Emphysema

I was 33, when I lost my gumption
I was 33, when I lost my nerve
Almost 34, know nothin' 'bout free lunches
Almost 34, and I know all 'bout free dinners

And there ain't no prayer,
and there ain't no gospel.
I'm feelin' scared,
the whole entire world seems so hostile.

And there ain't no jewels,
no celebrity press.
Just a bunch of girls,
walking around with no breasts on their chests.
Life's a short walk to a hospice.
Spend your whole life,
looking for an accomplice.
Then pause, look back_
_what did you accomplish?
Did you get around
to doin' dat thang?
--Don't worry none, if you didn't.
Something looks a lot like nothing,
Naked emperors don't need no cloak,
sometimes when you're alive,
the only way to keep breathin'
is to smoke.

I don't fault you any,
for the spaghetti in your lungs.
I don't begrudge you,
for all of those drugs.

Sometimes, you just gotta feel_
    _purple.

Sometime, you just have to float.

Because the body, it wrinkles, fades, & can
    bloat.

You gotta coat
this shit filled Twinkie 
with sugar
'cause shit don't sparkle.

I know I'm gonna still miss you tomorrow...

But I'm 33 and I've lost my nerve.
I'm 33 and I've lost my gumption.
Don't know nothing 'bout any free luncheon,
but I'll eat that free dinner, if you care to serve. 

Where Americans Live

You live in ruins,
You live in movies.

Feed your children poison.
You feed your children disease. 

You silence your women,
And cut down your trees.

You live in suburbs,
You skin both your knees.

You don't own, you rent,
but you're both on the lease.

You buy for satisfaction,
You fuck for release.

And if you feel uncertain,
even while he sleeps...

You know it's no Civil Iron Curtain,
he just never says please.

You live in ruins.
You live in TVs.

Prozac Nation. - (longish poem)

Is it a little green bag or a little green pill, Alice?

Gotta find some kind of sister kind

You’ve trespassed and surpassed most boundaries

Making blunders and bypassing foundries

Because you never seem to get enough rest in

Jew eyes might’ve read you but never did listen,

Even then, lines were skimmed & no one listened,  

Now you know that stars are just ghosts

And there’s no sense in wishin’.

Your heart – a French crimson balloon

And the boys don’t swoon anymore like they used to

Shoes break you, your arches are like a London Bridge

So many sighs are falling

While no signs are coming

No one’s calling, no one’s there to forgive

So busy not dying, forgot how to live

Screaming from a rabbit hole

Holy water & blood

Would they hear your cries through the flood?

Are you brooding alone again, Alice?

Are you in your ivory tower or glass palace?

Are you steady on your balance beam,

                Or have you lost your valance?

Didn’t need a codex or a decoder

                Your sisterhood is scrambled &

Completely out of order.

This court of crows

Would never condemn their murder

The last thing you want

Is another listless sitcom

Or tasteless burger

That electric typewriter is gone

You gave it to George the recovered heroin addict when you lived in Lakewood because he was a poet too

And he recited one to you

Alice, did you lose the game rules?

How can you be sore and unbruised?

How can you be so spent when you’re unused?

How long you gonna be a kid ruining the soles of your shoes?

Who cut the breaks on you?

Why you askin’ so many taxin’ questions…

…in your delicate state.

All those brahs thought you was just one of ‘em hoes to gyrate

And Skygate might be the only God you now know;

Alice, are you bigger or smaller now?

Did ya’ find Dinah a dahlia?

A keyhole to fit through?

Did it taste funny, that mushroom?

And to think, all Cinderella had to do

                was loose a fucking shoe.

Better Off Alone - (short poem)

A quick suicide with a two-sided razor,

If I added my blood—it’s just for flavor.

I watched over her like a worried mother,

Surveyed her surrender to a Soma Coma

And I would never judge her because

I understand her disease and her need

To escape from this quality of life & this cost of ‘living’

And the erroneous tee-vees that act like it’s reality they’re giving.

Her head,

It starts to nod.

Her words,

Get blurred and she starts to sob,

Over how she needs to get a job.

& I think that it’s odd

that her head starts to bob

And she looks less like hippie and more like odd.

I’m indentured.

Should not have ventured this far from home.

Sadly comprehending

                I’m better off alone.

Not Sending You A Postcard - (short poem)

Many minutes and miles later

A bell went off and I was saved

But he was no Slater.

More like an alligator

M.I.A.

C.I.A.

Watching my every move,

Devolved from potential muse

To just a dude

With duct tape shoes

And to a large extent,

Predominantly rude.

Concurrently his obstinacy

Has not a clue.

Could call you Stacey Dash

Since he’s so brash on ass

Having never cracked a Jane Austen…

Baby, it’s time to move to Houston. 

Imma goin’ to cruise the multiverse with Jean-Luc Picard

And don’t you expect a postcard

While I’m off collecting stars.  

Monstrosities - (short poem)

Your brotherhood is solid interlocked squiggling snakes,

Jack of Spades all over the place,

oh, no, it’s Uno and 52 Pick-up.

Best way to give up is to surrender my ovaries.

My daughters can be the olives in your gentlemen’s martinis.

My sons can be lion feed.

All flowers cower from you in this realm. 

The oceans have died.

You have fracked your mother.

Get your smegma out of my mouth, it creates a contemptuous film.

Your eyes are too dim,

Your voices at a high din.

Black mold is your skin.

There’s no market value on sin,

Or your Patrick Bateman grin.

Or your Charlie Sheen win.   

The penis between us is your best feature,

     Other than that, you’re a godless creature.  

Musicians (Short Poem)

I remember being in the passenger side

The road-rage drivin’

Screamin’

Hatred & obscenities

Pathetic me   

Crying silently

Looking out a flocculating window

So he wouldn’t know

And all I had, if God is dead,

                Was the radio.

Porn Links - (link poem)

Suppose, supposedly, if it were up to me the porn category would read differently:

Cunniglingus

Big Dick

Huge Dick

Tiny Dick

Wide Shoulders

Big Hands

Athletic Legs

Dangling Balls

Tight Balls

High School

Middle Age

Balding

Bald

Hairy Balls

Hairy Back

Chin Straps

Sideburns

Great Beards

In Shape

The 500

Young

Enduring Stamina

Shooting Ropes

Cumming From Blowjobs (just the cumming part)

Rope Masturbation

Giant Dick Masturbation

Choads

Veins

Tattoos

Needle Dicks

Scarred

...And of course, then there'd be:    

Giant Girth Cock

Blue Eyes

Brown Eyes

Green Eyes

Hazel Eyes

Platinum Blonde

Dishwater Blonde

Brunette

Light Ginger

Dark Ginger

Freckles

Tan

Latino

White Dudes

Black

European

Greek

Irish

Scottish

British

Australian

French

Spanish

Argentinian

Wife-beaters

Cute

Sexy

Handsome

Mysterious

Cowboy

Robot

Star Trek

Captain Kirk

Captain Picard

Fathers

My Husband

Scientists

Writers

Lawyers

Firemen

Cops

Bodybuilders

Lifeguards

Man of Honor

Grey Fox

Silver Fox

White Fox

Salt-n-PepperFox

Sure my list didn’t rhyme, but still suits me fine and now it’s time to misuse bandwidth.    

ALSO READ THESE POEMS (that actually rhyme):

Ophiophagus-hannah

47%

Duality of Womb-man

This Sure Beats The Hell Out Of Algebra, Doesn't It?

Minus Zer0

47%

I know he's making CD's of all my playlists

and all 22 blog views
were his hits,
he might miss this
as much as I miss that
and he's writing on the shiny silver disk with a black Sharpie in safety orange spandex speaking Spanglish.
Wondering whatever is on my mind...  ...if they'll find me
dead,
like Norma Jean
with my brunette hair
just as bleached, beached
on a Plastic Beach,
guerrilla in the sand.

My castle is a man.

I could still wrestle with gators but,
then I couldn't hang-glide with the aviators,
and while you strum on yer guitar
trying to become what you are,
all stop-lights mediators: 
avid avatars in their cars...

...I break lamps and dance.