Poetry? Oh noetry!

Plastic never changes shape.

The glare of rotundity

I hit without thinking

Blind, not blinking

Rolling back over away from the fight.

(an ode to my alarm clock)


The stickers stick on the door


Unlike your grimace (half-grin?) as you walk out. I have the perfect lines, slid across the desk from my cribbing stereo. But I’m too proud, to share. Knowing we’ll both fail. Stubborn over substance, silence over style.

Here’s notes on a movie that’ll never get made: Storm Thurmond is a bat zombie. There are mulatto cocoon babies crawling all over, rapidly growing into zombie-like women. Waterboarding with blood.

Strom zombie: Ah hate the negrahs.


Strom zombie: Ah lahk yo’ wimmin folk.


Then they eat him. And scene.

Script obviously an utter, utter failure, we decided to be in a band instead.


So many legs

So many toes

Where did it come from?


Human centipede!

Crawling on your face

Human centipede!


Lives in your basement under the stairs

Waiting to feed, to catch you unawares

The human centipede will die 100 times

You can never escape its 1000 tines

NOTE: this was before the movie came out

Maybe all our songs should be about drugs?

When everybody’s turned their backs

And shrugged off in dismay

I know that you’ll be there for me

No matter what I say

No matter what I say

Or do

No matter if I drink

Vicodin, Adderol, Herion Chic!

Flying like Atreyu on a big white dragon

I got some pills, you got your bong, let’s torch the fucking wagon

People suck and people lie

They’ll leave you in a ditch

I’d rather let you fuck me up

If I’m gonna be somebody’s bitch

LSD XTC 2CB and me

…at which point we couldn’t think of any more drugs.

HEY! Do YOU need a poem or song written for a special someone? A special day? I’ll do it! Look at how good I am at poeming! Let’s put THAT on the evergrowing list of fundraisers (that aren’t actually raising any funds).


One Response to “Poetry? Oh noetry!”

  1. N Says:

    the wagon ain’t a bad ride, no matter what they say.
    “You will never be alone with a poet in your pockets.” John Adams

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