the silence of the wolves


because we are
no longer hunters
for anything but bargains
at the grocery store

we sometimes forget
how quickly
and
quietly
death can come for us

because we live
in a society
that supposedly
values life
we sometimes forget
how little life
means
to other life

ask the wolf
about mercy and compassion
ask the tiger
about second chances

i'm not saying
murder
and
cruelty
is the ideal
just that we have forgotten

how stupid it is
to eat a ham and relish
sandwich
with the television on
inside walls
believed to be safe

while 
in the next room
your woman
silently
packs





i tell him


my mother is at the hosptial
getting tests
and my father calls me
to find out what i've been doing

a little of this
i tell him
a little of that

he wants to know
how the writing's coming along

the writing
i tell him
is coming along fine
i tell him
Atomic Brain has taken 3 more poems
and Karma Kandy 14
i tell him
about the online publications
ezines
they call them Pop
and how i can't keep up with the demand

any books yet
he wants to know
any books

as a matter a fact
i tell him
i have an online chapbook coming out
i tell him
a chapbook is a small book
of poems Pop
i tell him
it's inspired by William Saroyan
and the Tao Tse Ching
i tell him
William Saroyan was a writer from California
and the Tao Tse Ching
is an ancient Chinese philosophical tract
i tell him
that's not important Pop
what's important is i'm getting published

any money yet
he wants to know
any money
yet

no money yet Pop
but i'm working on it
i tell him
there's a grant they give out in Florida
and with a little luck
i tell him
i'm probably the best American poet
under thirty years old
i tell him
these things take time
it's not like i'm a lazy bum
i tell him

maybe you shouldn't have quit
your job
he tells me
maybe you should have kept
working

this is the way it's done Pop
you work until you don't have to
for a while
then you quit
you quit and work on the art
i tell him
a man can't serve two gods

okay
he tells me
okay
i think your mother
will be home soon

we hang up

and i think

i'm pretty sure
he's never read a single poem
i've written

but then again
he
doesn't
have
to

he already knows
i'm full of shit






army piss test hero


nobody, i mean nobody
ever gets popped
for three piss tests
in less than two weeks

but i did

alright
and i was
fucked

plain and simple

it was of course
a concerted effort
by the brass
to discharge me
dishonorably

the first two
times
i was clean

but the third time
was right before
my two week leave
and right after
a night of two grams
of powder cocaine

i was certainly fucked
now
having thought i was safe
just hours earlier

but minutes before
i had to piss in the cup
a friend of mine
informed me the sergeant
accompanying me
into the latrine
would piss for me

and soon

i was in the latrine
with the sergeant
who took the cup
pulled out his dick
and tried to piss

but he was empty

hell, he had pissed
for half the platoon

we stood there
looking at his cock
waiting and hoping

hoping
and
waiting

never had i looked at
a man's pecker
with such longing

please
oh
please

piss
sweet
piss

we turned on
the water
faucet
i told him
about
waterfalls

please
my god
please

push
i told him
push

it was like
waiting
for a breech
baby

and then
it came

an unsteady
dribbling
of yellow
golden piss

and after
he squeezed out
the last of it

he handed me
the cup
and i returned it
to the table
to be marked
and processed

and

with my
honorable
in tact

saved from disgrace

i realized
that there
is more to being
a hero
then just
fighting the enemy
or
jumping on a grenade
or
calling in bomb runs
on your position

sometimes
it's as easy as pissing
into a cup

or as difficult





the bad guy


pablo neruda
was
a good guy

i thought
of him
today
about his
saffron finch
and his odes
to
brick layers
and decided
no
more
will i write
these rants
of
dysphoria
these diatribes
against
humanity
i will celebrate life
and
its simpler
pleasures!
so i got dressed
and
walked outside
thinking
i might find
a bicycle
to love
or a squirrel
hoarding
nuts

but when
i got there
it was
the same
shit
the same empty
trailer trash
faces
with disgusting
blank
stares
the same dilapidated
conditions
basketballs with
bubbles
lawn furniture
green
with mildew
flowerpots filled
with
beer cans

man
o
man

there goes
everybody
liking me
there
goes
my immortality
there
goes
my nobel
prize
for literature

and upon
returning
to my
trailer
i watched a roach
climb
the paneling
its antennae
like
two fingers
pointing
at
me

pablo neruda
had
his poems

these
are
mine

you
need not
approve





i'm a hard ass


it's true

i'm not
a nice guy

i know people
who are nice

and

i'm nothing
like them

in fact
if i wasn't
a such
good writer
it's doubtful
anyone
would even
talk to me

yeah


and i smoke
two packs
every day

drink pepsi
straight from
the 2 liter

write poems
that make
the young girls
weep

weepie poo

and you know what?

fuck em

i'm a hard ass

and i like
baseball

i like shaved
pussies

time has been
a son of a bitch
to my face

i look like
elvis
after he died
on the toilet

and you know what?

fuck em

i live in a trailer

i have black checks

i've got a set of balls
like any male primate

fuck em

i haven't worked
in months

there's nothing to eat
in the cabinets
except the mouse
and the roaches

if i ever catch em

fuck em

i'm a hard ass

didn't start out
that way

started out
a nice guy

but

the world forces
your hand

forces you to

fuck em

what's to say?

you become
what
you become

i became
a hard ass

there are
worse things
you can be

a liar
for
instance

tell everybody
you're
a nice guy

and then
when they
need you

yeah
that's right

fuck em

fuck em
like only
a nice guy
can

fuck em
like that

fuck em

good






the customer is always right

 for ron androla


the customer is always right
up your ass, right in your face,
always ready
to fuck with you over the least provocation,
always prepared to beat you
right
into the ground, into the madhouse,
into the grave, the customer
is always right
about to strike you, because they know you
can't strike back, you need
the shit job
more than they need the shit shoes, the shit gas,
the shit television antennas,
you need the job
more than
you need to be right, the customer is always right-
eous,
indignant, disbelieving of your incompetence,
they have never had to deal
with such rudeness,
the customer is always right
now, right away,
the customer hasn't got all goddamn day,
bust your hump for your
right
to live,
boy,
the customer
is always right, left, right,
left,
right,
like armies they march
against a third world country
of one, of you,
your sorry ass sweating the manager's
glare, right, left,
right,
left, they keep coming when all you want to know is
why can't the guy
working the register,
filling
the
order, stocking the shelves, why can't he
ever be right, and it's because
the customer is always right,
because money
is
always right,
and the customer is money,
and the idiots think the president is in charge,
or the generals, or the chairmen
of the boards,
but really it's the average american
's greed
that is in charge, that is running
everything, right,
left,
right,
the national anthem is really the ring
of the till,
the flag is
green
and
gold,
and the asshole tyrant of america 
is always right
before
you

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