That Special Someone

I don’t want to date a pretty face or great tits.  I want to date a girl who will yell at me.  I want her to tell me I am a horrible person and smash glass bottles on my head.  She should threaten to leave me every step of the way, and should say things to me like “you are an asshole” and “I am a bad person for spending time with you.”  I want to date someone who will get me out of bed every morning, aggressively, and tell me to stop whining like a little child with a spider bite.  When I ask her if we can hold hands in public, she should use my hand to hit me in the stomach.  For my birthday, she should give me an already open bag of rice, and among the rice, she should mix in dead spiders.  If I ever tell her I love her, her response should be “you are ugly and I am leaving town for two weeks.”  Her pupils should look like canons.  Also, what I said about a pretty face and great tits; she should have that stuff too.

Steady

Drinking water is a
lot like breathing air.
That’s it.

The Outermost Forest

I.

There was an event, with pretty faces shining
and it was all within a moment.  The event
happened under a chandelier of white light
and the white light was in their eyes.  It was in their teeth
and their teeth were a lot like their eyes in that moment.
They were the kind of teeth and eyes that are worth
touching but not holding on to.

II.

Oh look.  There is a pile of feces.
I enjoy it as an object that obviously is
meaningless and isolated.  Why don’t you
sniff it.  Okay.  Maybe I will.  I mean,
I haven’t been depressed in a while.
This could be just what the doctor ordered.
Yep.  That smells pretty
horrible, just as I expected.  The doctor is unkind
although I think he has my best interests in mind.

III.

There are many red lights
alone in the woods.
I am moving toward them.
I have been afraid of them
for a very long time.

IV.

One campfire is clearly bigger than the other
but that is beside the point.
The point is that one campfire is
patiently hotter than the other.

V.

How come you don’t understand what I’m telling you?
I’m telling you right now what I have been through
but you are not listening, and I think you are ignoring me
because you have been afraid like I have been.
That is a mistake.
You are faking many things.

VI.

Listen to me, even though I am saying nothing.
You must try to listen and understand
that I am saying so much.  I know
this whole thing is forced and dishonest
but that’s exactly it.  That’s where it sets up tent.
That’s where the fox burrows in the cold cold snow
knowing the cold cold words cannot
possibly live up to the actual snow
which is cold, and cold again.

Not Even Baby Talk

My grandma’s cat is pretty stupid.  It plays with pen caps like some kind of mindless idiot.  It pretends the caps are its children or something, because it gets really loud and makes whiny mom noises.  It paws at them for hours and looks down at them like it’s saying, “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”  It won’t shut up about those caps.

Whenever you walk close to the kitchen drawer where the pens are kept, the cat goes buck wild, jumping all over the place and everything.  She makes this noise like a cat version of howling.  She can’t even control herself.

All her racket really gets to you, so you give her a pen cap, and then she’s off to making those weird mom noises.  It’s fascinating at first because of all the noise and the flipping out, but then you can’t talk to it about why it does that stuff, so what’s the point in being fascinated?

The thing that ends up being fascinating is that people try to ask the cat why it does what it does with the caps.  I ask my grandma why she keeps talking to the cat, but all she says is that the cat is fascinating.  I tell her I don’t think it’s that fascinating, and she tells me I would if I didn’t think about it so much.  But then I’m thinking, thinking is what causes fascination, so I don’t even know what she’s talking about.

I walk into the kitchen, and the cat gets all crazy when I walk by the pen drawer, and all I can think is that my grandma thinks the cat is a person.  That’s got to be it.  Why else would she talk to it, unless she’s really just talking to herself?

The Old Coma Try

If I was in a coma, I’d be really pissed off.
It’s life’s version of death, but life doesn’t know anything
about death.  So it’s like asking someone
if they want to experience good’s version of evil
but all good can do is abandon you and loiter in the distance.

Whoever invented the coma is worse
than the person who invented jigsaw puzzles.
Even though jigsaw puzzles lose their pizzazz
at least you can stop doing them.  The guy on the news
can’t just stop being in a coma.  He’s got to lay there
like some fallen statue and take it, while his mind
bounces through the realm of looming precipices.

No one can ask him what he needs.
He currently has no favorite food or drink.
Why aren’t we surrounding him and kissing
his cinched lips to see if that’ll do the trick?
He needs to know we are all watching him
in a collective coma of attempted empathy.

In our minds we are raising the dead for you, sir.
I don’t know how else to address him right now.

Published in Dogzplot

Head over to Dogzplot, and you’ll notice
they chose to publish my poem I Heart Hiroshima.

Thanks Dogzplot.

Disillusionment in Self-Awareness

This one time, I started doing something.  Before too long, I started doing something else because I got sick of the other thing I was doing.  The new thing I was doing was really great, but then I started getting sick of it too, so then I had to find something else to do.

The next thing I started doing was less entertaining than how the previous thing started, but more entertaining than how the previous thing ended, so it wasn’t horrible.  It was actually pretty fun, because in the grand scheme of things, it was much better than lots of other things I could have been doing.  I started getting tired of it, though, so I stopped doing it.

By then, my brain was leading me to my bedroom, so I followed and started lying down in the dark.  I got pretty tired of lying awake, so I started sleeping.  When I had enough of that, I woke up and was pretty excited to find something new to do.  There was a problem, though.  When I woke up, all I could see was light.  I didn’t know what to do with light, so I tried to go back to sleep.  I couldn’t sleep, though, so I tried not to do anything.

After a year or so, I became really good at doing nothing in the light, which was helpful because I had wasted many years getting bored and trying to find new things to do.  The light felt really nice.  I presumed that if I didn’t spend my time doing something, I wouldn’t age, which turned out to be true, so I stopped aging.  However, I realized that the light was gradually dimming.

I started missing my old way of living, so I imagined what it would be like to start doing something again.  But the light kept leaving, and, it turns out, I wanted it to stay.  The whole thing made me pretty angry, actually, because I didn’t know if I should do something or not.  I ended up doing nothing but I did think for a long time, and then I realized I was tired, so I went to sleep when the light was almost gone.  I didn’t know what it would be like to wake up, so I tried not to think about it.

Where Else but Elsewhere?

In the corner of the county
coroner’s office, the walls sweat
beads of golden Corona while he dreams
of a non-comatose life in the tropics,
somewhere where his palms can sweat
not because of nerves, but because
it is hot and wet, and the button up t-shirts
are detailed with sunset shades
and silhouettes of palm trees.
He wants to be somewhere where the tits are free
to show some skin, where the showgirls
can peak out of bar windows and unfurl
their bras with streaking smirks
and stiff, suggestive brows.
He gets stiff just thinking about it

but he sniffs the autopsy stiffs
from his office and is sucked out of his
imagination, back to the officer’s station
answering phone calls about missing persons
and untagged sacks of guts with holes in them.
Many of the bodies that pass through
have full young heads of hair that had still
grown with opportunity, in youthful spurts
and he studies the features on their faces
for any emotion at all that could suggest a response
to an afterlife, where the boldest dream scenes come true
behind doors that line the walls of an unending hallway.

An Exhaustive List of Things that are Funny to Hump

Asteroids
Bowls of pretzels
Elephant ears (the treats)
The ears of live elephants
The ears of dead elephants, stuffed with elephant ears (the treats)
The ears of dead elephants, stuffed with the ears of other dead elephants
Bowls of live elephant trunks
Bowls of dead elephant trunks
Bowls filled with smaller bowls
Bowls of Chex Mix
Bowls of bits of asteroids
Bowls of Chex Mix mixed with bits of asteroids
Bowls of Chex Mix mixed with dead elephant eyeballs
Piles of bowls of Chex Mix mixed with dead elephant ears, stuffed with elephant ears (the treats)
Piles of large chunks of asteroids
One ear from a dead elephant rolled up like a burrito
One ear from a live elephant stuffed with Chex Mix and rolled up like pigs in a blanket
One enormous pretzel the size of the John Hancock building
The John Hancock building, stuffed with dead elephant trunks
Bowls of souvenir John Hancock building models
Human vaginas
Human assholes
Human vaginas stuffed with pretzels
Human vaginas stuffed with asteroid dust
Asteroids covered in human vaginas
Asteroids covered with bowls of elephant ears (the treats)
Asteroids colliding with other asteroids
Asteroids colliding with elephants
Asteroids covered with elephants, colliding with the John Hancock building
Replicas of the John Hancock building made out of human assholes
Replicas of human assholes made out of Chex Mix
Replicas of human vaginas made out of human assholes
Replicas of the ears of live elephants made out of bowls of Chex Mix
Replicas of bowls of Chex Mix made out of elephant ears (the treats)
A pile of prints of this disgusting poem
A replica of a pile of prints of this disgusting poem made out of Chex Mix
Asteroids shouting the words of this disgusting poem
Elephants getting off to the words of this disgusting poem
Yourself in another dimension
Yourself as an elephant ear (the treat)
Yourself as another dimension
Yourself as a replica of an ear of a live elephant made out of elephant ears (the treats)
Yourself as a human vagina
Yourself as a pretzel in a bowl of Chex Mix being humped by an elephant
Yourself as God
Yourself as Creator of asteroids bound for earth
Yourself as someone else in a bowl filled with clones of yourself
Someone else eating Chex Mix
Someone else riding an elephant made out of pieces of the John Hancock building
Someone else inside a burrito
Someone else who is pretending to be you and you are a replica of a model of the John Hancock building
A burning pile of Bibles
A burning pile of copies of the book The God Delusion
A replica of a burning pile of books about atheism that have not yet been written
One cubic inch of the hottest fire ever created
A burning bush made out of dead elephant trunks
An enormous pretzel being crucified
The entrance to a tomb from which dead elephants have been resurrected, after three days of being in elephant hell, where the nature of existence is that of constant poaching
VHS tapes of footage of 9/11 that you found when you did a YouTube search for the word “fuck”
VHS tapes of footage of you saying “the world is weird”
VHS tapes of footage of you humping VHS tapes of footage of you humping VHS tapes of footage of you alone in an empty room
VHS tapes of footage of you talking about your repressed childhood memories
VHS tapes of footage of you humping video footage of you talking about your repressed childhood memories
VHS tapes of footage of you talking about never humping inanimate objects ever again
VHS tapes of footage of you humping lots of inanimate objects while crying
A diary in which you confessed that you humped many inanimate objects after saying you wouldn’t
A second diary in which you discussed the benefits of humping the trunks of live elephants, filled with pretzels
A third diary in which you drew pictures of yourself humping an asteroid-sized elephant rocketing through space, with a tail that streaked like a painter’s stroke off of the canvas, because the painter had become sick of limitations
A fourth diary in which you scorned all previous diaries
A pile of books denoted as “required reading for the insane”
A pile of books denoted as “non-required reading for the sane”
A pile of books donated to the sane from the insane
A pile of the insane
A pile of bones of the insane
A pile of insane bones of the sane
A pile of insane pretzels
A tiny bit of a pretzel
An empty bag of pretzels
An empty shelf where a bag of pretzels once rested
A plot of land on which once sat a house with cages that held the insane
A sinkhole that once held a house
A pile of pictures of elephants falling into chasms
A pile of pictures of yourself falling asleep
A bowl of rubber molds of your own vagina
A person telling you to shut up
A person telling you to shut up
A person telling you to shut up
Etcetera

Single White Engendered Thing Seeking Other Half of Jigsaw Puzzle

As a man with a vagina
in between two penises
I consider myself a feminist.

I understand the whole estrogen thing
because I carry some in a pouch
behind all of my balls.

I love jigsaw puzzles and
my favorite color is that of raw ground beef
just starting to sizzle in a frying pan.

More than likely, you are intimidated
by the amount of genitalia I have
but it’s okay because I’m fond of tickle fights!

Just because I am able to ejaculate
out of either dick, into my vagina
doesn’t mean I can impregnate myself.

Please contact me if you have
two vaginas and a dick.