pure agave Tequila and
Its hint of pepper. Mix it with the warm
Bite of ginger beer poured over ice in
A tall glass. Garnish the rim with a lime
Wedge. Squeeze the lime into the drink and drop
In the husk. Take a sip. The fizz tickles
Your nose as you stifle a sneeze each time
You refill your glass. You would think you would
Learn. Each time your drink is more Tequila
Less ginger beer. And you are drinking this
Because you are too drunk to keep making
That gourmet margarita recipe
You ripped off from the Food Network website.
And you thought your fiends wouldn’t find you out.
Welcome to Huddle House: Let’s Eat
Come in and get some of our fresh coffee.
It’s only slightly burnt. Or you could try
A big glass of our famous southern style,—
Damn the diabetes—ice cold, sweet tea.
Thick enough to pour over your pancakes.
You’ll love the sight of an open kitchen.
Say “Hi” to the beltless chef and his crack.
His specialty is four strips of bacon
With bits of fried trash. One piece is rat shit.
And don’t forget to stay for the hearty
Heaps of handpicked and deep fried horses butt holes.
Nothing better than beer and buttermilk
Battered butt holes, Pounded until tender,
Drizzled to dripping in savory sauce.
That Fucking Monopoly Game
Just my luck. A bank error in my favor.
More money than we could possibly have.
We went out for dinner and drinks before
The groceries and diapers. Wife ignored my
Mention the shorter line. God fucking damn!
Last minute cigarettes. The longest line
In Mississippi. The fucking tobacco line.
The “I ain’t got enough money to feed
My own kids, but I’m sure as hell going
To fill my lungs with tar” line. When the bank
Fucks up, they take back their money on their
Terms. Not yours. But that’s just it. Isn’t it?
Life is that fucking Monopoly game.
You just spend until you’re all fucking broke.
Do You Hear What I Say? Do You Notice?
The partial eclipse. A humid day in
August when your eyes sting with sweat as you
Pile more trash on the fire to find
The cutting edge. Do you know how bright and
Opaque in nature and work? Does your skin
Know how to find the answers? Does the
Ash fall down like snow melting into the
Sweat in your eyebrows? Does each drop mark you
In long streaks? Does the lily in the field
Fill your lungs? Burn your eyes? Does the bee know
The angry communist to be happy
When she has subjugated the world? Will
I notice? Does it matter? Do I care?
Doesn’t the bullfrog song lull you to sleep?
Reality as its own Simulacra
Hungry-Man mesquite flavored fried chicken
Fresh out of the microwave. McDonalds
Boneless McRib sandwich. Yoo-hoo chocolate
Milk-like substance. Tofurkey. Facebook
Friends you never hang out with. Internet
Community of antisocial fucks.
A red and blue fauxhawked rebel wearing
A pleather jacket. A fast food worker
Who won’t get off the smartphone long enough
To take your order. Prefabricated
Housing with a Jaguar in the driveway.
A trailer park whore’s professionally
Manicured set of press on nails. A self-
Referencing shit post described as high art.
A felt vibration of wind, in a word.
Ridding the winds of Hurricane Matthew.
Ephemeral slight of meaningless words.
Up from the rock strewn friction chips signaled
Itself relax. Those who escaped the rock
Were lost. For my part, I swam. On that rock,
The stone music led and had envisioned
The deep, the stone. This was the cornerstone
Had the cornerstone happened. The white line
In the water. To clean his catch on man,
God’s eyes watered the dew point like a ghost.
Took water, and rose up the stately streets
Between the high wave that rose up in him
In the blowing in off the lapping waves.
It Doesn’t Mean What You Think it Means
The one you said right now?
Yeah, I said it…
I was a child once.
Of course I said it
Every word that could offend.
And ones I made up.
I visited the depths
And came back.
I know you think I’m thinking it now.
But I’m not.
I came back stronger
With a valuable knowledge.
You see it in my eyes
And you envy it.
That ability for darkness
That makes me a man.
The Cosby Show Band
And Bill Cosby
All joined a band hand in hand
To violate the sleeping woman.
To Amy Gerstler Regarding Hoffnung
Cunts that taste like mustard?
Are we talking hot and sweet,
Or brown and spicy
With the earthy hit of turmeric?
Horseradish or none?
It is very important to know
How horsey you think a cunt should be.
What about hot Chinese mustard?
You know a little goes a long way.
It could burn out your taste buds
And leave you unable to differentiate
Between all others.
But a little in the bottom of your bowl
Mixed liberally with soy sauce
It becomes a savory delight
Suitable for dipping all of your
Favorite Asian dishes.
It brightens up eggrolls, chicken on a stick,
And all those questionable sushi rolls
That really shouldn’t be
On the Chinese buffet anyway.
It is even great on the deep fried
Apple pie pockets that you mistook
For a chicken or pork filled dumpling.
It is so good that you might even
Find yourself licking it straight off your fingers.
Willing to send out thousands of resumes and never actually get hired.
Can write sentences that don’t have a subject.
Able to agonize over every interview question causing the interviewer to think that I am an idiot.
Willing to be transracial if it will get me the job.
Willing to sleep my way to the top.
Can leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Will spend my time at work filling out applications for better jobs.
Can spend hours on Twitter.
Able to look like I am working while never completing a task.
Able to hide being under the influence at work.
Ability to tell dirty jokes in the work environment without getting fired for harassment.
Willing to watch YouTube when I should be working.
Willing to work hard when the boss is watching.
Can fart on command.
They call me the moist maker.
Has knowledge needed to breathe through a snorkel.
Master of Useless trivia.
Willing to bartend for all company parties.
Know how to spell potato.
Can make very timely Dan Quail Jokes.
Able to tweet about fake news at 3 am.
Able to out stupid the current President of the United States.
Some, by Voting
Some, by voting, see lessons
Through the United States.
They of unskilled lynchings, in apartments,
Are your votes for Donald Trump.
They, the contradictory family,
Are forced to beg the artist.
By the emperor’s order, I swam
On their fears about suffering.
As a way to diminish you,
A better happier worker.
I slept about eight days
beginning where all was lost.
Becoming terrible, sober, opposite.
Daybreak, Coffee, and a Cup Holder
The sun shone orange through the trees
Rending the world, the highway, and all its cars
In silhouette and shades of grey.
The Road to Resurrection
I drove out facing the layer of cappuccino
Across the darkened sky. An alien scene,
Fields of brown and tan giving way to teal skies
And orange clouds like a dream.
This scene faded into the steel grey murk
Of overcast morning traffic.
Barren hills, green and brown. Skeletal trees.
Dry and dormant cracked asphalt rolls ribbon,
Cuts its way to resurrection.