I 'On't'ow

The Indomitable Booze (Working Title)

Let whelp the dogs of oblivion

Let them quarrel like lovers realizing their passion's nature

Let their tongues wag in earnest in an air that chides them

Let slip the aether to sting the eyes like shampoo

Let send-error reports engrave themselves to their computer screens

Let them rest like an abandoned razor, gunked and afflicted

with metallic pox

Their thunder will not again exist in my spinal column

Their dirt will not again stick to the edges of my lips or the yellowed

walls of my lungs

Their drool will not glob onto my body encasing me in uncomfortable

feelings that give me doleful jitters and ticks seldom familiar

to anyone but junkies well into the heat, anymore

Plead with them to keep their angry cocks to their own kind,

but curse their multiplying and curse their sterility

Steal away their indomitable booze and keep it for yourselves

Show them that they are not the only ones that can make rain

Challenge their jagged cliffs with your seas of moons and diamonds

Show them our seas of dreams they can't touch

Our hides can deflect splitting atoms, if we want them to

Our innards can pump glue or moonlight, if we want them to

Our bodies are pools to dawn

Our heads can be oblivion, if we want them to

Vein Drain Don't Cool, Man

I guess I'm just going to live in these veins I don't know about. Who's fightin' livin'?

Eight-Armed Sodomy Farm

Fuck drunk like angry beetles

Jizz fizz stew brew of urban medicine

Snarl hungry for afterbirth mirth

laid blackened sad rags

Coo hues of honeydew and blues like the brine of

sea-time skyline

Eat amputee beats creaked into air by salted slug breaths

writhing dying from chests

Low long in muck sucking feet dreams of

marathon rebirth steam

Feel foam groan sweet cannibalism into pockets

chewed large by time

Feel me key wounds into painted metal like

I do through you in tears

Da-damn Man

I don't think I like this thing I've been in. For a bit now I've been cranking out about one to three poems a day and I'm not sure if I like any of them. I've been trying new things, which is exciting, but I don't think there's anything to these poems. They all seem disjointed and unfinished. I've always wanted to be prolific, but the important part was always to produce a lot of writing that I actually like.

So I really don't know where to go from here. Part of me wants to just stop writing for awhile, and another says that's the opposite of what I should do. Maybe it's this town. Maybe it's being a senior. Maybe it's just me, who the damn knows. All I know is I need to get back to tending the mucus farm of my face.

Un

Un

Sadness

is dumb

and the worst

thing is

I have

no one

to share

it with

Addition to "Meant for Bobbing Heads"

They call me BethlehemDick, you'll find your savior and shit,

Best be bringing oils and gold, i ain't for e'rybody and shit,

I got old balls.

-Hey, give my dick a holiday.

Addition to "Meant for Bobbing Heads"

They call DepthChargeDick, best watch when that shit goes deep and shit,

Wait for that boom like a submarine and shit,

I got old balls.

Addition to "Meant for Bobbing Heads" (P.S. I thought about changing the name of my whole blog to "This is What Indiana Sounds Like"

They call me DollarSignDick, 'cause that shit's in your checkbook and shit,

Two bars and a squiggle, best not to think about it and shit,

I got old balls.

THANGZ iN THiS HERE HEAD THAT ARE PROBABLY ONLY FUNNY TO ME but i like thanking abou'

WEIRD PEOPLE: "I stopped loving Will Ferrel after he started making the same movie over and over."

NORMS: "Well he never stopped loving you. Not even after the divorce."

***

( I am a man)

I stopped caring after my first miscarriage. Now I get a tear tatt every time I lose one; for all the homies that went down. In prison they would just think I got $hiv$ everywhere.

(Those dollar signs are replacing s's. The word is "shivs." I wouldn't dream of surrounding HIV with dollar signs like it's gangsta. 'Cept now.)

***

I want costumes.

I want fucking Spider-man, and I want people to 'spect that fucking hyphen, and I want fucking Wolverine, hair-faced and hair-faced.

I want hairy-assed King Kong on the fucking Moon.

I want a deer skull covered in beef jerky with a body made of fish gravy and gargoyle$.

I want a cow that loves me.

I want a suit made of living moth$, hell all my clothing made of living moth$ and I know every time it's dark and they see electric lights they'll make me naked, but bedroom business would be so much easier, and hey fucker$, quit buying bug zappers, you're ruining my new suit.

I want my hair to meow likes black cats in heat, who I assume have the worst heat because I saw it once and I was on fire.

I want a television made of chameleons and it's okay if I just have to look at jungle landscapes or southern India, or Sri Lanka, or wherever the hell their dirty little tongues flick-snap-flick, it is pest control and real cool and I bet you don't even have one ever so fuck that.

I want a 1930's suitcase filled with depression 'cause I never even got to see it, but hear huge things.

I want denim jeans made out of rattle snake tongues and venom. Venom Denim.

I want koala bears to carry guns 'cause it'd be so cute it'd be worth the bloodbathe.

I want fish to kiss like sailors and manatees, and it's okay if they curse like them too, because everyone knows fish don't even get to get to Heaven, even though they should probably get royalties (royalites) for all those metal things old people and slow drivers put on their metal-colored cars.

I want my head to be filled with bird wings and a little hole in the top of it so they can see the outside but feel self-conscious about their pounds, 'cause they's fat ass feathers ain't gittin' through there, or maybe I'll make the hole big enough for them to see suck in the world.

I want my eyes to be all black like shark eyes, not like 8-balls, though 8-ball eyes would be cool as long as they are actually the size of 8-balls like cartoon eyes and not just dumb-eye size.

I want the earth to give me the best hand job I've ever tasted.

I like the phrase "Black hole hand job" and I made it from scratch, cheaters.

I want to sing like whales for real and not just when I'm mimicking them, not mocking them, 'cause all those fat asses (fatty tattie$) could crush me like it ain't no thang, 'cause let's real this motherfucker up, it ain't no thang.

I like the word motherfucker more than is comfortable except for Sammy Jack'on (say like Jackin, not Jack On, that's weird, trufe)

Fuck is cool.

I want pandas to talk so everyone isn't so pissed all the time and their shitty and unsuccessful come-ons that make their population digits real dumb, and I want them to remind people that they're fucking bears and even sting rays can look cute up close, ask that guy no one talks about anymore. Koala's know.

I want monkeys to be impressed when I shout back at them in their own language, 'cause not being picked for teams is real mean.

I want old people to stop masturbating 'cause it's real awkward.

***

RES' PEACE

ONE LOVE