It also invented the wheel.
So, the only question is, How many lives do You have?
x
Very Untitled
Why did Bonnie and Clyde cross the road?
Because anthrax hadn't been invented.
Why were Bonnie and Clyde mistaken for a chicken?
Because every day is Thanksgiving.
Clyde got a call last night from Bonnie. It was long distance.
He said, I can't hear you, my music's on too loud.
I'm a one-man S&M machine.
Even when I'm a thousand miles from myself, I can still put a cloth over my mouth.
One day, when I was a kid, my mother removed her hand from my thigh and said, Son,
When you see a wounded animal, get the hell out of it's way
I said, Why?
And she said, Because it can't possibly win.
She was sleeping on the sofa at the time.
I once caught my dad panting over some panties. I quickly took a photo.
Was he wasting anyone's time? I don't think so.
My dad was the musician Phil Ochs. In his final years he would always sign in for gigs and open-mikes using the name John Train.
John Train. He clearly wasn't writing young man's poetry.
I would like the space between myself and others to be in the form of a flower in a flower-pot, on a window-sill, with the sun coming down on it.
Did he inherit his father's disease? I don't know.
He once said, at a gig, I don't have any regrets. My kids will not talk about me when I've left the building.
x
Why Doesn't That Bracelet Fall Off?
Green river of dune season and a packet of black stars
when her mouth flies by like a freeway of blurred oil refineries by a lake of suspicious black fish
the bedroom paved with willow-grass and baking bread
which licks the butter from the day's sharp teeth of grandpa's sailory motel
a motel in lisbon is jacobin turtle
today's lost buttons jangle in the pockets of an autumn flower
rainfall into a hat driven over by a cartload of piglets and cheese-cakes
carrying a box of guitar and tom-toms into his asteroid ears
hair of straw blinding his eyes from the disgrace of seperation
and his brother bent over his mother like a grand piano in drag
she won't apply to the night for custody of shredded children
we learn to walk by using our eyes
and the mechanical ballerina rotates in the corner
and the unplugged stereo system screams like the sun
the sun which burns like aluminum skyline
as we file past the sugar bowl of giants in leopard skin tights
the five jack-hammers of his hand and the breeze
of golden knives in sudden rendezvous
to make our peace with the secret furnace
fishing the river in black star
arms pulled up by a passing cloud
g
Green river of dune season and a packet of black stars
when her mouth flies by like a freeway of blurred oil refineries by a lake of suspicious black fish
the bedroom paved with willow-grass and baking bread
which licks the butter from the day's sharp teeth of grandpa's sailory motel
a motel in lisbon is jacobin turtle
today's lost buttons jangle in the pockets of an autumn flower
rainfall into a hat driven over by a cartload of piglets and cheese-cakes
carrying a box of guitar and tom-toms into his asteroid ears
hair of straw blinding his eyes from the disgrace of seperation
and his brother bent over his mother like a grand piano in drag
she won't apply to the night for custody of shredded children
we learn to walk by using our eyes
and the mechanical ballerina rotates in the corner
and the unplugged stereo system screams like the sun
the sun which burns like aluminum skyline
as we file past the sugar bowl of giants in leopard skin tights
the five jack-hammers of his hand and the breeze
of golden knives in sudden rendezvous
to make our peace with the secret furnace
fishing the river in black star
arms pulled up by a passing cloud
g
d
dggggggggggy
We Have Everything!
We Have Everything!
It's morning shift at Safeways, home of the plastic fern
Dave's flown in from Baltimore and thinks it is his turn
To flog this ship with his mighty whip and stop it from capsizing
There's a big hole now in Frozen Fish, cos John's gone deep-sea diving
So Angel's pulled from Floral, it's enough to drive you crazy
For wilting Frank can't work with plants, and a doctor's note that says it
And then to make sad matters worse five Mexicans call in sick
They're off to march for workers' rights, but how's that gonna fix
Our problems with the cooler, and the rich from getting rich?
It's not the time to fight for rights, when badly we do need 'em
says Sue the brown-nosed checker, can't their church just feed 'em?
Sweet Amy dreams in Coffee, wears boots and is a painter
Sketches sketchy locals in chalks upon the pavement
Arranges 19 coffee-cups into a global statement
Used to wear black lipstick, still don't know what that meant
Fiona at the register is Norman Bates in drag
She hides behind her glasses, and a cool Adidas bag
And she doesn't like it when Trampo Steve refers to her as dad
As he slides another love-note onto sad Maria's chair
But it's not in Serbo-Croat, and she really doesn't care
That Angel's lost her eye-shadow, and that Luna's lost her fans
She used to work at Merrill Lynch, good money in her hands
Once voted high-school beauty, now rots in also-rans
Sticking half-price labels onto dented sell-by cans
Then Charlene Crystal shatters, wet tears on aisle 9
When Pete strolls by with Angel, as if she were his bride
But it's only to the mess-room, to swop some DVRs
For they share a love for wrestling and 1950s cars
Pete with 15 years in Meat has left his boat at home
He loves slasher movies, especially when he's stoned
He says, I'll see you later, but he would like to bone
Sue Woo Loo from Kiosk, it thrills him when she phones
Her mom in Beijing every day, fearing the unknown
Sue Woo is at the gas-station to buy a single rose
A year's supply of Playgirl and a gallon of No-Doze
She almost hit another car whilst reading On The Road
Bu her mind must stay on red alert as the Lotto scandal grows
But first she calls Fiona to secure a friendly ride
For Fred who's not returned to work since his great-great-goldfish died
Which is hardly fair on Simon, who's new and can't deliver
Enough soggy chickens for the deli-boys to sliver
But the news Fiona gives to Sue is sure to make you quiver
Her husband says, and this is grave, but surely he does reckon
Un-Homeland Insecurity has done a background check on
Said who works in Sandwiches, and Moe, our store detective!
But since they both are blonde and gay we reckon that's defective
Far more sense to dig in deep to the dumpster that disgusts us
For Fred has not been seen alive since the famous meatloaf rumpus
With Ric, the Swedish foreman, who drives an Astro van
Don't think of dreamy Abba think right of the Taliban
Tho he signed the card for Tony Dish, when he was sentenced to the can
For checkboook fraud and smashing doors, in a dark time of his life
He did get his job back, but not his pregnant wife
Who still comes in for coffee, and Amy loves those twins
She's done them both in oils and says that when she wins
The Lotto she'll adopt them, their mom and her are lovers
Both still think of Toe when they're hot beneath the covers
Plus Amy thinks of Crystal, and Crystal ponders Fred
Who always dreams of Angel who has Frank inside her head
At night the whole damn workforce is sleeping in one bed
Then it's morning-time and the hungry swine invade the busy store
With carts-full for the moneyed crew, and pockets for the poor
Then a sudden call for Tony, to wipe vomit from the floor
He says, "For Dave to clean it up, is that against the law?"
Then Fiona says that Brian says that Said says, then pause
another deadly feud's ensued behind the sliding doors!
Two refugees from New Orleons, and one has pulled a knife
Store-bacon brings his baton down as if they were his wife
And a tourist from Connecticut runs screaming for her life!
Then Fred who's not been seen for weeks strolls in and says, How strange
That two grown men should duke it out then call it Real Change!
Even grim Maria laughs, slow-fingering her note
Curious to what the handsome man in baggy trousers wrote
And when no-one's looking, she slips it in her coat
On aisle 9, by Crystal's tears, Mohammed's on the ground
Shouts, "Allah is Great!" Angel's eye-shadow's been found!
Miguel clocks in for half a shift, still planning to fall sick
But still can't fix the cooler, says he's strained both his wrists
And when Ric stares icily, he just rubs his crucifix
Dave the Slave from Baltimore is captain of this ship
But he's running to the bathroom and it isn't for a shit
His bong's inside the cistern and he's gonna take a hit
To help steer this sinking ship thru another 10-hour shift
Yuppies file these aisles for miles, yet they never will discern
From the bleary eyes and the mannered smiles, all the passions that do burn
Our workings and our playings we know they'll never learn
How completely half-assed customers are the least of our concerns
In high-life low-pay Safeways, home of the plastic fern
We don't get time for funerals, so we never get to grieve
We can't afford vacations, we look at photographs of trees
And if you want a pay rise, put padding on your knees
So everybody's quitting, but no-one really leaves
So if you can't find the chutney, sir, please don't look so stern
You can just drive out this lot and make a sudden turn
But we are here for many years, and every day we learn
What it is to love and laugh, in the land of the plastic fern
x
m
c
Dave's flown in from Baltimore and thinks it is his turn
To flog this ship with his mighty whip and stop it from capsizing
There's a big hole now in Frozen Fish, cos John's gone deep-sea diving
So Angel's pulled from Floral, it's enough to drive you crazy
For wilting Frank can't work with plants, and a doctor's note that says it
And then to make sad matters worse five Mexicans call in sick
They're off to march for workers' rights, but how's that gonna fix
Our problems with the cooler, and the rich from getting rich?
It's not the time to fight for rights, when badly we do need 'em
says Sue the brown-nosed checker, can't their church just feed 'em?
Sweet Amy dreams in Coffee, wears boots and is a painter
Sketches sketchy locals in chalks upon the pavement
Arranges 19 coffee-cups into a global statement
Used to wear black lipstick, still don't know what that meant
Fiona at the register is Norman Bates in drag
She hides behind her glasses, and a cool Adidas bag
And she doesn't like it when Trampo Steve refers to her as dad
As he slides another love-note onto sad Maria's chair
But it's not in Serbo-Croat, and she really doesn't care
That Angel's lost her eye-shadow, and that Luna's lost her fans
She used to work at Merrill Lynch, good money in her hands
Once voted high-school beauty, now rots in also-rans
Sticking half-price labels onto dented sell-by cans
Then Charlene Crystal shatters, wet tears on aisle 9
When Pete strolls by with Angel, as if she were his bride
But it's only to the mess-room, to swop some DVRs
For they share a love for wrestling and 1950s cars
Pete with 15 years in Meat has left his boat at home
He loves slasher movies, especially when he's stoned
He says, I'll see you later, but he would like to bone
Sue Woo Loo from Kiosk, it thrills him when she phones
Her mom in Beijing every day, fearing the unknown
Sue Woo is at the gas-station to buy a single rose
A year's supply of Playgirl and a gallon of No-Doze
She almost hit another car whilst reading On The Road
Bu her mind must stay on red alert as the Lotto scandal grows
But first she calls Fiona to secure a friendly ride
For Fred who's not returned to work since his great-great-goldfish died
Which is hardly fair on Simon, who's new and can't deliver
Enough soggy chickens for the deli-boys to sliver
But the news Fiona gives to Sue is sure to make you quiver
Her husband says, and this is grave, but surely he does reckon
Un-Homeland Insecurity has done a background check on
Said who works in Sandwiches, and Moe, our store detective!
But since they both are blonde and gay we reckon that's defective
Far more sense to dig in deep to the dumpster that disgusts us
For Fred has not been seen alive since the famous meatloaf rumpus
With Ric, the Swedish foreman, who drives an Astro van
Don't think of dreamy Abba think right of the Taliban
Tho he signed the card for Tony Dish, when he was sentenced to the can
For checkboook fraud and smashing doors, in a dark time of his life
He did get his job back, but not his pregnant wife
Who still comes in for coffee, and Amy loves those twins
She's done them both in oils and says that when she wins
The Lotto she'll adopt them, their mom and her are lovers
Both still think of Toe when they're hot beneath the covers
Plus Amy thinks of Crystal, and Crystal ponders Fred
Who always dreams of Angel who has Frank inside her head
At night the whole damn workforce is sleeping in one bed
Then it's morning-time and the hungry swine invade the busy store
With carts-full for the moneyed crew, and pockets for the poor
Then a sudden call for Tony, to wipe vomit from the floor
He says, "For Dave to clean it up, is that against the law?"
Then Fiona says that Brian says that Said says, then pause
another deadly feud's ensued behind the sliding doors!
Two refugees from New Orleons, and one has pulled a knife
Store-bacon brings his baton down as if they were his wife
And a tourist from Connecticut runs screaming for her life!
Then Fred who's not been seen for weeks strolls in and says, How strange
That two grown men should duke it out then call it Real Change!
Even grim Maria laughs, slow-fingering her note
Curious to what the handsome man in baggy trousers wrote
And when no-one's looking, she slips it in her coat
On aisle 9, by Crystal's tears, Mohammed's on the ground
Shouts, "Allah is Great!" Angel's eye-shadow's been found!
Miguel clocks in for half a shift, still planning to fall sick
But still can't fix the cooler, says he's strained both his wrists
And when Ric stares icily, he just rubs his crucifix
Dave the Slave from Baltimore is captain of this ship
But he's running to the bathroom and it isn't for a shit
His bong's inside the cistern and he's gonna take a hit
To help steer this sinking ship thru another 10-hour shift
Yuppies file these aisles for miles, yet they never will discern
From the bleary eyes and the mannered smiles, all the passions that do burn
Our workings and our playings we know they'll never learn
How completely half-assed customers are the least of our concerns
In high-life low-pay Safeways, home of the plastic fern
We don't get time for funerals, so we never get to grieve
We can't afford vacations, we look at photographs of trees
And if you want a pay rise, put padding on your knees
So everybody's quitting, but no-one really leaves
So if you can't find the chutney, sir, please don't look so stern
You can just drive out this lot and make a sudden turn
But we are here for many years, and every day we learn
What it is to love and laugh, in the land of the plastic fern
x
m
c
f
y
The Stranger
I don't subscribe to theoretical strangers
The erotic confidence boutique is a head requiem
Greatness gets rough on the ave and cops be moody pine trees
Deep boots wrapped in eye-brows with customary precision
The 'everyday' wrapped in cellophane by a jet-black traffic-light
The his and hers kitchen of union jazz gospel
The lemony mothership wine-house organics
The quality jewellery cunt-juice
Where bohemian savages seek medals in the burnt remains
peering thru a cell-phone of mirrors at a bonnet on a sandwich
A lame studio of untested bridges driving a car thru a CD collection
Where the warrior children of Malibu spit on anonymous reality
And Columbus-prayers open the unsafe light
Oriental rose of neighborhood dolphins
New toys of urban conceit burning in a hidden fan
Foreclosures in troubletown
Malice in Blunderland
Bubbles of re-treads, retirees flogging their male nurses
The Governor with a box of slaves under each arm
Pays a visit to the kaleidoscope underwater hospital
The holiday magic of last-minute turtle evictions
The democracy of laser hair removal, as sung by Fred
Pride weeps on the dance-floor like a study on genital herpes
The empty store-fronts the same as the malls
Shelves packed with pornography of every color, are we there yet mom?
Lots of cab-drivers claim they are resteraunts
Because lots of metal fences have children called Naomi
She was clearly 18 or older when she tied it to the rafters and called it home
I met her in the jig-saw of her own lake
A haircut of boulevard cups and a white belt of eyes
Lovers spiralling into silvery magazine kinetics
Veterans sucking each others wounds with see-thru pipes
Dead Kennedys, Grateful Dead and then Death Cab for Harborview
Snoopy Dog. And lacy ribbons surrounding the window where we kiss
And how the glass felt cold and clean to our lips
The world's oldest joke about pornography:
Hey dad, is this going to fit in our living room?
Yes son, I'm afraid it is
The friendly festival of big lies
A box of animals carved from discarded sawdust
Everyone in Home Depot speaks aluminum Turkish
Your tree-branch complexion and many-armed chauffers
Your jagged porcelain of pressed door
With it's hinges of hope
& your criss-crossed string of white furniture
Lost in a blur of Japanese errors and camp-fire excuses
The large, faithful doorman of your overcoat
Crystalline celebration of a false start
Karl Marx can't fill your dreams unless you're a lesbian
A re-modelled wow wails from the bus-stop
With her aprony chest of revolving travel
And Western drum of underwater book-learning
Clears the neighborhood of deluded highlights
That t-shirt looks way too tight, let me help you take it off
Stoned owls, talking by the troll
Thanks, but I can eat that at home
My only interest in porno is in their use of the airbrush
I think that's a light on in your corridor
The off-limits imagination of your sixth customer
Gambling the dillema of white curves
A straw is faster than a cell-phone
My pet monkey sitting on Bill Gates' head in the wizard prison
& replacing his mother's apple with a marzipan statue of some serious pie
Walking Hamlet head in hand through Class Discovery Park
Staring down Lincoln from the cheap seats
Helping Jesse James to hang up the picture
Of a smart bomb next to a suicide victim
Thru a village of adopted children
And the wondrously hairy coconuts of war
Down Unrepublican Road
Past the teenagers on Pine Street
To discuss the Golden Age of Greek philosophy
With a woman who loves having sex in the forest
And then I'll work the set-design for a movie
Called...'Slowly Fisting Heaven'
b
The Stranger
I don't subscribe to theoretical strangers
The erotic confidence boutique is a head requiem
Greatness gets rough on the ave and cops be moody pine trees
Deep boots wrapped in eye-brows with customary precision
The 'everyday' wrapped in cellophane by a jet-black traffic-light
The his and hers kitchen of union jazz gospel
The lemony mothership wine-house organics
The quality jewellery cunt-juice
Where bohemian savages seek medals in the burnt remains
peering thru a cell-phone of mirrors at a bonnet on a sandwich
A lame studio of untested bridges driving a car thru a CD collection
Where the warrior children of Malibu spit on anonymous reality
And Columbus-prayers open the unsafe light
Oriental rose of neighborhood dolphins
New toys of urban conceit burning in a hidden fan
Foreclosures in troubletown
Malice in Blunderland
Bubbles of re-treads, retirees flogging their male nurses
The Governor with a box of slaves under each arm
Pays a visit to the kaleidoscope underwater hospital
The holiday magic of last-minute turtle evictions
The democracy of laser hair removal, as sung by Fred
Pride weeps on the dance-floor like a study on genital herpes
The empty store-fronts the same as the malls
Shelves packed with pornography of every color, are we there yet mom?
Lots of cab-drivers claim they are resteraunts
Because lots of metal fences have children called Naomi
She was clearly 18 or older when she tied it to the rafters and called it home
I met her in the jig-saw of her own lake
A haircut of boulevard cups and a white belt of eyes
Lovers spiralling into silvery magazine kinetics
Veterans sucking each others wounds with see-thru pipes
Dead Kennedys, Grateful Dead and then Death Cab for Harborview
Snoopy Dog. And lacy ribbons surrounding the window where we kiss
And how the glass felt cold and clean to our lips
The world's oldest joke about pornography:
Hey dad, is this going to fit in our living room?
Yes son, I'm afraid it is
The friendly festival of big lies
A box of animals carved from discarded sawdust
Everyone in Home Depot speaks aluminum Turkish
Your tree-branch complexion and many-armed chauffers
Your jagged porcelain of pressed door
With it's hinges of hope
& your criss-crossed string of white furniture
Lost in a blur of Japanese errors and camp-fire excuses
The large, faithful doorman of your overcoat
Crystalline celebration of a false start
Karl Marx can't fill your dreams unless you're a lesbian
A re-modelled wow wails from the bus-stop
With her aprony chest of revolving travel
And Western drum of underwater book-learning
Clears the neighborhood of deluded highlights
That t-shirt looks way too tight, let me help you take it off
Stoned owls, talking by the troll
Thanks, but I can eat that at home
My only interest in porno is in their use of the airbrush
I think that's a light on in your corridor
The off-limits imagination of your sixth customer
Gambling the dillema of white curves
A straw is faster than a cell-phone
My pet monkey sitting on Bill Gates' head in the wizard prison
& replacing his mother's apple with a marzipan statue of some serious pie
Walking Hamlet head in hand through Class Discovery Park
Staring down Lincoln from the cheap seats
Helping Jesse James to hang up the picture
Of a smart bomb next to a suicide victim
Thru a village of adopted children
And the wondrously hairy coconuts of war
Down Unrepublican Road
Past the teenagers on Pine Street
To discuss the Golden Age of Greek philosophy
With a woman who loves having sex in the forest
And then I'll work the set-design for a movie
Called...'Slowly Fisting Heaven'
b
f
b
The Sunday Times
Rich kids weeping in the college-slums of Venezuala
Chambermaids riding into bedrooms on the dappled bones of fame
Oil-workers with bristly fridges succumbing to desire
& the streets filled with lawn-mowers
Keeps me a green lake all night
Driving 5,000 miles into the shoes of fashion
3 wishes, on another man's rug
Too many Swedish holidays
The new fins are over, and the odd end of the red plunger
Will be a decade of coal-minerly ear-rings
Holy Grail weather-shift
Sigmund Feud removing the dead skin from his heels
Killing the teddy-bear, in a pyramid of quarters
A West Coast 101 in hunger
Sports commentators speak poetry
But the pictures spoil everything
Now Frank and Alice think TV's a camera
And they're putting their fathers' footsteps on trial
So it's another marathon inside a tortilla
Too many people talking management
2 drown in a metal barn called Asia
And then snow is the country of our rented tents
Everyone's stopped wearing wrist-watches
Well, why do you need them, if you're just doing what you're told?
Bloodhounds chasing my mother thru the Louisiana swamplands
Alice's head stuck out of the ferns like a Barbie-doll
A Barbarella-hot necklace of moony starlight
And the big crop college-boy, Atlantis frog
Man killed by Xmas music in factory-garters
Magnificent things go down
Beauty dozing in a Chinese caravan of school-mistress cybernetics
A perfect wig for Roy's authority
Frank says you have to bring your own duct-tape to the all-you-can-meet buffet
If the juke-box is telling the truth
It must be that part of the body
Li'l boy Jesus, with his damp brother perched on his back
Catching a bus out of town, with the other survivors
They all wear dark glasses
My best friend killed itself to get out of the war
I was talking to a man last night in the Cold Heart Tavern
He said, "My job is to make as much money as possible"
So many argonauts, and so many fleecings
I requested he take a hike up his own mountain
And then he told me all children are Bolsheviks
Alice said to Big F, I still like you, but your collage is coming un-glued
Frank said, I'm not coming, magnificent things go down
It was at that point of our NPR-discourse
into the role of punctured eyeballs in contemporary society
that Fred slowly crawled in and whispered "I'm roped to invisibility"
He was wearing high-heels
And they looked like the twin towers on your country's birthday
I could see the drunken fire-fighters clinging to the hairs on my testicles
He was balancing a silvery tray of cream-cakes on my head
One of Fred's famous performance farts quickly cleared the room of virgins
Luckily lucky Egyptians don't play soccer for real
So Frank kisses Fred's hand
A bored game called Frankenstein beneath his hat
& 16 women called Crystal In The Cornfield
Blowing out their candles on a blonde wig
He's buying a condo. Without interest
He's finally stepping up to the plate
Blood creeps into Fred's spooky garage, and a 12-year old in the hinterlands gets pregnant
Aurora calls me from work and says, Did you know
That 8 out of 10 of your friends are wearing the wrong heads?
I said, Yes, but 50,000 rioters can cause a lot of damage
So Fred stands up and says, So this is R. Crumb
For meek and for bong
But we still can't make rent between us
And you're busy clicking channels in the great missile debate
I said, then sell me a pick-me-up of horny pirates
And then give me some boots that are a bakery of flowers
We'll build a house which is not a house
Meanwhile, the boss can give himself an award
For organising a referendum on the use of fingertips
And we'll keep dragging our broken bottles through the clouds
n
.
The Sunday Times
Rich kids weeping in the college-slums of Venezuala
Chambermaids riding into bedrooms on the dappled bones of fame
Oil-workers with bristly fridges succumbing to desire
& the streets filled with lawn-mowers
Keeps me a green lake all night
Driving 5,000 miles into the shoes of fashion
3 wishes, on another man's rug
Too many Swedish holidays
The new fins are over, and the odd end of the red plunger
Will be a decade of coal-minerly ear-rings
Holy Grail weather-shift
Sigmund Feud removing the dead skin from his heels
Killing the teddy-bear, in a pyramid of quarters
A West Coast 101 in hunger
Sports commentators speak poetry
But the pictures spoil everything
Now Frank and Alice think TV's a camera
And they're putting their fathers' footsteps on trial
So it's another marathon inside a tortilla
Too many people talking management
2 drown in a metal barn called Asia
And then snow is the country of our rented tents
Everyone's stopped wearing wrist-watches
Well, why do you need them, if you're just doing what you're told?
Bloodhounds chasing my mother thru the Louisiana swamplands
Alice's head stuck out of the ferns like a Barbie-doll
A Barbarella-hot necklace of moony starlight
And the big crop college-boy, Atlantis frog
Man killed by Xmas music in factory-garters
Magnificent things go down
Beauty dozing in a Chinese caravan of school-mistress cybernetics
A perfect wig for Roy's authority
Frank says you have to bring your own duct-tape to the all-you-can-meet buffet
If the juke-box is telling the truth
It must be that part of the body
Li'l boy Jesus, with his damp brother perched on his back
Catching a bus out of town, with the other survivors
They all wear dark glasses
My best friend killed itself to get out of the war
I was talking to a man last night in the Cold Heart Tavern
He said, "My job is to make as much money as possible"
So many argonauts, and so many fleecings
I requested he take a hike up his own mountain
And then he told me all children are Bolsheviks
Alice said to Big F, I still like you, but your collage is coming un-glued
Frank said, I'm not coming, magnificent things go down
It was at that point of our NPR-discourse
into the role of punctured eyeballs in contemporary society
that Fred slowly crawled in and whispered "I'm roped to invisibility"
He was wearing high-heels
And they looked like the twin towers on your country's birthday
I could see the drunken fire-fighters clinging to the hairs on my testicles
He was balancing a silvery tray of cream-cakes on my head
One of Fred's famous performance farts quickly cleared the room of virgins
Luckily lucky Egyptians don't play soccer for real
So Frank kisses Fred's hand
A bored game called Frankenstein beneath his hat
& 16 women called Crystal In The Cornfield
Blowing out their candles on a blonde wig
He's buying a condo. Without interest
He's finally stepping up to the plate
Blood creeps into Fred's spooky garage, and a 12-year old in the hinterlands gets pregnant
Aurora calls me from work and says, Did you know
That 8 out of 10 of your friends are wearing the wrong heads?
I said, Yes, but 50,000 rioters can cause a lot of damage
So Fred stands up and says, So this is R. Crumb
For meek and for bong
But we still can't make rent between us
And you're busy clicking channels in the great missile debate
I said, then sell me a pick-me-up of horny pirates
And then give me some boots that are a bakery of flowers
We'll build a house which is not a house
Meanwhile, the boss can give himself an award
For organising a referendum on the use of fingertips
And we'll keep dragging our broken bottles through the clouds
n
.
v
.
These days, musicians prefer e-mails over phones. It's because someone making disorganised noises can destroy the rhythm. Poets prefer e-mails, because when some-one else talks it often becomes an intolerably long line-break.
It's not our fault. It's just because other people can't focus.
Som.........
*
..
*
I told my wife I love the fact that the North won the Civil War. She looked shocked. She said, What, more than me?
I tried to explain that they were two different types of love.
But she still suspects I'm seeing someplace else.
*
Some-one e-mailed me and said, I read your poems so I can find out how men think.
I wrote back to her saying, Well, maybe... but Martin is a pen-name. I'm a woman.
capitalism means never having to say you're porridge
My mouth falls open whenever some-one tells me their real life story
And if my mouth doesn't fall open, it's because they're not telling me their real life story
Anyone can ride a horse for five seconds
..............................................................
Neither a whore nor a fruit-blender be...........................................
h
The most amazing thing about Africa is Africa is Africa is Africa
The most nourishing thing in any food-store is the people that are going there to buy their food
even if they've not arrived yet, because the store's closed
Love is a rope made of errr
When you see her new boyfriend wearing that white shirt that you left at her place, then you have begun to understand the concept of clan
s
n
These days, musicians prefer e-mails over phones. It's because someone making disorganised noises can destroy the rhythm. Poets prefer e-mails, because when some-one else talks it often becomes an intolerably long line-break.
It's not our fault. It's just because other people can't focus.
Som.........
*
..
*
I told my wife I love the fact that the North won the Civil War. She looked shocked. She said, What, more than me?
I tried to explain that they were two different types of love.
But she still suspects I'm seeing someplace else.
*
Some-one e-mailed me and said, I read your poems so I can find out how men think.
I wrote back to her saying, Well, maybe... but Martin is a pen-name. I'm a woman.
capitalism means never having to say you're porridge
My mouth falls open whenever some-one tells me their real life story
And if my mouth doesn't fall open, it's because they're not telling me their real life story
Anyone can ride a horse for five seconds
..............................................................
Neither a whore nor a fruit-blender be...........................................
h
The most amazing thing about Africa is Africa is Africa is Africa
The most nourishing thing in any food-store is the people that are going there to buy their food
even if they've not arrived yet, because the store's closed
Love is a rope made of errr
When you see her new boyfriend wearing that white shirt that you left at her place, then you have begun to understand the concept of clan
s
n
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