Jealousy congeals within the stable
Swifter, surer-footed, and more worthy
Specimens paw the brittle earth
Pointed huffs and neighs zing
Like daggers towards the favorite
Donner menaces
Leers in his direction

Cowed
Rudolph unsuccessfully strains
To conceal the ridiculous glow

Blitzen rears and threatens
The tension crests
Starts to shatter
But then…

The stable door opens
A jolly round figure appears silhouetted against the light
A spiritual hush falls over the room

If cats had tombstones
You could easily trip
And crunch your ribs
On the next grave
So long ago
Our forefathers
Decided against
Honoring our pets

In the 900,000 year history
Of the human race
We have yet to be invaded
By a race of hot dog-like
Warrior beings from another planet

Some scientists speculate
It is because of our perfectly-shaped-for-
Hot-dog-shredding mandibles, or
Our ideal-for-gripping-hot-dog shaped hands

But, really, who puts much stock in anything
Those Burger scientists say, anyways?

Wooden Cat
Quietly carved from a tree
In the earliest part of the morning
For a grandma
Known for her exquisite casserole
And rather lackluster bras

Young hobos are dangerously ignorant
Of common-law East-Texas train terminology
- Such as “Old Shreve” -
For the 10:45 out of Shreveport
Those dipshits
Usually call it the “10:45″ !!
Even though there is also a 10:45
Out of Dayton
That comes ’round mornings
Before they’ve woke their asses up

Ice cream cuddle cat
Cozy on the couch
Waddle your fluff
It’s time to watch Alf

beautiful girl, all around
by Gene Defcon

He thinks about Love and Heaven
Like mayonaisse on a fireman’s pole
A peach with a golden worm eating a tunnel
A shrunken scientist living inside an oyster
A deep breath of cosmic gas
The Janitor, in the park, lying on the grass with the beautiful girl

all
around

It only takes thirty seconds
For a cop to kill a cat
When money’s involved

Overlong poodle blond
Thought in my mind

Painfully reasoned
To dissolution

Hoo, hey
Feel like a low
Brick wall in the sun

Now forever oozing

I cover my hands with disgusting pens
It feels good to clinch and unclinch
Beneath this mountain
Every movement sends dirty pens
Cascading down and the mountain grows wider
To place more pens on the top
I must use my mouth
Most of the pens are covered in a crust
And if not I can usually recall
From what foul orifice I retrieved them
These thoughts do not bother me
I am in a Zen state

California of the mind