i imagined more mockingbirds…
i imagined more mockingbirds…
On Max Ernst’s ‘Two children are menaced by a nightingale’
Oh shit, a nightingale!
B.B. gun madness…
alas, the lad missed.
Down came mama
to rip out their
gizzards and feed it
to her young.
“Isn’t this the bird
spoken of in love
the sister right before
her eyeballs were
ripped out by two
love scorned talons.
“uh yeah,” replied ol’ bro,
hurdling the fence and
taking off with the fear
of the Devil in him.
Slingshotting marbles at two lovers
I was 12 vacationing
in Lawton, Oklahoma,
named after the general
who fought in 3 wars
and tracked down Geronimo.
After feeding the prarie dogs,
me and my step bro went
hiking for adventure.
We didn’t find bears–
we found bares!
Yes, two nude lovers
going at it in the
swaying green grasses.
They were young and new
to the art of love, i’ll bet.
That’s when i whipped out
a handmade wooden
slingshot an uncle gave me
and let loose thru the dove-coo wind
the most colorful marbles the world
has ever seen.
I’m sure i pegged one of them
right before climax and that
they broke up shortly thereafter
and never made love in the wild
On “The Blessed Virgin Chastises the Infant
Jesus Before Three Witnesses: AndrÃ© Breton, Paul Ã‰luard, and the Painter”,
painted by Max Ernst in 1926
She cleaned his rump of crap and piss,
For neither resembled heavenly bliss.
Then went to put on his jaÃ§anas diaper…
“Bitch, screw that!” he sassed her,
So she tanned his ass till it bled,
Yes, many a blessed tear did he shed,
–Jesus had the fear of Jesus put in him,
And now holds still for the holy desitin.
Mythological Cheese Poem,
or Robins like cheese
and Blackbirds eat dog food
A little talked about tidbit
from mythology is that
Medusa had sisters.
They lived in townhouses
carved from caves
in Northern Italy.
They would leave out
harps and angel wings
for the local kids to play
with then turn them
to stone and sell them
at the market as ‘cherub
statues’.They went well
with gardens and fountains–
it was a keen side-business.
But the townspeople were
pissed at having lost their
dear children not to mention
the free child labor they
could get out of them.
One day a goat farmer
decided to try and put
an end to their illicit
“Listen up you Gorgon
bitches! The gig is up!
No more plaster of Paris
everyone will boycott
your operation! I’m
gonna teach you something
new–how to make cheese!”
And that’s where we get
Random Glamour Poem
a friend pointed out the wasp nest in a disco ball
but it was only an old DNA result showing Barry Gibb
was my dad. I took a cable car to his mountain mansion
and we baked gingerbread men while jamming
to Barry White, Jack White, Jack Black, and Skrillex.
Then he strapped a handglider to my ass and rochambeaued me
off the cliff to give me manhood.
I tripped out on Mexican Coffee Liqueur skies
and the dazzlesnatch sugar highs of one dance
dumpster-churning whiteboy dramamata wholesail oneness retailed…
i dreamed that Pope John Paul and Darth Maul
tossed down meth-candy to claydo newborns from their
Sistine/Sith fleet of hot-air balloons floating like dead
lightning bug husks thru europe’s museum districts…
i envisioned Pee Wee Herman and Macho Man Randy Savage
on the Liberterian Ticket for tag team presidents solving debt,
death, and sex tax…
i saw Evel Knieval ramping over his life-long merchandise
on a Vespa motorscooter while doggie styling the Octomom…
Then Russell Brand slipped heroin into Michelle Bachman’s
Sweet and Low, 69′ed, and all our soldiers left Afganistan
to liberate Tibet.
Navy Seals stole all of China’s pandas, America started
making its own toys, and Jacky Chan got sent to Guatanomo.
Tone LÅc and Loki got the bloc-party started with a castrol
pie-eating ‘Dancing With the Buttfuckers’ pukefest while
in the meantime Casey Anthony and Anthony Wiener mudwrestled
in chocolate jello conceiving duck-taped hell-spawn for a
Some say that bitch Mother Nature longs to reclaim it’s own, to defeat man, to volcano all of civilization into one ice-tray cube mass
of blobby excrement and laugh satanicly into the faces of the strong, dainty, and damned.
i think it’s already too late for that–it’s the weak shit-beaten
hopeful you have to worry about–they’ll do just enough work to buy
video games and play them till the universe burns to a crisper
leaving a well-done meal for crows, ravens, and carrion tweeters…