Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

I’m GLad I don’t Have a Vagina

Posted: March 24, 2011 in Poetry

I’m glad I don’t have

A vagina

It seems like a ton

Of work

If  you don’t clean

It regularly

it

Stinks

Once a month it

Bleeds everywhere

And you need to

Pack it with

Cotton

There’s always some

Asshole trying

To cum in it

And if the wrong

Asshole cums in it

you got to squeeze

a watermelon

out through

a lemon

and

You’re stuck

With them

In  yr.  life

Forever

chasing them

around

for child support

I’m glad I don’t

Have a vagina

I don’t think I could handle

All that responsibility

 

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DEAR JOHN LENNON….

Posted: March 24, 2011 in Poetry

 

I turned on

the news

today and…

Nothing wrong

Happened

In the world

No wars were raged

All the peoples

Bellies’ were full

No one slept

On the street

While hands shook

across the Middle East

Africa got the cure

The sun shined on Japan

A crystal clear

Gulf Coast

Jobs for Detroit

Water powered cars

And the only race

That mattered

Was orphans

Running towards

Open arms

I like

To

Imagine

that

 

Just brush it off. 9 times out of ten people who hate on yr shit

are jealous fucks.

and not just that

but seedy characterizations

of yr alter ego,

or a cheesy imitation

of yr altered persona

or a handicapped, abridged version

of yr altered perception of the truth.

Yes,

I’m speaking

of mr. and mrs.

kool.

I’m talking to the dog

with no bark,

I’m yelling at the shadow

of a broken down

trailer

while lot lizards

scurry from all the cracks

with their poems that

smoke like crack.

You can smell it on their breath

if they would only hold their face

just a few inches closer

to their monitor.

It’s easy to not read

between the lines

to be blind to meaning

To imitate or ridicule

When you have

no truths to be spoken

No knowledge of self

A page is not truly

a page

unless it’s covered

in your own blood

Jealousy will always

bare it’s fangs

and try and toss you

in the mud

Those who are hollow

have the hardest pill to

swallow

The fact when you can’t find

anything of meaning inside

there is nothing worth

hearing to the outside

so speak it to the bowels

the mecca of slit wrist Judas

let your words rest

with their own

masticated and oozed

heaped like the corpse of Goliath

slaughtered by the dialect of prisoners

wasted in the lame heads of those ravaged by bondman intellect

be the lie

spilling

from

your

eye

and call it truth

no more

Jonesing For A Clamrod…..

Posted: March 24, 2011 in Poetry

495 to good ol 93

Take you down route 1

to a place where Green Monsters

wear Red Sox & a Yawkey Way

where Tobin & Gravel yards shake

where pizza and blowjobs are cheap

take you on a tour with no duck boat

DUCK BRO

look out

you ain’t from around here are youz

Really aint no place to Pahk ya Cah

the T is only place to be

cuz Charlie likes ta pahty

just take a look at his banks

row

..row

….row

yah fahkin’ bhote

hahvud fahkin’ yahd fhagguts

ya see um.. fhak dis place

I prefer summah’s up North

Portland claw crackin

tubin down the Kancamagus

White mountain star light &

whiskey river soaked dreams

we got stories up heah

wicked tales

we tap trees

kill meat & eat

harvest of bon fire

hahd muthah fuckahs

granite like grave diggahs

Enslaved by Nor’ Eastahs

Rude?

no, we just don’t give a flyin fuck bout you

come soak your soul in

the merri, or pemi, or many lakes

wash the everywhere else off yah,

we don’t care cause you ain’t stayin

what you fucks leave behind will

always wash

down

stream

merrily

merrily

merrily

Life is but a dream……..

(end muthah’ fahkin’ poem faggots)

 

Belly up at the bar

No tears in your cup

Probably staring

At a television set

some drunk

slobbering

Your ear full of drunken

Spittle

All because you

Made the mistake

Of saying I’m a writer

Yr. A fahkin writer

Ya know I got a fahkin great story

For you to write

Really have I got a book for

You to write..

Trying yr best to be polite

Perhaps even phase them

Out

Nodding your head

Not hearing a word

Trying to drink that

Drink they bought

You down as fast you can

And make yr. way to the bathroom

Don’t even bother to say you got

To go

For  a smoke

Because they’ll

Just say great idea

I’ll come with you

We can talk about

This book I want you

To write………

Why does every drunk at the bar

have a story for you to tell?

 

Home Movies-Spoken Word

Posted: December 27, 2010 in Poetry
Tags:

Pretty little greed machine
Stiletto heeled heart stomper
pole spinner
with an ass that danced across a thousand laps
she smells like bubble gum and cash
no tip no strip
tastes like vodka and valium
fold those dollars
next up on the main stage we got…
she used to go by sunshine
3 years back seems like nine
I Remember she had the word
Redemption tattooed down her spine
skull and bones on her pasties
lust in her eyes
and passion dripping from her lips..
no tip no strip
“dolla dolla bill yall”
greedy eyed grindin
no cuntry for old men
as the same song begins
remains the same
outcome out came
no champagne in the sex room
Means no BOOM BOOM for you
for one whole song she’s your lover
minute your wallets empty
its on to another
only thing she left you with
is bright blue balls
snail trail on your thigh
and fucking glitter in your eye