Thursday, September 20, 2012

I open my skull with a flower, & a mad butterfly flits




in. He brightens the black emptiness as the crow caws &



sharpens Jesoo's claws. Jesoo fornicates with the dirty



bird, loving his neighbor as he loves himself (O probably



not that much) & carries her off to eat crow. A feather



sticks in his yellow molars & withers away from the bad



breath, where all God's creatures meet their death.



Let the dead bury the dead, & my skull closes up



entombing every dirty bird, which Jesoo thinks absurd.



If there's a whey, there's a curd, & there's onions &



carrots in it, & when U finish, it produces shit that takes



a whole shelf at the produce store, refrigerated to last



some more, rotten to the core, but that's how Jesoo



likes to eat it before he bends over to manufacture



shit. The butterfly comes out brown, who was the most



colorful creature in town, before the flit turned to shit.



The Lone Ranger is summoned & Batman too.



Superman is in prison for robbin' Robin, who was



Katjanjammerkidnapped & tied to the transom for ransom,



but the transom breaks in two.



I open my skull with a flower, & a mad butterfly flits



out. They cement my skull back together, & the worms



inside are consumed in darkness ...



!



poem 2



When the bishop cuts off my head, I'm rooked.

I take out my gun to shoot down a bird.

I like him better when the devil's cooked..



No matter really, I guess I'm hooked.

It all seems, constable, a bit absurd.

When the bishop cuts off my head, I'm rooked.



I'm doomed, at least that's always how it's looked.

I'm to be destroyed, says the holy word.

That's what they say when the problem is brooked.



I like him better when the devil's cooked.

t's much more savory, or so I've heard.

When the bishop cuts off my head, I'm rooked.



Sundry headless women get me studbooked.

As cottagecheese, we're a bloodthirsty curd.

That's what they say when the problem is brooked.



Then comes the real problem when you're cold schnooked.

In the mirror you're a bloodthirsty nerd.

When the bishop cuts off my head, I'm rooked.

That's what they say when the problem is brooked ...



!



poem 3





The head dangles between his legs.

Jesoo's nose sweats between his eyes.

Mary stares horrified & weeps/ through



his nostril a bloody worm creeps/ in

Jesoo's teacup the Master's blood steeps.

The worm sips & shrivels up dead/ a



million worms get in his bed &

ball as prostitutes for their bread/ they

all get syph & gon, for getting it on/ how



else could they get off/ hear the

devil's cough/ the concubines get made as

all the little chicks get laid/ anything to get paid,



a job for the Marquis de Sade/ for a small

tip, he gets his whip & loses his grip/ the

whip flies off into the loft & hits a piggy in his



belly soft/ they hang the pig aloft until he's bled/

they sever his head & sop up the blood with bread/

he tastes mighty good, it's said/ the

head is dangled till all be dead ...