This Imposing, Foolish Dog

I could lay in bed and make love all day-
my love, I really could.
"I love to make love," she says,
but I knew I could mean it more.

We can make it if we try,
try to climax at once.
When the morning came
she was a sweaty passion,
a juicy lust, a moist want.

And I want!
So I took (and I take)
a woman's keeper,
the forgotten young virgin.
A young man's loins
are nothing to be trifled with.

Don't play with me woman.
Make a lust towards me and
come here.
Sluff off your shiver
and come and make love to me.

The Unowned Thrones

We are regaled by them for many hours
by men who come and go,
so when they come they scream
“sorry I am late!”
and when we go they shriek
“wait, I’m not done yet!”

And there we are left with our faces hanging open-
gaping maws drooling on a piles or recyclable paper
too heavy for even the most qualified of janitors to persuade

And there are our germs left clinging to our thrones,
the ones that no one seems to own
but our lazy, ragged bones.

Paper Money

How much do you lie to yourself?
Does it sting when your pen won't swing?
Do you wallow when your lead is hollow?
Do you scratch and itch
when the tone and pitch
won't cut it for the punks or rich?

I am sure
(but what is my worth)
this all will be solved by paper.
Whether it be cash or print,
my life-long goal
will be in either stint!

Fluorescent Nothing Junk in Dumb Lib

these illiterate bombs of flesh

insist on pretending to read-

if you close your eyes

you can hear them exploding.

if they pressed their noses to the carpet

I'm sure they would find what they're looking for-

a cocaine truck on a bridge to their brain's.

New Year's Eve inside a library,

letting the wind chill me

through a shattered window-

a plated visual.

they came with intent, they came with purpose,

but they all flop down and start clicking and humming

and they feed off the strong avec vulture-like beaks.

I wake up on a grayish,

freckled carpet, hard staples

like clinging to my teeth cheek-

fluorescent sleep for a week.

I saw some Asians surfing on a database,

Indians fire-watching on a calculator-

why do they insist on being cannibals?

If I let my sleep fall under a four-legged table,

I'm sure they'd all scramble like eggs just to wallow.

With wool socks, I could chase these vultures

and catch them in my broken, shattered teeth-

what a literary, (explative) feast!

will they have fresh coffee?

stale doughnuts and tea?

If I sleep in too late

you'll be sorry for free

The Spot Where It Used To Be

I left her with my ring round her finger,
kept her tiger's eye chain,
but it choked me while it lingered.
I could only leave it there awhile-
the weight of an anvil is far too much to bare.
What is this taste I make so vile?

I love you woman.
I said I loved you wretch!
But I heeded to an omen
from an old gray man in a moustache.
What is to bare now
but a bottle of wine and my stash.

I had dreams about you
and yet ones I still sleep around.
Did you think I was a shrew?
I treated your love with flaw
like a child born still-
Now this heart is just a gaping maw.

The Pitiful, Honourable Envy

I caught death's eye,
his occular rampart
out the corner of mine own.
I quivered in his cool majesty-
I cried under the steel weight,
and when I thought it was over,
he plucked me from my purgatous stew.

A story-telling Spartan,
one with no right eye
had a greater fortune of dodging the devil
I suppose.
At the very least he had a shield.

I have two blinking eyelids.

I'm the Green Machine

Sail,

you to me,
on your broken leg in the open sea.
See a whale while he's gazing there
and wond'ring what's in the air.
He ponders over it
while we twitch and gnit

like ratta-tats out a thinking gun,
or water drops on a broken drum.

I know where you stand
so I'll shake you with my broken hand.
But I won't shake you hard
cause you're just a baby, not a guard,
and that would just be mean.

I'm the green machine,
woman. Play me with your girlish
and I do the things you wish.