and you’re pretty worthless in a fight.
needless to say i wouldn’t worship you.

his god is money which is pretty to hold
and great in an Apple store but his god
cant fart. i’m pretty sure i dont want to
bow down to a god that cant even fart.
a god that has never experienced the feeling
of having run slightly too far and slightly
too soon after a meal and then had to stop
(a pause really) just long enough to make
sure the air that passes between the cheeks
will be fully dry.

if your god cant hold his liquor – rethink him.
if your god cant chew gum and walk at the
same time then what you live for is lame.
worse than a woman.

Dear friend,

I think you’re a sick joke from mother earth, and meeting you was my loss.
From now on, I shall endeavour to forget about your very insipid existence. But before I do, I wish you’d crawl back to your poor mother and seek her forgiveness. She shouldn’t be blamed for the monster you are. On hindsight I am sure she would have turned prochoice on you, hurling your satanic ass in a limbo. Then again the demon lord must have his dues, and you are it.

That said, if you must be a bitch of darkness at least put some effort in it. Do not just work a shady corner. Go global, go genocidal. Have a vision or something. That is my last advice as a friend. 

At least when you finally land in hell, you will be able to proudly say ” I have done fantastic work for you!” Maybe then will your master let you sweep Hitler’s ashes from the grimy bathroom floor while he unleashes his horde of minions upon you. Do not get all coy, let them enjoy your suffering as they showcase their craftmanship to you. I am sure their creativity will literaly blow your mind. Let the next fiend do the cleanup! 

I am sure down the ammonic hole, there will be enough cannibals more than willing to feast upon your splattered brain. Perhaps Idi Amin will do you the honor. At any rate, they will all have their turn as you explore together the meaning behind words like eternity and despair.

That being said, I will waste no further time on you, or keep you from your vile plans. I wish you nothing, but the worst. Do not keep in touch. I look forward to not hearing from you again. Kindly disappear. 

Sincerely, 
Go to Hell              

And he’s walked with a cane since the war
and there’s a click in his left leg
every god damn step he takes
there’s a click and the thud of his cane
and he keeps walking forward
just clicking and thudding ‘cuz
at the very least
The God Damn War is behind him

a love for theory ate away my ability
to problem solve into obscurity the
needs of your complexity

i settled instead for a lack of love of
the art you paint and while gazing
lustfully into an unplanned opus of
the written word created by a hand
a hundred years ago on soil near
to that which my cushioned chair
upon cement block is bolted into
the ground upon

my mind now occupied with concepts
and dreams of scenarios played out
in my imagination to solve problems
instead of paint pictures. with words.
like i used to.

There is a parking structure on the east end of town
goes up for miles and miles and miles, it seems
scrapes the lower parts of the sky that that the
skyscrapers don’t quite get around to scraping and
at the top of this ten-thousand car garage there’s
an old gentleman in a tweed sports coat
with bad breath and old leather shoes and
an old Singer sewing machine

(It has to be from the thirties)

that he sits behind
running all day by the pedals, making jackets and
sweaters and all the garments he can’t seem
to afford himself but he dosen’t charge much for them,
he begs a fair price at just a silver dollar a piece

(Nevermind that he only deals in Silver)

but the man has never seen a washtub I’d wager
and I’m not so sure he’s gone to Church or the like
so Brother you can tell him when you see him
that I wont’ be buying any of his clothes
until he gets himself a real god damned job
and a proper education

surrounded for miles
on both sides by cement
you ducks have come
from afar to inhabit
this bread-crumb infested water

for your standards have been irrevocably ruined

make a pile of
the wrapping paper
the faux snow
the illuminated reindeer
the green and red hershey’s kisses
the oversized candy canes
the inflatable snow globe with frosty and his wintry wenches
and send it all up
in a yuletide blaze.

in the ashes
plant
dessicated corn stalks
uncarved pumpkins
bulbous gourds
racist pilgrims and noble savages
turkeys unaware of their imminent demise
and let them all reclaim their fucking month.

The moon like an orange slice floats
over falls under the ‘anecdote’
category and no matter how fast
you drive it always seems to follow
the car on the right side.

It’s a swollen stone high above
horizons sending shivers down spines
and sending eyes to sparkling and
men to spying on other men.
Your neighbor could be a monster
in this light. Your best friend is
a monster in any other. I for one
can not see either of them.

a pumpkin’s grin
sags with mold–
cold air stings cheeks.

There are perfect intervals
but they don’t work so well
when stacked by way of precision
(so much for perfect).

So we coerce them.
Change the temperament.
Fudge the numbers.

Now these intervals are imperfect.
And now they work alright.
Close enough for jazz,
anyway.

Commoners surround
snorting gasoline boxing jaws
running the better parts
deep in to oblivion
no concern for humanity
no concern for empathy
no empathy, not to be confused
with the emphatic snorting
of gasoline and boxing jaws
and annihilation of goodness
but if my friend is really correct
they won’t stop before
all good things are
annihilated.
What a thrilling notion.

The joke was crass and rude
but I can see her smile through
her shaking head as she turns
away, veritably fuming.

The sun was brighter before
the clouds blew in, but here
they are and here we are beneath.
At least we don’t need sunscreen
on these grayer sorts of days.

But cutting out remainders
like an elementary mathematics
course, we find ourselves divided.
What reason to keep standing
shaking heads, even if she’s turned away?

Or is the point half the joke?

where we soaked in pools of poo
for lack anything else to do
and you told of how your wife said
“i love you”
much too soon.

there was a mcdonalds there
and a grocery store too.
where we so soaked in pools of poo
for lack of much else to do.

but beer on tap can be be redemptive too.