Archive for October, 2009

Nothing Is Funny

October 22, 2009

there’s a Russian man across the street

who rocks on his porch, drinking wine

and laughing at nothing

because nothing is funny

and nothing with wine is fucking hysterical.


October 21, 2009

your love operates on my brain

like a hand grenade.  you bite the top off

and stick it in, then my eyes explode

out of my skull onto the opposite wall

with blood and multi-colored magnet letters

spelling things like “faith,” “love,” and “beauty”

you rearrange them into other words that make me laugh

like, “you evil fatty” and “voila, beef hat!”

we chuckle and you kiss the empty sockets

like they’re gonna taste like somethin’ other than blood

I can’t see you no more, but I feel ya, it’s true

and you ain’t goin’ nowhere, never you said,

so let me tuck my eyeless head

into the nook of your chin, neck and chest

until we rot with age and die, amen.

Good Punctuation

October 21, 2009

I like question marks, ‘cause
they’re all curvy and unsafe, like
black ice on cul de sacs
or experienced prostitutes.
I like periods and exclamation marks too, ‘cause
without ‘em you can’t do things
like “Let’s go to the grocery store,”
or “Unhand her, you fiend!”
Some people only like
the periods and exclamation marks,
which must be hard ‘cause
they can’t do things
like, “What happens when we die?”
or, “Did I get the lettuce out of my teeth?”
or quote that cool Talking Heads song
about what you may say to yourself
when you have a beautiful house
and a beautiful wife.
Jumping off cliffs can be scary,
but if you leap into a lake
you scream and land with a splash
then suck down big gulps of fresh air
when you come up, which is
what question marks can be like
if you let them.

Deathwish of a Paranoid Neo-Conservative

October 21, 2009

The ticker reads “Obama misread Cuban offer”

And “Pakistan faces mortal threat.”

I’m waiting for when it comes right out, says

“Better hold on to your hats, motherfuckers,

It’s Armageddon time.”


We’ll be scared shitless

By big guns and bigger planes

And we’ll shove our children

out back doors, whispering

Run as fast as you can; don’t stop for anyone!

But their fat Dorito-fed asses

Won’t escape.


I hope when they drag us

From our houses to off us

We’ll be tied back-to-back

to save bullets, the same slug

Passing through our wet, pink mouths

We’ll sing to soothe our panicked brains,

“We’re still a-livin’, so everything’s OK”

As they blast our blindfolded faces

To smithereens.