9.30.2007

Danger is Chafing


Dangerous James was fired twice
from the Swedish Trained Killing Machine.
He wept, and blubbered, and boo hoo'd each time.
He wanted to kill, but his hands were so small!
He wanted to crush, but his crushing muscles grew sore!
After tomorrow's crushing practice, it'll be three cheeseburgers and a pill and a pill.

Fat secret agents have feelings.

Dynamite Freaks vs. Movie People




If someone gave me space to build a skyscraper.
Why...I'd build one.
Build one would I.
Tall and sleek. And dynamite freaks
would touch themselves. Thinking of the possibilities.


But.


If someone gave me a quiet place,
unworthy of explosive tastes.
I'd build an outhouse.
With textured twin rotating screens.
And movie people would watch me pee in cold weather.

Fiasco the Dead


God shot geese and shit blood.
This dilemma is trite and should have burned before it could
Get deep so quick.
Bing Bong. A coffin, fit with nail.
Is dead. Quite fittedly spread, wide open, and dead.
Fiasco the dead.
Try calling the train when the phone machine's dead.


9.17.2007

Gridiron Heroes

Hail the colors blue and silver let them wave.
Sing their song and cheer the Gridiron Heroes brave,
Fighting for fame, winning the game,
Dashing to victory as they go.

Forward down the field,
A charging team that will not yield.
And when the blue and silver wave,
Stand and cheer the brave.
Rah. Rah. Rah.
Go hard, win the game.
With honor you will keep your fame.
Down the field again,
A Lion victory!

Go Lions!

9.14.2007

Nice Flood: Epoch I


Nice Howses grow on Nice Howse Trees. In Nice Tree Forests. And in these Nice Howse Trees climb Nice Howse Lemurs, and sloths and banana slugs. And the Nice Tree Forest animals are graciously surveilled by nice wildlife photographers, full of ambition and somewhat good intentions.


Along the quietest border of the Nice Tree Forest lives the Mean Shoot of Bamboo. His family, wise from the generations, kept the harsh winds from the Nice Tree Forest. Until one particularly long rainy season when a wet scream bore down on the world. And the very skin of Earth began to crawl and shift like a hundred worms cramped in a dead man's wallet. And the dirt blanket squished itself a new existence, warped proportionally, and resembled little of its former self...



I found myself on a lone street in a long forgotten section of town. Perhaps it was by chance. Possibly fate. Might have been Aliens that snatched me while I slept, had their way with me, then dropped me off. Who's to say.

Regardless of how, there I stood. A long swatch of concrete pointed out from my toes as if they were in need of a good trim. (Oh did I forget to mention that I was totally nude 'cept for the jean-shorts and faded Motley Crew t-shirt I had on?) Tall buildings flanked my right. On my left were buildings identical to those on the right, except that's not the hand I write with.

The only sounds I heard were of the concrete growing. Stretching and moaning faintly in the breeze. If you've ever been thirteen and lied awake in bed at night you'll know the sound in which I speak. Although growing concrete has a tad more earthy sound to it.

I was completely content to stand there. Listening. Receding. I image now that those Aliens, the ones that were so kind to give me a lift, had looked down to see the sea of grey stone expanding while the speck that was Me slowly fading away.

9.13.2007

Robot Hands


You and your clan have robot hands,
Tugging and toiling in gardenless anguish.
Your teeth chime like metal flowers
In a sawblade windstorm.

This is the green earth.
Its dirt kin fabuloso.
Fish, fowl and famine!
So what if rain comes on Sundays?

Keep your robot hands in your robot pockets.
What? No pockets?!
No, you pantless rogue!
Gepetto laughs last!
Here's a flowerpot for your ass!