Since thy first lady declare,
that we wageth war,,
and against obesity dare,
I will hunt the fat kid,
tho he affrights me,
the first lady did knight me,
and I succeeded in the grail,
and blood marked that trail,
but popcorn spilled from his pale,
giving my hounds the scent,
downhill like a wounded lazy dear he went,
The Behemoth,
who esteemeth my sword as straw,
to sip chocolate milk,
with burps defying Queen's law.
DAGGER against my spear of poplar
is ice-cream sandwich in hand of globular,
AND THAT SANDWICH DAGGER SHALL NOT REACH FAR
BEFORE MY SPEAR UNLEASHES HIS DYING ****.
but I must admit,
I fear the headlock in his sweaty pits,
I must keep a spears distance,
away from his buttery mits,
he has vanguished many knights into that hellish abyss,

My first lady biddeth,
I will not delay, I will not tarry,
to slay the fat kid,
and hire 12 commoners to carry.

2 condemned males serving life sentences in top-security prison inmates separated by wall and steel cell bars

INMATE 1 (burps loud coarse voice) i have this fantasy of being a hunted outlaw taking my 3 guns and ******* Ford truck driving north south east west robbing convenience stores bars banks people sharp-shooting car thieving running until my time is up like the old west firing pistols wearing a Stetson hat drunk smart-*** talking hanging with ***** bar girls forget about eating just burning a trail (holds metal reflective scrap in hand attempting to catch glimpses of inmate 2)

INMATE 2 (sits cross-legged on floor with palms up resting on knees) too many people are hurting and getting killed right now i imagine if there is a god i’ll bet he or she or it feels weary disappointed disgusted by human kind’s destructive nature

INMATE 1 so what

INMATE 2 i don’t know about you but i miss women their point of view play friendship tenderness nurturing intimacy physical beauty i long for love belonging a woman’s touch her attendance passion the hinge of her thighs licking ******* ****** crave its warm wetness taste smell texture even tongue dipping into **** in a way i’m a total gynephiliac or philogynist

INMATE 1 filojinist huh what are you a professor you ***** son-of-a ***** where did you learn to talk like that tell me professor ever **** on a perfect *****

INMATE 2 most women have some desirability i’ve known many but yeah there was one in particular i remember she was a beaut bulging pelvic bone cute floppy lips eager **** tangy gamey sweet salty flavor just the right amount of furriness lust response flow she’d reach for my ******* and i’d just keep working her getting her hotter taste her ***** taste her *** i was addicted to that woman’s ****** even though she treated me like trash perhaps it was simply an oral fixation or some subliminal need i don’t know our relationship lasted way longer then it should have guess i was kind of drunk on her downstairs

INMATE 1 i never was much of a cooch muncher (flexes arm muscles opens tightens fist) women are cows they give off too many odors plus they always want mommy control no matter how much or what you give them they always want more

INMATE 2 you don’t get it do you the connection between the moon oceans great mother earth fragrance of dirt aroma of rain female beauty you’re a misogynist gynophobe possibly misanthrope

INMATE 1 you use too many big words ******* i hear some women is like how you described yourself some women gets drunk on johnson and nuts

INMATE 2 what are you talking about

INMATE 1 i want to get hooked up with a ***** like that a ***** who’ll lick and **** my johnson and nuts all day long (hand goes to crotch squeezes)

INMATE 2 yes me too maybe we ought to ask ourselves why escapism into ****** fantasy and release is so profoundly vital to our existences

INMATE 1 what

INMATE 2 life sentence means no motive for rehabilitation no hope for redemption how much money does it cost to maintain each prisoner who pays the bills why keep us alive does society honestly believe we pace our confines haunted in regret yearning for inner salvation

INMATE 1 you think they should **** us

INMATE 2 i question the entire punitive system did you ever read Michel Foucault’s Punishment and Discipline the beginning will make you squirm or Franz  Kafka’s In The Penal Colony that horrific carving apparatus

INMATE 1 uuhhh what the **** are you talking about

INMATE 2 i don’t know i don’t understand why i’m locked up in here

INMATE 1 (runs fingers through hair) what crimes did they convict you of

INMATE 2 i tried killing myself so many times they put me on death row i should be free to roam or at worst case scenario sedated in an insane asylum instead they accused me of being a danger to myself and society they said i could injure other people while attempting to destroy myself i drove off a 6-story garage ledge onto a public street below

INMATE 1 is that why you’re in here you silly *** ***** driving off a 6-story garage ledge onto a public street below ain’t no crime hell just reckless driving

INMATE 2 the courts are ******* up judges think they’re celebrities silver-tongued thieving lawyers twist the truth the whole system is corrupted by bribes cover-ups secret deals concealed schemes personal gain collusion fear

INMATE 1 as for me i tortured ***** killed lots of people men women children you want to hear some tantalizing details like the time i ***** killed a mother and her 2 young daughters cut out their warm hearts and ate

INMATE 2 (interrupts) stop you sick animal please stop

INMATE 1 yeah you got a problem with that

INMATE 2 i couldn’t live with myself doing what you did i get skittish at the sight of blood

INMATE 1 you pathetic lightweight i want to stick my johnson up your tight hairy *** so bad (sniffs finger) i want to hear you squeal like a little girl

INMATE 2 sorry to disappoint you but i’ve got hemorrhoids

INMATE 1 French ticklers hell they just make ******* a more interesting sensation

INMATE 2 this is the rudest most repulsive conversation

INMATE 1 what you think you’re better than me just because you’re educated (finger picks nose flicks ****** at wall speckled with many ****** flicks)

INMATE 2 i didn’t say that perhaps morally more reserved why did you torture **** **** people

INMATE 1 it was fun made me feel powerful having control over another person’s existence hey i didn’t ask to be born blame it on my mom people are so ******* up life is a joke i was just trying to help rid the world of all its vermin

INMATE 2 there was a time when i would have considered you psychopathic but in this chaotic shifting flipped out world where reality mirrors fiction and when civilization is insanely vicious fraught with violence guns firing fires exploding extremism prevails criminals scoundrels lunatics govern gang lords rule the streets your murderous vices may serve as grounds for exoneration provided you conduct yourself intelligently you may qualify yourself as an ordinary survivor or possibly even reputable citizen

INMATE 1 what? you’re reasoning i’m normal maybe innocent you’re my main man tell me why you want to destroy yourself so bad

INMATE 2 i think human kind is a curse we annihilate everything and don’t seem to learn change instead we get worse our busy selfishness is a betrayal against earth all the creatures a betrayal against god as a kid the betrayal i felt i knew i could not reveal because it would be a deeper betrayal the neglect and punishment i endured i knew i could not make known because it would only add to the betrayal the rage i felt listening to lies i knew i could not challenge a million lies i did not know how to confront the frustration i now suffer pains me as long as i can remember in my mind i’ve always felt like a prisoner alone in a room no one is coming this twisted despair inside the body of person with suicidal tendencies found guilty sentenced to life incarceration in maximum-security prison doesn’t that sound like a double conviction

INMATE 1 wow interesting ok professor you’re putting me to sleep chat with you later

INMATE 2 you really ought to learn yoga

INMATE 1 voga? what’s that for

INMATE 2 an inner journey a light when other lights go out a way to stay grounded when gravity fails

INMATE 1 sounds like just another jail cell

A scuba diver, head first like a dolphin,
goes in to the ocean, 100 feet down
in semi-darkness finds this apparition
something beautiful to behold in motion,
really really big and mysterious it appears
gliding gracefully spewing wonderment,
inviting reverence from all kinds of marine life

Clearly apologetic, for being out of place,
though he has encroached, in to a world
though not far from the sea surface,
yet in a depth where human has no place
all his scientific temper got  evaporated
a simple villager now, gripped by wonder.

All he could think of anyone
fitting in to such magnificence
was God Almighty,himself.
"How do you do God?" he stutters,
aware that in plankton filled darkness
the mighty man is at the mercy of
the behemoth, looming large above.

The phenomenon in question,
"***** whale"as we know him,
smiles and burps happily "Fantastic"
then he dives 6000 feet down, looking
for a colossal squid, succulent to be sure
the whole reason for him to play God
at this depth for sea creatures that lose
bearing in the haze of challenging depths.

an average American
in a slept-in crumpled suit
stuffs today’s unread news
into holes in his shoes,
burps the taste of greasy chicken soup
sliding stale mission bread
down his gullet
regards two smelly
rag-tag ****** hobos
lapping the same charity meal
and realizes sadly,
the Bolsheviks may be right.

doug curry
may 4, 2012

Boys are weird!
Us girls will never understand them.
They scuff their knees up and walk out the house with tousled hair,
Can they ever think before they do?
They swing, climb, run, and jump on everything!
Just stay still.
Boys will be boys,
With dirt on their faces and cuts on their fingers.
They stick gum in girl's hair,
Carry slimy frogs in their pockets.
Their appetite is atrocious,
Are they gentlemen deep down?
Boy's language is all washed up,
They'll call you hot instead of beautiful.
They're full of burps and hung up on videogames,
Wrestling in the house every second.
Do they have a nice side?
Dads will keep a good eye on them,
Making sure they're good for their daughters.
Boys never stay like this,
They grow up to eventually become a *man.

when the sweethearts left,
we took off our token smiles
and overly-kind eyes.

my roommate grabbed a beer,
quickly ****** it off,
i put on "beat connection" by lcd,
and the derailment of the night
began with some synth and burps.

i made a *** of coffee,
went outside,
the neighbors were having a party,
making a stew,
grilling chicken,
drinking,
drinking,
drinking,
and exhaling enough smoke to signal the natives.

"are you drinkin' coffee muthafucka?"

"hi, i'm josh, and yes."

"the name's chase."

"nice to meet you." *******.

before i knew it chase, our neighbors,
and about three people i didn't know
were in my apartment.

chase looked at a picture of lennon in
our living room.
asked me my favorite beatles album.

"probably sgt.peppers."

"you like that gay ****?"

"if that's gay ****, yes i like gay ****."

he grunted with rednecker royalty.

"the white album is probably my second favorite,"
i offered.

"man, the white album is the ****.
there is nothing else."

someone said they had some fire, if anyone was interested.
everyone was.

there was a dark-skinned boy, with snow white teeth and a fake afro, rapping as i clumsily played an acoustic.
there was a 26-year-old ***** and his 43-year-old wife
smoking a bowl in my bedroom,
there was my roommate vomiting on the carpet,
there was everyone
and
there was
me.
there was everyone
and
there was
me.

Specialism, electro mechanical circuits,

moving parts yet move, you see, but when we read we bring our senses
inside
privacy can become a public mind, if one is connected, in a giving way,
taking thought,
as the original medium we found message in,
thought takes form
in words,
words take form in things. Right. Check.

Blake feared the objective world was being walled in,
and all the people screamed, amen.
Again

Build the wall, from icons demoted to mites of no more
weight than a tinker's think,
phe-nomenal noment-ation, if we may

Hot and cool both bubbled up as burps, perhaps from the babes
booming through the lies told before the great war.

No future? You allow that thought in your culture?
And shame and blame?
No wonder you choose to lie.

Bear with me a while, share my load, it's light.
There is a hopeful object,
we can go easy into that good night,
the world is round.

Free from Ra and Isis and all, in one fell sweep of the besom.
Broom, besom, means broom, but the effect of an e,

e-lectrix

you give us the fire we'll give em hell  a game ad in the middle of the massage
Call of duty, black ops.
they
You use you eyes to see, it's a with-spiracy,

a hair of the dog that bit you. Eh?
live in bonanza land, 1965.

and so it goes, Dresden, every minute of every day

the walls of your home are coming down,

unless you were born with a cell phone in your father's pocket.

Privacy is calling for walls from the fenced in time after Bonanza.

Ah, too late, ours is an all new world of all at onceness, a global village, happening simultaneous.
extreme with everybody else's business, huge in
volvement in every body's business

we know too much to be strangers
walls fall down, not go up,
the wallbuilding never workded, did it Grandpa?

Nineteenth century student could believe
the factory system
would use the knowledge, hard-won
from books and chalkboards,
to keep him outa the mine.

Now, the information age,

are we the leisure class? Ever learning,
never knowing everything,

but knowing walls and wars do not perform as advertised.

The safety car, that was one with seat belts, 1965.
Our body percept, it changes,
this image of which you are un
aware.

The disconnected minded man, alienated
artist living edgewise to
cattywompus.

My life is my art, eh, not the other way.
Global village information age McLuhan named these things
from Canada.
More expert than my teacher,
Pop art is not a pun, it was a bubble,
that's a fact. The-joke-with-no-story-line-conundrums,
elephant jokes, blonde jokes

Those tests, Turing would approve,
any old A.I. can play chess,
just remember every response to every move ever made in any game in the system,
like the amygdala, your lizard thought-speed brain,
at the top of your spine.

But humans can make funny seem.

Humor comes from a world of un happiness and gripes,
Jose Jimenez was the example they made. Racist, right?
The guy was a jew.
William Szathmary, Googled it.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_Dana>

Communicating with the logo-label-designer you wear,
messaging the world what? Exactly,
any un thought thought goes unsaid,

but T-shirts and body art, henna's the best,
those send a message with no thought whatsoever.
Same as Redcoats in bearskin hats, what's being said,
same as the judge with a wig?

What is the role?
Why the ongoing act?
It must have changed into that wigged judge from something.

Theater of everywhere, accept allatonce, or die asking y not.

Inward directed seeking
deep meaning
a role that changes

some outside
the future of the future started, a while back. not too far.

No inevitability.
An act of high poetry

envisioning,
the future was friendly

metaphysical value, brilliant, incomprehensible
a man, a thinker,
storytellers the experts say,
need some mud behind 'em. and some snow.

a mother never satisfied with her life,
brittley self confident,

the whole approach to knowing is old.
Diogenes's search for a good poem, with
shifting levels of imagery,
never shall you know,

they work
the way a word works,
the effect.
effect. fect from Latin facere,
sistere mechanically deus
The oracle of the information age
Ah,whatvoiceisheardaroundtheworld,
oh,mine.2018 Mr. McLuhan,
you'd likely lighten up a little.
Toejammspredder was mcluhan I heard on the grapevine.

Hey, mom, I'm on TV.
Up to doctrine, then destination syndrome a hopebubble

He had brain surgery and returned to Catholicism, a safe place.
But he left his vision to television's offspring.
That's about all I know of his work.

In fourth grade I got a handwritten paper back from the teacher.
All my lowercase letter b’s were perfectly circled in red ink.
I think that’s what made me allergic to fire ants and yellow jackets.

I used to work at a breakfast restaurant and I smiled a lot.
I brought him his omelet and he told me it was as big as a body *****.
It was nice that I got to ask strangers for their first names.

I donate blood every fifty-six days on the dot because I like the questions
about prostitutes, and the ****** Butters, the rubber bands and the iodine swabs.
I am O positive and I feel regeneration as the bag fills up.

I wore black in Valencia and I could feel the gray matter pulsing in my brain.
I danced with the balcony girl in the bathrobe and I watched the whole city burning.
He always offered me the same breakfast, a warm glass of milk and a cigarette.

I slept on salty bark in Big Sur and we drove fast over Bixby Bridge.
I couldn’t get my head far enough out of the window in the backseat.
I smelled so human and breathed in the waste of the redwood beasts.

I came across an old barn with an old truck parked permanently behind it.
The bed was piled high with bundles of dried lavender harvested before I was born.
I grabbed scratchy handfuls and rubbed the brittle stalks on my arms and neck.

I stood in the cathedral so I could feel the weight of each broken back.  
The forest sculptors and lamb carvers believed in what they could not see.
Light pours in through the stained glass window and I feel the colors in my bones.

Gravity isn’t a factor when a jellyfish plague leaves
a layer of purple gelatinous mass on the beach.
The hills unzip their jackets into the ocean waves,
feeling the cool breeze on their uppermost ridges.
Rocks are painted from within
demonstrating all the colors of the turkey tail.
There are spirits around me,
watching from the pine trees and rippling the water when they wink.
The explosion of the dawn wood pigeons
startles the leaves awake.
I was there when the lightning made this river,
filling it with life and movement.
I can see your shadow from behind the aspen grove,
tunneling the light towards the chalk cliffs.
The ground is shaking from the thunder core of my fiery center,
I take shelter under the strongest branches.
I wrap a blanket of constellations around my shoulders
and count the times the bullfrog burps.

“I can never remember if the Earth goes around the moon
or if the Sun goes around the Earth.”
‘That’s alright, I can never remember if the tides are pulled on strings by fish
or by machines under the marsh.”

Then there are these blue dreams of mine, underwater in a car with one door open.
My ears are popped and I can’t get them unpopped, even if I chew bubblegum.
So I put my thumb and index finger on either side of my nose and blow.

The guy sitting behind me
opened up a tupperware,
brought his own food
to my favorite cafe
and he smacks his lips as he eats it
crunches the world's loudest salad
and burps as a finale

*I want to **** him

the sharp edged
rubble
of the decimated
mud crab
lay in a pile
of shell,shards
and hollow limbs

we sat, fingers
and faces smeared
singapore curry sauce
smiling, as we raise
our beers to
still tingling lips.

simultaneously
we burp... in appreciation
big joyous burps
of yeast and curry.

we laugh....
before starting to clear
the table
of the mess...

What’s the connection?—
        a secret kept best between plug and socket.
               Prophet man gone the old electric way,
[and durn’ an election year, no less]. Epigrammatic burps, and
  occasional flatulence, of intellection,      
I can’t help
        but admire my own kindofbouquet, it ain’t easy—
                 when Christ was crucified like gas…

…There’s a million and more clichés I could toss around as mud and dirt;
       Alas!,
                         I’d rather speak in terms of glass, [plateglass, stainedglass etc.,
               germs and love, and guns and lovely lovely ca-sh,

today’s math; burnt and sad, self—Walking [my] small town streets, sure to stray faraway of dense windows,
        and passerby's in ugly masks, with karaoke mouthpieces,
                       Ballads of boredom on precipitate tongues, Shoo!—away
and blow apart minstrel clouds.

        No taxis, [ever]
        just men and women in ordinary cars, pedestrians,
                   in obvious shoes,sporting unconscious denim,northeastern scowls
—fashionable scowls,
         nuanced grays that distract from the spots of ill sun [hostage winter sun;]
                 scowls like Northeastern sky herself.

“I’ve surely lost my perspective”
                 [An empty phrase, really. A neat vaguery, I submit.]
        I had a perspective, I still got it;
        Though not much use it does me being how singular it is,
                                       Optics and all, no shades of reflection,
Dense windows of thought, so dense,
       —it’s now a microscope! Hell, all i can make out is a loose collection of colors,

A broken box of loose wires
          and some kinda bang-up dodgy liberty, those frayed connections, too.
                Nothing as tidy as plug and socket,
        however,enough
                to keep the lights on.

THE SWAN & LEDA

How, like a...God
he comes

taking the shape
& the form of a

swan

who having had
his wicked way

longs
to be

on his
merry way.

But, wait
...what’s this

he can’t....shake
...his fine...feathers...off

feather upon
downy feather

locks him
into the costume

he had put on
& now...can’t be put off.

What magic
can this human woman

weave

& now
having been taken

takes great pleasure
in having her servant

a giant of a man
among men

****** the swan
& be gone.

And once
the God

is well & truly
f*

he’s plucked
of all

the finery
of his feathers.

Behold, the God
standing in the ****

shivering & ready
for the ***

the final twist
of this fatalistic plot

...his beautiful
neck.

That night
she dines upon

the subtle delicate
breast of swan

served in a creamy
pepper & garlic sauce.

She even has
an extra helping

thinking she can
always exercise it off.

Alas, poor Zeus
wishing he had chosen

to pose
in his usual tour-de-force

a shower
of gold

but thinks too late
(thinking even as he is eaten) .

And now, she burps
(“Oh, pardon..! ”)

sleeps
& dreams

of a God
fit for a dish.

(I fancy you.
I ******* fancy you.
I fondant fancy you,
I flight of fancy you,
I fancy-pants you,
I fancy the pants off you)

I fancy your body -
Every inch of it!
I fancy your hair,
I fancy your spit,
I fancy the way you
Knock on my door,
Just the knock gets me hard!
(But I don’t fancy the door.)
I fancy you first thing
In the morning
When my mouth wants to do something
Other than yawning,
I fancy the way you pull at my hair,
I fancy your smiles,
I fancy your stares,
I fancy your job,
Your wardrobe,
Your phone,
I fancy your burps,
Your kisses,
Your groans,
I fancy your tongue,
I fancy your licks,
And I really
Really
fancy your ****,
But most of all
I fancy the fact
That I fancy you
And you fancy me back.

1.  Silence always means he's thinking about his deep and everlasting love for me.
2.  Farts are his way of glorifying my existence.  And burps always get a "God bless you."
3.  Him and Gary the get-well-gorilla want me to be happy.
4.  On OKCupid, the opening line of his first very first message to me was "Bonjour!  While reading your profile, I noticed you're into gaming."
5.  He found that street, you know, with the black mailbox at the end of it.
6.  I have never wished for him to "find an antique rocking chair to die in." (ESOTSM)
7.  We will have a hammock in our attic.  And a room for our four cats, named Fiona, Penelope, Montozo, and Ernesto.
8.  We will kiss in a tent in a woods, and then kiss in Paris, and finally settle which is more romantic.
9.  [R]Otman's Ottomans is our future enterprise.
10.  Oh, and, uh, I guess I love him, and stuff.

Apocalypse Dreams


Pt. I

a handful of unknown faces--familiar strangers--mixed
with recent visitors of my flat
(like the faerie friend with the voice of a man, the proud & queer
Ms. Bobo-Dancy herself, who taught me how
to glitter everyone in the dance hall)
come together to swim.

we tread water in canals, naked along
the European street whose frames are
pastel towers, elaborate easter-egg homes.
untouched elation sits in our chests,
a rare, extraordinary *****.

our legs tango in cyclic waves,
we do the dead fish float in the rising water.
when we relax our eyelids, our bodies are carried
right to a high school gymnasium.

the dance continues, takes our legs
down the stairs, we duck against
descending ceilings, to reach the blue mats in the basement
where we stretch our limbs fully, infinitely--
(until gravity bickers).

the blonde lady in front instructs the flow--
until
Sirens shriek in routine breaths
(the alarm we prepared to disregard in school drills
presents itself).

***** smoke rushes down the stairs to play tag,
my eyes dash, but no doors,
all the fibers in my thighs work together to perform the sprint,
across the tiled floor, up the crowded stairs

but flames rule the spiral staircase
i **** in air, hold it, as i rush against the cloud of grey, the block.
fellow stretchers surround me, but i reach the door right in time,

I look back. I am Lot’s wife.
Against my will, I look back.
I watch the orange killer strike--
In one motion, he absorbs the school
The girls behind me on the stairs
become walking bodies of fire.

Pt. 2

Tonight we are at the ocean,
the boy from Budapest, my father, & I.

We stand with toes on the shore
as waves gently turn in with the aid of the Moon.

It is winter, yet the ocean is bathwater
under Midnight’s sky, under the rickety boardwalk,
We push off into the deep water.

The boy points at the scarlet seahorse latched on my arm like a tattoo,
Through the clear water, a stingray sways, spots my legs, &
chases me back to the sand,
my heartbeat runs faster than my feet.

Back on the sand that starts to growl,
quiver, faster, and
the Earth hiccups, an awkward sonic thunder,
then it vomits up seawater, with much vigor,
--an epic volcanic belch--
only over the ocean,
I am untouched.

But the boardwalk,
It acts like a sewer
The water rushes through its pipes
I see one man on the walk,
a tall, dark-haired stranger with a top hat, suitcase, & a story
The water sweeps him up
and he drops straight down,
his bottom plops onto the shore
and his arms fall right off like a plastic doll with removable parts.

A smile strikes his face,
Is it the satisfaction of a future in disability funds?
The humor in being knocked down by random burps of the Earth?
The random vomits that take us with it.

His suitcase is out of sight, and
I am being transported to another new home,
with purple walls and a **** green carpet.

I am yawning at the apocalypse.




Pt. 3
August 1992, Miami


Off the highway ramp to Miami,
Clusters of cars perched as birds in the treetops

Like baby robins, some shimmied back and forth—preparing to fly
Telephone poles and oak trees did the tango ‘til they dropped

Like unwanted *****, they dispersed among the grass and streets
The twin palm trees from Carol’s backyard spilled into the in-ground pool

Her once-favorite spot—they will forever be swimming. The sun, the only
light in town, radiated in waves, darkness to light to darkness; the stench from

lack of running water permeated the air. Carol had phoned the bank earlier; her untouched safe deposit box was the reason for her trip. She parks her Buick

in the spot with the least ashes, and walks towards the bank, NCNB.
Its walls were scattered among the cement, the teller’s desks have vanished.

She eyes the security guard sitting (in uniform) in a grey folding chair near the entrance. “How may I help you, ma’am?” the words exit his lips as if it’s a normal

day at the bank. She tells him her business, and starts towards the back, but triggers the guard... “Enter the front door, ma’am!” Her feet guess where that used to be, start over,

She gathers her savings, leaves out “the door.” A sharp smile crosses the guard’s face.
How long will the it last?

1) I’m so sorry.  Please Forgive me.
2) You have my sweatpants still.  I want them back.  
3) My parents still think you’re gay.  I don’t bother correcting them anymore.
4) I need you to forgive me.  Please.  Before the guilt eats me alive.
5) How dare you think of me as your ex-girlfriend when I thought of you as my best friend.
6) I want to play a game of Operation with your skinny body.  I want to slowly pick your organs out of you one-by-one, knowing that it’ll hurt you as much as it hurt me when you said goodbye.  I want to hurt you.
7) Do you remember the time you made a wish on a star?  Do you remember the wish you made?  Does that not matter anymore?  Do I not matter anymore?
8) When I get drunk, I don’t talk because alcohol reminds me of you.
9) I miss you.  Every day, right when I wake up, I miss you.
10) Do you think about me?  Do you still hate me?
11) Don’t ever talk to me again, or I’ll cut your tongue out.
12) Please just talk to me.  Tell me you don’t hate me.
13) How are you?  I think of you every day and it makes me feel hollow.
14) Do you remember the last look you gave me on that last day?  That look that promised that when you came back everything would be okay.  I feel cheated because you left me.
15) What happened while you were gone?  Was it me?  Was it the drugs?  The ***?  When was the exact moment you stopped loving me?  Did it make you cry?
16) How’s your new *****?  Do her burps taste as good as my lips?
17) I hate you and everything about you.  I want you to get out of my head and out of my life.
18) I miss you and the things we talked about.  No one else could ever fill the gap you left in me.
19) I smoke a cigarette every day and it feels like revenge on you.
20) I hate love and it’s your fault.

Just when I think I've seen it
All throughout this  land
They went and upped the anti
On the classic can of Spam

Those with the higher power
The ones that run the show
The Spam men of the hour
In a bunker buried way down low

Have added different flavors
To this meat of mystery
From Teriyaki to Tocino
That's bacon to those who don't speak Philippine

They heat it up with Jalapeno
Helps to liven up the slime
Those bunker boys as they're fondly known
Have really out done themselves this time

Aloha from Hawaii?
Imagine Spam in a Hula skirt
As they pull out the Leis and go all the way
Adding pineapple to those Spam burps

Exciting rumors have it
They're in talks with Oreo
There's no place in this universe
That a good slice of spam won't go

The only thing they need to work on
Is the dipping in the milk
They have yet to solve the problem
Of the massive oil spill

Yes they've taken what the rest of us
Never thought could be improved
Just goes to show what ingenuity
And a touch of crazy genius can do

There is a wooden window, circular
above a roses-in-ink embroidered couch
that complements and contrasts the curtain
of roses-in-mud that eloquently hugs
the wooden sides of the wooden window.

On this couch I sit in my suit and out I see
through the circular wooden window
waves with stretch marks and salty burps
dancing (for me?) with brave crashing crescendos
and butter melting bass.

This ocean could teach humanity
absolutely everything about ***
its voluptuous waves caressing
the ***** seaweed and *******
it for miles until it's washed (limp) ashore.

The couch back is hard and unused
speaking of the depravity of our angry age
whose ***** wear bare the leather and studs
on the barstools in the club below my library
with its wooden window, circular.

I've yet to see a sunset or sunrise
in a place where I can see no land
but looking at the quiet reflections of rage on
the roiling ocean, on which I'm afloat,
I pray I do- I want to see it all aflame.

Tania slurps her cheap beer and uncrosses her legs,
exposing fresh bruises from the soup factory.
She outlines them in marker and draws
a smiley face on one located on her right thigh.
These bruises tell me that my life is composed
almost entirely of bad decisions, she says,
replacing the cap on the marker. I ask how
a decision could form such a perfect,
purple circle. Between swallowing
beer and peering into the rain,
she burps. I can't say, but--
I mean, do you want
to have ***? Later on
I drive her to the
hospital and I visit
a therapist. For
a few months.