"Traditional"
Poems
Traditionals
I call these traditional for lack of a better term.
Hoy es Hoy es Hoy
when you're fiending for a cig
so bad that you see a menthol
butt on the ground burning still
so you smoke it
that's today
that's every day this week
so it seems
when you're lonely
you'll do anything
to scare away your
dreams
Queen 5 on Cashmere
when I look @ her I think she glistens
but she really doesn't. she never listens
enough to catch what I really mean
under all the crazy stuff I say.
but maybe why she never gets it anyway
is 'cause she just painted her nails green
& isn't paying attention; or maybe she
just really doesn't care. but probably
the reason why she doesn't glean
my meanings is 'cause she's too pure
to see innuendo as obscure
& vague as mine. she uses Pantene
I bet, I mean she really must
to have hair like that. she's just
as perfect as a cashmere #5 on queen.
Word to Your Mother
now just like you said
on your filthy deathbed
i sent word to your mother
that you'd died
but a week later
i got called by your brother
who said nobody'd sent
word to your mother
and he had to break it in person
well i swear to god
i sent word to your mother
so maybe the mailman didn't give
word to your mother
but i put word to your mother
in the mailbox
Pump Up the Volume!
paint balls on your
head make a lot of noise
especially when they keep
hitting you and you keep on
screaming "I'm dead already,
motherfuckers, I'm dead already!"
like when your neighbors think the
stereo is too fuckin' loud and they
start throwing their fat retarded
black sheep son at the wall only
louder still as a matter of fact it's
almost too loud for you to realize that
these guys aren't your friends like you
thought they were.
(empty set)
i shun the sun it
tickles my skin like 20
færies locked in a
fifth of gin; once i met a
man who tried to make
me like the light but i'll
never see that man again
and surely not @ night.
flavorsaver
slip me a sliver
of the gristle that you
taste but don't dare
water it down with any
beef. i want to feel
what it's like to be a
slave sucking scraps from
the table where the people
who are better than you eat.
never mind the fork or the
spork since utensils aren't
for losers and hence they
aren't a part of my
experiment. i just want to
chew a chunk of cartilage and spit
it out so i can live like i
have no life for a second.
Macco
The president of macaroni & cheese
said to me said to me
"with a penis like that, boy,
you should get A's."
I kicked in his face.
what else could I do?
Somehouse Darling
I wanna kiss you
till you bleed
and stroke your hair
and tell you
military secrets.
donot cry aloud
or else you know
our shoes
will all turn black
The Poem with a Title So Long You Could Balance
Good-sized Pigs on it and I'm Not Kidding
I was writing you a letter and
wrote something at the bottom
that I shouldn't have and was
ashamed so I crossed it out and
put a sticker over it but still
I could see through the back and
read part of the message so I
scribbled there too but it looked
odd to have scribbled in the back
so I turned the scribble into a pic-
ture of a tornado and drew Dorothy's
house on top and the thing I wrote
was a lie anyway I don't even know
why I ever wrote it in the 1st place
pla$ticine
A myth was told in days of old
by the scraggly guy with the busted eye
'bout the six-ton bitch with a loaded gun
who got just too high and gazed at the sky
and decided when done that the sparkling sun
was so bright and bold 'cause was made of gold
so she let off her clip, shot the moon into chips
in the hopes that the shards would fall into her yard
which, when all said and done, she would toss at the sun
which would fall from its spot in the sky, so she thought.
but the old guy then quips that one of those chips
fell flat on her head and crushed her right dead
so we asked the old guy with merely one eye
why his dumb story starred some sick tub of lard
when we could have been taught things that made sense, we thought
and the old guy then said, before going to bed
that the moral lesson was "don't stare at the sun,
and if you still do, then don't shoot at the moon."
so we thunk and we thunk, then we got really drunk
then we thunk and decided the story was bunk
so we got out our gun and shot at the sun
then realized soon we should shoot at the moon
and the moon hadn't chipped when we'd emptied our clip
so we partied 'til caught by a monster named Dot
who hadn't been fed, and we couldn't shoot dead
'cause we'd emptied our gun, so Dot ate us for lunch.
The F_tus King
In the days
when the egg decided
that its day was here,
we hired an executrix
to serve the shell.
And the f_tus served
with an iron hand,
disguised as a chicken wing,
'til someone tossed him
at the wall
in a fit of rage.
dismay
when I reached the wall
after all this time
I put my hand to it
and when I took it away
the paint came off;
it was glass underneath.
I kicked the wall
and walked away.
toicr
She offered this to me tonight:
to kiss and to make love
and want to die.
I had to piss. I needed time.
I made her wait.
The urinal cake just reeked of bile.
And as I stood there I recalled what they said
'bout loved&lost vs. not at all
I need shoes. My throat is dry.
I think I'll use this jar of booze to help me cry.
Too many tears; now I can't see.
This cup of cheer has made me fear it's time to flee.
I guarantee you'll never find me when I'm gone
'cause I'll be on sleeping pills & wine.
Sage
there's a fire hydrant talkin' to me
and he says he's not the way he used to be
in the days when he thought he was different
than the way he is now, man
and hey, i say to you
we're all like that fire-hydrant-guy
and i don't know what that means
but it sounds all wise and stuff
Pants
The lone pants walked off
into the dusty sunrise,
making that corduroy noise
with every step.
The pants had seen too much
had heard too much
a bird too much
some jeans too much
Finally, the pants decided
what they had to do;
they must march into the sky
sans person, you could say
Pants away!
if people were sane
if people were sane
we'd commit suicide,
'cause we'd realize
that the world ain't right,
and then we would see
that it will never change
and we'd kill ourselves
(if we were sane)
They say you must be crazy
to try to end your life,
but if you were crazy,
you'd put down that knife
and stick around;
this world is a terrible place
and you'd kill yourself
if you were sane.
Kofi Ajabu is Tomorrow's Masthead
A man approached me
and asked me why I was white.
He wondered if I knew
that white folks are
evil
and that we are the cause
of all human sorrow.
Well I shot that motherfucker
right in his face
and went back to my cocaine sales.
Digging
slowly but surely
digging a ditch
we argue
it's too small
no. it'll work
and we lower him in
wrapped in a towel
so we won't have to see
the look on his face
as we pour dirt on him.
On First Looking into Katherine's Home
the cups that eclipsed both
her tits now depart and the
princess of hearts has exposed
me her nips like the sun at
the dawn is the reverse of dusk
and the fuss over parts i can't
see turns me on it's the window
of peering and inside i'm jeering
i know i shouldn't be leering at
tarts but the darts that protrude
from her breasts make a mess of
my prudish convictions so still i
obsess and i gaze with addiction
through wire-screen haze as her
slacks slither down like our star
when the day's scent is bitter
and old and all light's left the
sky and my eye's good as gold for
the sight of her white cotton hanes
being pulled from her thighs so
she's all hair and skin like a
painting from when the sun was a
ball attached to a string and
revolved 'round the earth and mirth
was the thing but a scowl hits my
lips as she grabs up a towel and
skips to the shower and enters the
stall so i drop from my wall which
empowered me so to see all the spots
the sun dare not go and return to
my home where i burn at the groin
'til i join it in burning for
Katherine's loins.
all these days she's so in plain sight
all these days she's so in plain sight
er i mean night o that's all right 'cause
time's only what you call it; day is
night for noctaholics like me & she o
that reminds me these lines were to be
a curtsey. all these nights she's so in
plain sight but i held me back i said
don't go where you don't know never don't
dare risk the fright now jack so i
didn't know i didn't go & all these days
have been in vain. all these nights or
all these days she's been in such a nearby
place the space around me the pace of
sound was her speed as she wound about
confounding me; who is she? now after
surgery i see surprised what lies right
there as lids rise all these years & all these
nights & all these days o so in plain sight
construction or repair?
the power fell apart & yet we
got put together all against our
nature which would never let us
get us fixed instead betwixt us
would the membrane stay of never
knowing what to say forever but
the coal plant quivered & smoked
& choked & begged & sparked & we got
put together while the power fell
apart
Ass o' Nine Tails
repeating a beating again
& again with strokes nine,
ten, twenty. how many does
it take? every meeting we
waste with a whip with too
many tips to count while they
fly; we have to count instead
the welts on the ass, lower
thigh, back. nine they all
make, then we shake it again.
i'd yawn but the pain keeps
defeating; i choke. i'm
seceding from this union
that's becoming a joke.
Now Out in Paperback!
farcical is the word for the blurb
at the top of the page of
the big book of dating;
"structure!" it says, "
5 easy steps
! from dukking to scromping
we'll guide you through all!"
but the world's too
confused for so simple a
view & the "structure"
fluctuates faster than
fashion. disaster ensues
from mere following rules,
you bastards! that's like
a social cancer. save me
from the status quo; you know
the ceiling's only lattice.
mission statement
this is an intelligence mission
for my secret agent you must
go undercover & discover if i
can make it with her. our team
of code-crackers haven't come up
with jack & so we called our top
operative: you. you must pull through.
this is a matter of national
security i hope you understand we
can't communicate again. when your
mission's at an end you will be
briefed & respond to the given
address my chance for romance.
i leave you to your judgment for
all matters not now answered &,
sir, i must thank you in advance.
fishermage
every scheme that i try is an emotional
potion that runs away from its victim
before it can hit them. damn! in the
ocean of dream i still can't catch a
lover maybe my line is broken maybe my
karma's troubled maybe they've just grown
immune to my spells (as if they had worked
on an earlier date.) i'm a loser, a mage
with no success rate. to hell with these
skills from an obsolete age!
Tour SoHo
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