The cup runneth over
Scorch the ones standing closest to the open flame
3rd degree burns
Equates to a trip to the infirmary
Get patched up
Get on with it
These lesions and scars will eventually heal
Sometimes the skin grafts won’t take
Sometimes the nerve damage is too great
Most times the hurt is too deep
This emergency room works overtime
Putting back together even the most severe cases
On top of the mesa the sagebrush stains
the hot air and a white jackrabbit darts
across the country road that has no lanes,
and as many ends as their are starts.
The low sun shines in strands out from behind
pinkish billows that pocket white moisture
while swelling in the sky like something pure,
and something that is unreal and somehow kind.
At the edge the road stops as the canyon
begins in a wide plunge with green birch bush,
a passing river below, and its rush
that will return somethings to where they’re from.
A sunburnt hitchhiker walks slow backward
I’m as dry as an Aberavon seafront paving slab
in the third week of July.
But, I’m not letting him anywhere near it…
not even a snifter.
It’s coming up to two years, next month.
I caught the dirty little bastard
pulling his plonker
over Kay’s catalogue underwear models
out in the garden shed last month.
You could hear the gormless cunt
grunting away like a bloody pig in there.
It was noon an’ all, for fuck sake!
Our Shirley and her neighbour Jan was ‘round,
I got them both to fling the door wide-open
and I threw a bucket of cold water over the dip-shit.
Oooh, he didn’t like them two
laughing at his little shrinking cock, I can tell you.
Shaking like a mongrel dog out in the rain he was.
Why? He has no backbone, that’s why…
and I can’t go doing the nasty
with a man without a backbone, it’s pathetic.
He had one, once upon a time…
but, I broke that fucker to smithereens years ago.
Now he’s good for nothing except paying bills,
carrying shopping and getting under my fucking feet.
There they are, those Mormon kids,
always in pairs. Bad news always comes
in pairs. Just ask Wild Bill Hickok.
Funny, one time a few years ago,
I was waiting for a bus, watching these
kids work a block which could be described
as “not the most desirable neighborhood
in town” and I thought these guys must be
Fearless. Or really, really stupid. Probably
both. Nah, definitely both. Anyway, I watched
them ring a bell for an upstairs apartment,
over this gyro place, and I thought, man,
are you guys are like a week too late.
Cops hauled some guy’s ass out of there
for murdering some dude and having
the body on hand, you know, like mutilated
and stuff. Might even have been more than
one guy, I forget. Bottom line was,
there was some talk about cannibalism.
Hushed that right the hell up. You know
how the Cable News Network’s loves shit
like that. Can you imagine if those kids
had been there earlier, rang that doorbell and
a disembodied voice, through a speaker phone
thing said, “Sure boys, come right on up.
I’d love to talk to you.” And the minute
they got up there, he’d hold the door open,
clock the second one through, and tie the
other dude up before he knew what happened.
By the time the first guy came to, he’d be trussed
up too and all he’d be able to do was watch…..
Didn’t happen, though. Too bad,. What they
should do, you know, the authorities, instead
of locking those psycho killers up, they should
send them in pairs to some place like Salt Lake
City, make them go door to door and see what
happens then. Would make “In Cold Blood”
look like soft core porn. One thing for sure,
it would cut down on all that annoying,
imported-from-out-of-state, door to door solicitation.
There’s oranges in them hills
sniffed out by Honeybee in a Tricky
Dick mask, his nose working between
the petals like a complete
breakfast of porno movie never
made, and when Kidd whistles, bee
comes flying into the big house
for a snifter of brandy as sucked
out of the cop’s cruiser on a bad
beat through jungle dark enough
to petrify any cracker in his peanut
butter shoes, and it’s all downhill
from there as Ladylou hits the town,
and Kidd gets wind of a time before
contraception blues, hops the bee
to center square finding lordosis
in progress, and takes his place
like running from the sun setting red
behind cobalt clouds in piles
like oceans dying and being reborn—
“There goes the neighborhood,”
whisper blinded neighbors
in lick suppression psychosis, but they’re
wrong, they’re wrong—it’s not going
but coming, now, like the bee’s
stinger through a brick wall or the
holy bodies of the Civil War
dancing under harvest twilight
the second time I came
it felt like
I was going to have a heart attack
I’m not as young
as I used to be and
it took me over thirty minutes
after my first orgasm
before I was able to
finally make it again
I think she was getting
kind of bored with me
she’d come a few times and
I think she was enjoying herself
but she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic
as she had been the first time
but it didn’t really bother me
in that particular moment
I was mostly thinking about myself
I know how awful that sounds
but don’t get me wrong
I don’t mean to say
I don’t care about her
for what it’s worth
I care about her a lot and
I can’t see myself
being with anybody else
I probably love her
I know I do
but I’m too afraid to say it
I’m afraid of a lot of things
she said it to me once
but then she got embarrassed and
didn’t wait for me to reply
when I got off of her
I watched her get up and
go into the bathroom
my heart was starting to calm down
when she came back to bed
I held the blankets for her
snuggling myself up against her
my arms automatically
finding her and
I thought about
how warm she felt
how comfortable it all was
holding on to her
before I closed my eyes
A bard tossed of precious thought,
Awakes each night, eyes distraught.
To feel the words precise and clear,
The days outset he must not fear.
With time and wit, he will not lie,
True penned musings cannot die.