Symptom

“You ever see more than normal things in the sun?” Dave asked
“No” I said “I don’t even know what you mean”
Dave was staring at the sun
I could see the sun in the reflection of his eyes
“You ever feel like time travel is possible?” he asked without moving
“No” I said
“You ever – ” Dave started
“You ever shut the fuck up!” I interrupted “I’m trying to get likes”
“That’s stupid”
“You’re stupid”
“No you are”
“Nice fucking poem” Dave said turning to see me writing what we were saying
“Go to hell” I said “symptom”
“What?”
“Symptom” I said “you’re a symptom”
“A symptom of what?!”
“I don’t know.  Bad reasoning?” I said
I thew a pencil and it went through Dave
He looked down at his chest
Where the pencil had gone through
And then looked up at me sheepish
“I’m not real?” he said
“No” I said
“What then?” Dave asked sounding surprised
“A symptom of my illness” I said and popped a cornball in my mouth

Gay Science

There came a man out of science
His face was rose
And his diet was safe
He grew potatoes and in the summer
Began to date
The man he dated was from December
He had so many tattoos
He couldn’t remember
Their love grew and grew and grew
Until they married
And the reverend said “Barry do you take Gary?”
And the man out of science
Who loved the man from December
Became the gay men they wanted to be
For as long as either could remember
And both worked hard
To make their bank account grow with their deposits
And one day they flew away to Portugal
Both out of the closet
And many thanked the man out of science
They said he was the genius
With a larger than normal lenience
But the man from December
No one could remember
And long after their lives
The science alone survived
And the two husbands
Were buried side by side

Middles

They played fiddles in puddles
And fiddled with puzzles
Piddled in muzzles
They wore nylons and were violent with violins
Many would say many would play any which way
The cello was yellow and played by a nice fellow who also bellowed
“Hello to the mellow!”
There were guitars in the litter and a bitter attitude to writers
And tighter and tighter
Wound the strings
As the players squeezed the tuners
Drinking schooners
And boomers
Eating shroomers and “doom hurts” the maestro blurts
And someone dies the ambulance removes him
And everyone cries as all the music soothes them
We love each person on earth
And do not want to lose them
And love
Is cheap and invented but unpretentious and unended
By people who pretend it
They played and diddled on fiddles and riddles in strange highs
And lows
And middles

In The Morning

In the morning
When a big smiling sun rose slowly from my laundry
And birds tweeted and chirped
And published poems
In the dewy dawn
And someone somewhere became someone
And a sock in the sunrise
And the plain universe without whip cream
And doors to pain
And no meaning
In the morning
In the dog smelly early hours
And flowers
And unwashed dishes and a cloth that smells off
And a lone pair
Of underwear
Hanging from an unlit lamp
Damp
Light creeping
As the tea is steeping
And the crack
The crevice
Which fragments inside me deep enough and –
Deepening

 

Stop Being A Feminist

“Stop being a feminist” said a man at the door to hell
“I’m not” I said “I’m a guy.  What are you talking about?  Is this really hell or what?”
The man sneered
And a grotesque bit of snot hung from his bulbous nose
“Or….” I said uncertain “is it heaven?”
“Whatever you prefer” said the man and he opened the gates to hell
The fire blazed skyward
And people with socks in their mouths wriggled in the flame
“Are you sure I’m dead?” I asked scratching my head “I don’t want to go in there”
“Nobody is ever dead” said the man and smiled sarcastically “you still think it’s heaven?”
“I’m actually an atheist” I said “so I’m rather surprised that I am at these gates and not the other”
“The other?” he said raising his eyebrows
“Dead forever” I said
“Dead forever has no meaning” said the man
“Are you the devil then or are you God?” I asked
“I’m not neither” said the man
“Who then?” I asked
“Stop being a feminist” he said and slapped me
“I was just asking who you were” I said rubbing my sore cheek
“Well this is what it is and I am what I am” he said
And from behind him he grabbed a trident
“And you will suffer” he said
And stabbed me with it
I howled in pain
And awoke in a spasm and the bible fell off my bed
“Maybe I should read something else before bed” I thought

The Choo Choo

Men live in the choo choo
Used up by feminism
And toys and guns and a fleeting libido
Men live in the princesses castle
And jump around in the bouncy world of love
With a secret desire
To be a beast and go nutbar
And be an asshole
Men live in the ding ding ding ding
And they smile
“I want to kill” they say to themselves “but that’s not rational”
So they play with pokemon
And dance
And jump around in the bouncy world of love
As though
They could never be conscripted to war
Or smack another mans face for insulting them
Or stick a pitchfork into a bale
Or survive hail
Men live in the broooom broooom
And moon
And mutter “I’ll be dead soon”
Men live in the choo choo
In the sauce
And they take what love they are given
And are lost

Farty

Farty lived in a cage of his own fart
And as he farted he felt and smelt
The art of the fart
He tried to have dinner with a girl but he farted so loud
She left
Embarrassed and hiding from the crowd
That gathered to smell
And complain and went:
“He didn’t fart in the bathroom like a gent!”
Farty ended up alone in a fart
He farted and smelt power in his fart
The art of the fart
And when he died his corpse laid among his family and friends
And no one mentioned the farts that were his end
And the pastor said some words
And there was a faint smell of turds
From the open casket
And suddenly a fart so big it blew the walls out
And everyone died inside the funeral hall
From the fart
That killed them
They puked and climbed over each other and Farty
With his art of the fart
Let go
One last superfart and it blew all skyward into a mushroom cloud
And broke every eardrum in a 90 mile radius
It was so loud