Contents
1 > A Life without Latinos
2 > Before We Died
3 > Dear All
4 > Dream Rooms
5 > Eternal Epitaph
6 > French Toast
7 > Green Bell Apples Vs Dreadful Toenail Assholes
8 > Growth
9 > Homo Superior
10 > I Got the American Right
11 > Interchangeable
12 > Jelly
13 > Joe Sphincter
14 > Just Words
15 > Knowing
16 > Mr. Hide
17 > More Than One Poem in My Life
18 > Need Comfort? Try…
19 > Showing a Documentary on Vietnam to a 10th Grade Class
20 > Sixth Anniversary
21 > The Latest Headlines
22 > The Planet of the Oreos
23 > Ulp!
24 > Vomiting for God
This collection copyright 2017 by Don Kingfisher Campbell
http://fourfeatherspress.blogspot.com
1 > A Life without Latinos
would mean
I never would have
had childhood friends
Russell "Religion Trailer" Ambos
and Ricky "Hot Wheels" Ascencio.
No junior high
one-on-one
basketball duels
with Raul Sosa
and Eddie Bernal
or nail-scratching-neck
sensuality discovery
with Maria Cabrales.
No Vincent Troncoso
trying to best me
in high school everything,
nor Alfred Gonzalez
to cruise with
cranking Dazz
in his speeding Cutlass.
No Thelma Melendez to visit
at Del Taco in Montebello
during sophomore lunch hours;
no Lydia Alvarez to meet
at my first job, ushering
out my virginity
(not a first wife or son
for that matter).
No drafting buddy
Frank Gerardo
to share my love of Yes,
no forgotten co-worker
to tell me I was
"Mexican-by-injection."
No Graciela Rodriguez
to help me act out
voyeuristic fantasies,
no Arleen Patino
to attempt to
lure me into being
a Jehovah's Witness.
No Cindy Sanchez
with long curly hair
that made me ponder
becoming a missionary,
no Cindy Martinez
to drink away
my first teaching assistant
months with.
No Evy next door
with which to have
pathetic affair,
no Suzie Morales
to teach me
the difference between
being a man
and a woman
No Laura Diaz
to change my life forever,
to finally make me
passionate enough
to want a daughter
(Kyla Alejandra,
whose best friends are
Leslie Guzman
and Crystal Rivas).
No poet friend
Fernando Castro
to collaborate with
on projects,
no Yvonne Estrada
to compare poems with
on the lunacy of
just being alive.
No Gabriel Alvarado
to co-host poetry
for years like
he was the reincarnation
of Jim Morrison;
no Dan Garcia,
the musician/poet,
too withdrawn to enjoy
performing, but also
too smart to ignore.
No James Alvarado,
former student
and now working activist,
no Marcia Arrieta,
teacher become
introverted publisher
of experimental poetry.
No workshop compatriots
like Lea Bermudez,
Maria Elena Fernandez,
Elsa Frausto,
Linda Gamboa,
Liz Gonzalez,
Michael Gonzalez,
Sheana Ochoa,
Angel Perales,
Carmen Vega;
no Upward Bound boss
Susan Madrid-Simon.
No Luis Alfaro,
Luis Campos,
JG Esguerra,
Consuelo Flores,
Steve Ramirez,
Luis J. Rodriguez,
Michele Serros,
America Solis,
Gary Soto,
Roxanne Soto,
Natalia Vargas
on my rolodex
or address book.
Not to mention
all the
architects,
attendants,
baseball players,
clerks,
doctors,
engineers,
fast food employees,
gardeners,
lawyers,
mechanics,
movie stars
(OK ,
Maria Conchita-Alonso,
Sonia Braga,
Salma Hayek,
Rita Moreno,
Dolores Del Rio,
and Raquel Welch).
And hey,
no Ana Barbara, Marc Bonilla,
Cielo Y Tierra, Celia Cruz,
Cusco, Esquivel,
Ana Gabriel, Pedro Infante,
Jose Alfredo Jimenez, Laura Leon,
Los Lobos, Lucia Mendez,
Oingo Boingo drummer, Popol Vuh,
Tito Puente, Raphael,
Pepe Romero, Hope Sandoval
Santana, Andres Segovia,
Selena, Mercedes Sosa,
Tortelvis...c'mon!
Sin esta gente
mi vida
just wouldn't be
lo mismo.
2 > Before We Died
the pictures came out
there was anger in the air
drivers sped a little faster
to get to their rectangular hideouts
hits to internet movies increased
but I think this has all caused me
to finally to see what pornography really is
now when I get naked with someone
I wonder where are the hoods the wires
the dogs the digital cameras
to keep us from revealing
how ashamed we are to be just skin
in the kingdom made by something
other than man what was the creator
thinking is this why we're here
to hope to someday transcend
to something beyond this sphere
is it something to look forward to
something nonmaterial something
I cannot see something that won't
remind me of what beasts we are
will my spirit inside finally come out
party because of the release finally
coming and no fluid will be involved
and I will be happy to have moved
beyond body into something ethereal
incapable of exercising any control
over the creatures that remain chained
for a while to the damned globe of
learning what is really important
that religion and politics were all
just exercises in preparation for
the true existence the one that
follows this short test this brief hell
that teaches us words for thoughts
and what a shame it would be
if all locutions were here
to simply become dust or
possibly that is the intention
that this experiment does not
leave this planet maybe there is
a wisdom to this limited breathing
3 > Dear All
A truck passes
On the highway
Outside the window
Of Motel 6 #138
It's a clear black night
On vacation from
Nine to Five
The yellow pages open
Lying on the bedspread
My lover and I
Plot another day
Until the money's gone
We're on the run
From routine, effortlessly
Dressed to blend in
With the plentiful locals
Walking outside
The 7-11 always open
Residents hang by the phone
We go in
To buy travel-size shampoo
A 6 pack of Gillettes
Another 6 of Corona
Don't forget the Cheetos
Back in the room
We turn on the cable
Get lucky with the movie
Stay up to watch the shine
Ride out the moon
Alive and nocturnal
Not so different
From our hometown
So let us praise the expected
The assumed electricity
The bill in the mail
The $1.55 gasoline
The red neon vacancy sign
The passing trucker
The easily-written-on yellow pages
The metal-coiled pay phone
The distant and convenient corporations
The historically festive familia
The factory workers back home
The Hollywood runaways
And you, civilized neighbors
Wherever we go
Thank you, thank you
For leaving us alone
4 > Dream Rooms
(1)
Darkness arrives,
we take off our eyes,
lock mouths,
wrap limbs,
become two
puzzle pieces
on the bed.
(2)
Hamsters in the box
with a cut-out window,
huddling close
impressing love
on each other's body.
(3)
I hug
my decade-long duende.
She strokes the hair
of her incubus
wishing
nine lives.
(4)
Trucks pass,
phantoms
down the street.
We might as well be
on a coupon vacation
at a Dana Point Super 8.
(5)
We breathe in waves
under seaweed sheets,
mussles undulating
on percale beach.
We toss and turn
in the flotsam and jetsam
of separate but equal
dream worlds.
(6)
Lying at this moment,
other apartments
do what we have done,
moan exercise as people
imitate sleep.
(7)
If an earthquake comes,
we won't watermelon mind.
We'll just hold on
ready for evaluation
preferring mutual breakage.
(8)
But the sun rises.
Our minds return
to conscious light,
conversation relay,
door departure.
(9)
Until we meet
again in the night,
the nocturnal creatures,
yin and yang,
two familiar
with being endangered.
5 > Eternal Epitaph
You are a ghoul
in the graveyard
of my past life
The siren who took my soul
with magic potion lips
and black cat sounds
Am I being an ogre
to remind you of the spell
that once spooked both our spirits
We were like bats
fluttering above the zombies
soaring on a warlock’s broomstick
Now I'm no better than a ghost
rattling my chains to bemoan
what sank in the quicksand
I'd rather be an imp
putting you in an iron maiden
to revive our skeletons
Instead I limp along like a mutant
wishing he had his banshee back
to spin illusion again
But come to think of it
you actually were a witch
wearing a black widow
Who sank her fangs into my heart
to bleed to death my dream
we would have an afterlife
There is no chance of a phoenix here
because you are the phantasmal wraith
and I poisoned spider in a dungeon
So I guess I'll bury our chimera
which turned out to be a squonk without
a demon's chance at reincarnation
And carry a torch into my skull
wherein lies the specter of a relationship
like cobwebs in a catacomb
6 > French Toast
I'm not French
but I love
French Toast
--started in childhood
my father would pick up
normal everyday
Wonder slices
and drop them
into a porcelain bowl
that looked like it belonged
in an early 60's TV show
I think I saw one on Bewitched
anyway, after floating
and being turned twice
in the pure egg pool
touched by cream
my father's fingers
would forklift a slice
into the round black pan
into that familiar Crisco sizzle
where three ultimately faced each other
waiting for their turn
when their surface sounded
brown and crispy
then the flip
and you knew it was good
if you saw dark freckles
dominate the eggs
this was the single sliced version
my father's Saturday morning best
but after church on Sunday
I discovered the double density
delight of thick restaurant
slices decorated with powdered sugar
that happily swam in syrup
as my fork sopped up
a dripping mouthful of… ultra bread
bread perfection
bread you can no longer call
bread anymore
French Toast
though I've never been to France
I guess they must love to fry
French Toast, French Fries, French Dressing, French Kiss
Oh... I always get carried away
when I relive my favorite childhood
the one I order on any slow morning
with a cherished day off
whenever I have a need
for a mental vacation
I travel... to a pancake house
and lay on my tongue a syrupy crust
7 > Green Bell Apples Vs Dreadful Toenail Assholes
I want to write a poem about clipping one's toenails
That's my idea: to start with something dreadful
But then I think of what is even worse: assholes
And realize I need a pleasant counterbalance, like apples
A universally loved fruit, historically important, red or green
This contrasts wonderfully, causes my brain to ring like a bell
I decide I'll try to get every word to sound like a bell
For example, I dig the noise made by each clip of toenails
It's good to cut them, it's like eating something green
Which results in fine digestion, a subject considerably dreadful
To some, until you remind them that it is grown apples
Chewed and swallowed that help to unplug stopped assholes
You definitely want to keep doctors away from assholes
When they get a hold of you, you reverberate inside like a bell
Thus a diet of the good stuff is essential, like mature apples
And bananas and oatmeal and gelatin for your toenails
I hear it comes from animal fat--how nauseatingly dreadful
To contemplate--I've got to shift theme: a tree is green
That's better, our world is mostly filled with glorious green
Trees and bushes and grasses and hopefully not just assholes
That would be unpleasant, right? Another notion dreadful
Like oil slicks and car exhaust and stock traders clanging a bell
To signal the start of trading--there's a concept without visible toenails
How do we get back to nature in this concrete land of few apples
By focusing some time on what gives us a quality of living like apples
And take an afternoon off to walk in a park or wilderness that's green
A place where one can remove one's shoes, expose them toenails
Maybe even find a lonely spot to excrete onto dirt from assholes
Like design intended, remember we discovered how to cast a bell
Forge furnaces, direct sewage through corrugated pipes so dreadful
And what about us, the modernized people who've become dreadful
With our loud stereos, air conditioning, paper waste, prepackaged apples
Filling landfills and stopping up rivers--we need a real warning bell
To toll in our heads to call us to ponder again the value of green
Instead we drive and fly our cyberspaced opinions like assholes
Everybody's got a justification, but what about freeing those toenails
Yes, it's all down to toenails freedom or leather shoes dreadful
When it's the assholes that rule, we diminish the number of apples
So go for the green life and make your own cause a cleansing bell
8 > Growth
Something
you need to do
sometime in your life
It will take a while
before you can truly
perform it well but
If you're a man
take some time from
your daily dolor
To let your beard grow
and if you're a woman
find an unsuited partner
After about a month
of not shaving above
the adam's apple
You'll notice you'll have
a natural urge
to stroke it
Now this is an art form
and there are many
teachers in the world
Just observe
how I use writing hand
or my athletic fingers
To form a V shape
just the right size
to add to a chin
The first finger is
the stroker and the thumb
holds the face in place
As you prop your thinker
move the index slowly
straight up and down
Find the pleasure of
thoughts coming to you
mainly about
The joy of having
your own furry animal
to pet whenever you feel like it
If you discover yourself
unearthing deeper ideas utilize both
thumbkin and aforementioned digit
Starting horizontally
equidistant on the jaw
and bring them together
Like they are skiers
on a tree-lined mountain
and stop to purse your lips
This drives the women
who love intellectuals
into a lustful frenzy
But that's a different problem
for you to ponder
as you enjoy your mature visage
You'll never want to go back
to the scraping baby face smoothness
of being somebody's mama's boy
Unless you're not ready yet
to graduate to true manhood
grown centuries ago in rocky caves
9 > Homo Superior
what do you want
from life
to have more than
other people
well, I’ve got
good news
in Los Angeles
over 60% rent
so if you own a home you
have something to lord over
not enough?
what about a car
if you bought it new
you beat out 70%
how ‘bout food?
this one’s easy
50% of the world
goes to bed hungry
maybe fear an illness?
chances are you’re better off
than the 34,000,000 worldwide
with HIV (mostly in Africa)
want to hear about
a real minority?
there are a million
publishing poets in the US
nearly all of them
can’t make money that way
they write for love
and peace and equality
they don’t care much
for owning a home
driving a car
even eating meat
poetic hangovers
they’re quite likely to have
because many of them suffer
to think any one is
living just to have
more than someone else
10 > I Got the American Right
I got the American right
to wake up to an alarm clock
tuned to a talk radio station
(too many bad things going on)
I got the American right
to take a hot shower
and dry off with an imported towel
(too many damn imports these days)
I got the American right
to drive my SUV to work
and use premium gasoline
(too many emissions regulations anyway)
I got the American right
to put a cell phone to my ear
and talk my head off while I drive
(I told you there's too many nitpicky laws)
I got the American right
to stop off and eat a double cheeseburger
and order some large fries too
(a person's got to live while you can)
I got the American right
to go to my HMO when I feel bad
and buy drugs from Canada on the internet
(good ol' American ingenuity, I say)
I got the American right
to have my son enrolled in a private school
and avoid having him serve in the military
(leave that to the immigrant children)
I got the American right
to ignore my daughter's a lesbian
and publicly declare homosexuals are going to hell
(I usher in church every Sunday)
I got the American right
to own a home in the suburbs
and pay a variable rate mortgage
(more talk radio to listen to on my commute)
I got the American right
to run up my credit card debt
and relieve my burden by filing for bankruptcy
(only in America can you start over and not go to jail)
I got the American right
to be buried any way I want
and have my relatives go on with their lives
(that's the work ethic that made America great)
11 > Interchangeable
isn't it remarkable
how our parts
simply interact
with one another,
like mind
and limbs
how hand can
brush hair, hold
penis, reach rectum
how fingers can
point, tickle, grab,
poke, caress, interlock
how eyes work
with mouths
and appendages
how mouths can
smile or frown,
send sounds, kiss
how arms can
embrace or
push away
how legs can
climb, walk, or run,
individually or in unison
how tongue can
explore entire
skin surface
how penis can be
inserted into mouth, vagina,
asshole, ear (and vice versa)
how hands can
applaud, pray,
or direct
how foot can
play footsie
or kick head
how fist can
punch gut
or knock head
how head can butt
other head, how
torso can knock torso
how butt can be
placed on torso
or any other part
how bodies can be piled
on top of each other
and remembered
hanged by the neck,
chopped into pieces;
drawn, dragged, photographed, or shot
how forms can
dance, wholly
an expression
it could be yours,
it could be mine,
what's the difference
to minds scratched by
fingertips, creating poetry,
each body makes us all
12 > Jelly
a floating plant
or
headless animal
a living negative
or
free x-ray
a cool night light
or
small spaceship
a mind
with an
idea
a barely
visible
apple
a flexible
picture
frame
a clear
napkin in
wet wind
a TV
sans
screen
an inverted
vase, flowers
upside down
a pastry
made of the
lightest flour
a half
moon
in water
a hooped
skirt
undulating
a ghost baseball
trying to lose
its cords
a flowered hat
with ribbons to
tie around the neck
look at this
crystal ball,
see the past
like a great
comma looking
for a sentence
it doesn't
see beauty,
it feels
an organic
machine like
a heart
a blue
window to
our beginning
an almost
empty
backpack
a balloon
that got
away
13 > Joe Sphincter
Hey bud
I wanna tell you something
Hey, don't walk away
I've got something to say
So what if we're not
from the same neighborhood
I see you every day
when I stop at this 7-11
And I wonder if you've
noticed me, driving through
in my Nissan P/U
Yes, I keep my rims so shiny
you can see yourself
as I drive by, that's because
I want you to notice
I ain't no Weber
I know what it's like here
I stop, look around
People always in their own business
Standing at the bus stop
Leaning against the store
or inside playing the games
I buy my breakfast burrito
and O.J.
I see you and I walk
to my wheels and speed away
through the intersection
But today I had to stop
before I go into my work life
I had to stop because I wonder
What the hell are you thinking
when you see me stopping
I had to stop because I wonder
what the hell is your life
like tangent to mine
I'm just bugged
going to work
not talking to anybody
except cents to the clerk
It's like I'm driving thru water
so slow I can't hear
nobody saying anything
I can't take it anymore
Punch me or something
Make me feel I belong
In my world In your world
In our busy too busy world
Why are we so wrapped up
in our own lives
Why are we here
Just to pass each other
Every day make us feel
We're in a social ball
Orbiting a vacuum
that doesn't care if I die
or you
Oh sure, people will go
to our funeral
Especially if I pull out a gun
and shoot your indifferent ass
Some guy with neat hair
on the news
will comment
we existed
for 2 minutes
lesson to
us all
Hey, don't walk away
I don't have a gun
I just watch too much TV
How about you
You got a wife and a kid
and a job and
time to yourself
in this world
Do you worry sometimes
why are we here
if we just end up
replicating
until the great forces
eliminate
all signs
that we are here
Someday the sign
will read
we were here
But there'll be
nobody to read it
So, what do we do
now, we're standing
here in front of
a 7-11 with cars
in the street and work
to do...are we really
keeping the world
running... ever
heard of
J. Alfred Prufrock
REPLY: What are you,
a poet or something?
14 > Just Words
These are just words
Don't be afraid
These are just words
It's not like they want to
Hit you in the face
These are just words
And nothing to fear
Except how you will react
If you read something you don't like
Then you might judge me but
These are just words
They are incapable of
Spreading your legs
And going thrust thrust thrust
These are just words
Ideas formed through
Thousands of years
These are just words
Which in this mind
Know the hypocrisy
Of leaders and followers
Of the fervent and the disinterested
Because I have experienced all these
And expressed my reactions
In the way that I was taught
These are just words
Can they change the world
Are they translatable
To every culture
Despite our similarities
We like to feel differences
Make us better than others
And that is the danger
Of reading what sentences give
These are just words
Of an ordinary man
They cannot hold you prisoner
Any longer than you let them
Won't gouge your eyes out
Nothing under your fingernails
Except maybe a papercut
No smoke rings will blow by you
These are just words
And they want to find how
To bring about good feelings
Even from bad situations
We all have them
These are just words
Not as powerful as humans
Who use them to pass judgment
Each day on what they encounter
But they might just learn someday
To always use poetry to unite people
To understand our commonality
Since art seeks to improve life
These are just words
And you may utilize them
As you deem necessary
Possibly to assist a backrub
Or to ask to get your car fixed
Yes you might love to request
The opportunity to devour food
For your belly or your soul
To have sex or just conversation
Incredibly imagine a flower is a day
Yet what will this cost you
These are just words
Which like wind to your brain
Allow you to breathe out
Thoughts, dreams, desires
These are just words
And for that reason they have
Been created to serve until
Our mortal coils burn out
These are just words
Read some, write some,
Share some, perform some
These are just words
If they are handled with care
These are just words
15 > Knowing
I smile when I want to close my eyes
I hang around while I wish to be alone
I look at buildings instead of wildflowers
This is my daily dolor
I desire to get away from
I have to enter my car
And drive drive drive
So I can find myself
Walking a trail
Feel the crunch of rocks under my shoes
Hear the crunch of rocks under my shoes
See the wind make flowers dance
I walk a way a while
Then I must return
Ask myself why
I leave the earth I love
For another week of structure and structures
I madly learn to
Pay the bills
Come up with rent
I buy music and write poetry
That I may someday really remember
To forget the material
Rejoin the planet
But I'm not ready
For such advancement yet
The perfect bliss
Of being
A shrub
In the desert
16 > Mr. Hide
OK
I admit it
and you won't be
surprised
There are neighborhoods
I won't walk in
Why?
Because I'm different
in shade
I'm afraid
I'll be noticed
and thought of
as rich
in my Mervyn's shirt
and Target
pants
I'll be confronted
and talked to
and asked
for money
So I keep moving
gas up quick
The freeway is a kind
of controllable solitude
Unless a car comes
too close
and we swerve
and throw confused
frowns and fingers
Heartbeats
eventually calm
miles away
So quickly
in a another neighborhood
It feels like I've been
through seven countries
When it's really
only forty miles
That's L.A.
I was born here
but that's no special
award or right
I stay close
to where I grew
up in a San Gabriel valley
The one where no one's
more than a third
of the population
And I feel safe
because there's safety
in diversity
That's what I feel
in Alhambra
But I'm starting to see
too many signs
in just one language
And I get nervous
that I might
start
standing
out
17 > More Than One Poem in My Life
I don't wanna look like my father.
I don't wanna turn in to my father.
I don't want to have a double chin
and Grecian Formula hair.
On the other hand,
he was loved. A Pisces
liked by his co-workers.
A ruddy complexion
that never wavered from male.
From his 10am Old Spice shadow,
right down to his white
Fruit Of The Looms.
I didn't want to be like my father.
I didn't want to be
a detective for the sheriffs.
I didn't have to worry.
He was 6' - 2" and I knew
I'd never reach him.
His wedding band, size 12.
Mine, 6 ½.
I've got girl's hands!
Clean, uncalloused
(except the middle finger)
feminine hands.
"An artist's hands."
No yellowed nails
from cigar smoking
or asbestos pipe-fitting
in the Navy.
I missed required registration
by two months.
Yeah!
Now I'm 40,
no pouch over my penis.
Fighting off fat,
I avoid his beloved steaks
washed down with
saccharine iced tea.
It's easy, financially.
I chose to be a poet.
Or did I?
Was I destined
because of my
small hands,
my father's looming discipline?
I became a day-to-day reader
--the times I was sent to my room.
My father thanked his secretaries
for correcting his letters.
He left his living room chair
some nights
to earn his other "diploma" in life:
the second car for my mother.
The employee-discount toys
came from those midnights
as a Mattel watchman.
Before he died at 58 of cancer,
he showed me the one poem
he says he ever wrote.
His life, of course, for me
was another.
18 > Need Comfort? Try...
to walk in a supermarket
pushing a shopping cart
with store muzak wafting
fluorescent lights buzzing above
could be any major city
in the good ol' familiar US
see those bright friendly
boxes of Tide and All
pyramid families of fruits
rows of Campbell's and Cheetos
the 1/2 price bakery cart
the Cosmopolitan magazine woman
greeting me at the checkstand
then I'm stepping out
into the pole lamp
lit American Night
Volkswagen Vanagons
Honda Civics
Jeep Cherokees in the parking lot
turn my ignition key to return
to the California stucco apartment
I live in, whistling mindlessly
an America tune from my car radio
after I pull out
another car pulls in
19 > Showing a Documentary on Vietnam to a 10th Grade Class
Machine gun rotates as it fires
Teens talk not facing the screen
Bombs drop from crossing B-52
Girl looks into compact, brushes lashes
Plane falls, fireball on the ground
Boy pages through sports magazine
Diplomats chopstick seven course meal
Another boy intently plays a cell phone game
College student holds up protest sign
Another girl stares into iPod connected to her ears
Throngs cheer at a political rally
A couple boys actually watch the video
Tearful refugee describes the loss of her family
Substitute teacher finishes poem
20 > Sixth Anniversary
because of
April 29th
Los Angeles
a palm
tree is a
torch
a baton
is an
arm
a fire
extinguisher is
a hammer
long hair is
a river
of blood
shaved hair
is naked
feeling
a shoplifter
is a freedom
fighter
arms are for
carrying
TVs
store security
cameras are the best
TV
a camera
better than
human eyes
helicopters
are the best
portable VCRs
liquor store
roofs are places
of honor
rap songs
are the people's
network
a jury
just
opinion
a gun
is still
a penis
smoke
releases
anger
police
cars are
targets
the Police
Chief is a
retired citizen
skin color
is now a job
requirement
my wife's
relatives moved
to Orange County
think
of Mexico
again
Normandie
is still
a nightmare
the writing on
the walls better
be read
poems
are
AK-47s
21 < The Latest Headlines
Flies decide to start washing feelers
to eliminate diseases picked up from
roadkill.
Hermaphrodite sea cucumbers declare
themselves a disgrace to the planet.
Fish will no longer allow sex changes
to save species--goodbye cruel world!
Mice experiment on larger life forms
to promote tolerance.
Frogs plan to stop licking own skin
to get high.
Bird songs copyrighted to prevent
those not of their kind from
using their mating rituals.
Rabbits vow to become monogamous
--must control their soap opera lives
to curtail nose and tail twitching.
Cats and dogs unite to put an end
to unwanted pregnancies,
bite each others balls off.
Hyenas quell laughter--Earth
just isn't funny anymore.
Monkeys, in an effort to advance
their lot on the globe, promise
to limit acts of masturbation
and oral sex to once a month.
Lions abolish war against gazelles
--remarkable weight loss and
reduction in heart attacks reported
--grass tastes good!
Pandas proclaim there is only one God
--and it is in their own image.
Dolphins can dancing from
their swim routines--there's
too much art on this sphere.
Zebras paint themselves completely
black or white in an attempt
to head off horse prejudice.
Humans still displaying animal
characteristics when it comes to
territoriality, homophobia, and drug abuse.
Elephants remember when looks
did not matter.
Whales release double CD of ocean tunes,
believe they're as talented as Yes.
Trees sway to celebrate a billion years
of being hooked on sunlight.
Clouds know they're above it all.
22 > The Planet of the Oreos
so delightful this black oceaned and white continented world
the round black framed white bellied people enjoy eating
black crusted pizza covered with creamy white topping
as they sit at their white tableclothed black tables and
wear black and white dresses and suits and ties simply to
exit their white windowed black houses and walk on
white stone walkways around black bladed grass to go in
to their black cars sporting white rims which roll down
black (white lines through the middle) highway arrive at
circular black concrete plaza and lounge on raised white platform
dark and light mouths open in delight at the joy of living
on a delicious planet with black sky and white clouds except
for the fact their teeth are white with black spots all over
which they try to clean by taking milk river baths while
standing on black stones as the white sun shines in the night
but mostly their poetry is ours...which we can experience by
turning our video screens to the black and white setting
23 > ULP! (The Ultimate Lovelorn Poem)
Your long press-on nails make my jeans stretch.
You make me want to throw away my portapotty mouth.
My socks have holes in the toes from worshipping your presence.
My love for you is so single-minded, I'm developing a unibrow.
My love for you is as hip as a fu-manchu mustache.
Pickled pigs feet can't compare to our love.
I'm so inspired, I have to set my bedside alarm to 4am to write you love poems.
The pen with which I write you love poems is leaking in my pocket right now.
I've got a gum-stuck-to-your-shoe type obsession about us.
If you don't say you love me, it's like I spilled my ice cream cone on a polished floor.
Your kind words are my brussel sprouts.
This is that horrible green plastic Halloween mask kinda love.
Sometimes we're just a couple a skunks, in private.
My hair gets all frizzy when I think about what we've done.
Our love is as embarrassing as a pair of tighty-whities.
Burnt toast has got nothing on our love.
I'd wear socks with sandals if it meant our love was comfortable.
I'm blown away like an old umbrella by what you declare.
When you're mad at me, I wish you'd peel off that band-aid of hate quickly.
Remember that old fruit loaf lovin' we just had ... again.
You're a yellow jacket stinging my flesh for feeling.
Our love is like a batch of cole slaw from a take-out restaurant (on a red plastic tray).
I see a banana peel on the black and white checkered linoleum of our relationship.
You've got your hair in a bun today, bitch.
I'm putting my white plastic gloves on before I touch you.
You drove a rusty nail through my heart, or was that my penis.
The toilet roll of our love is running out of sheets.
The cell phone signal of our love is down to a single bar.
A can of sardines is almost as slimy as our moments of hatred.
Dirty dishes lie strewn about the living room of our past.
I'm the cockroach you step on every time you see me.
Time has expired on the parking meter of our love.
24 > Vomiting for God
first go
to get out
of your head
with your "friends"
your drinking
buddies
eat more pizza slices
than one hand
can count
don't forget
the anchovies
guzzle some
beer, try
different brands
with each heavy glassy
overpriced mug
especially the Moosehead
perform repeatedly
the Heineken maneuver
don't stop until
you feel like stealing
someone else's jacket
make a sign of the cross
forgive yourself
then drive
homeward-bound, yelling
to a song, it's
"More Than A Feeling"
blasting out of your car
radio, windows down
rushing night
air closing sweating
pores, think you're lucky
no cop saw you
find historical ways
to piss
off glinting chrome
making drumbeats
with botts dots
creep
in to your apartment
quietly lie
in the already dark bed
room
form a mummy's X
go to sleep
wait
for that positively
earthly
rumbling in your stomach
turn your head
back and forth like
an anchovy
when backwash comes
knocking at your esophagus
run excitedly to the john
open your mouth
and watch all evil
thoughts spill out
past your teeth:
the times you wore
plaid bell bottoms
and exchanged
childish fists
to exact revenge
for being born
a middle class
little sphincter,
that summer sunburned
teenager sneaking
into Saturday Night
Fever matinees,
equally inane quasi adult
five fingering pizza
from an unoccupied table
near the restroom,
getting married
because you had catholic sex
with the first girl out
of boys high school,
leering at the married
mother of two
who smiles when you pass
her at the entrance
to your complex,
wonder why
you didn't fuck
that poet
who wanted you,
the year
you considered voting
Republican;
these seven guttural sins,
each openmouthed, cry
as infidelities past
pass into the unfeeling
uncaring cold porcelain
receptive bowl
chunky flecks
of disbelief in God
fall
(hear yourself
pray "Oh God
I'll never do this again")
kneel
and observe
globs
of lies
told in your life
that now seem like
bell peppers,
sway deliriously
like an insignificant fly
egg on
the heaving urge
for continuing
animal roar
of flowing tongue
chant out loud
when you pass
midnight
recreate all past
California stops
those wonderful
stolen moments
you'll never forget, each time
you twitch
for The Lord's forgiveness
praise the invention
of man
unloading
eating sin
in a sacred
hole
