As clear as hounds howl, howl
With sobs, those grim and eerie,
Choking on an outdrawn vowel,
Is the my transparency when you’re near me.
As sticky as an earwax slug
Burrowed in the thickest dung
In a treacle pit of tar, freshly dug ,
Is how twist-tied you twiddle my tongue.
And as ships are chomped by the rocks,
Just as little bugs are food for bats,
If I were a starving sailor who stalks
His prey , then I’d want you to be the rats.
Give everything you can away
In the end, it gets hard to lift.
Fuck tomorrow, just then, and yesterday
Take right now, and make it a gift.
Hey, lookie, darlin’
Our little cottage window –
There’s a firestorm raging
It’s raining blood and brimstone.
Now I know
You want to taste those flames
And feel that vengeful wind blow,
But it’s warm enough in here
With you –
So let the world burn on its own.
A tiny, painful, ripe, red pimple
Formed on the lower lip
As if,- by a malady – kissed.
It stood there, coy and bashful,
Merely fending off intruders,
Until that little pimple
Turned into a cyst.
Dear winter candle, keep me warm
With your perfuming ember,
And may your glow bring light or form
To what destroyed November.
Bite your lip, bitch;
You’ve got 13 lonely storeys,
Wind rushing through your hair
You’re homebound towards the ground.
Reduced to a sound
All your years of living
In a messy little mound. .
Since long, long, long before
The existence of remember
The trees had fought a might war
Until they all were timber.
The Pines trees dropped their needles
Into the woods of the Birch,
The Birch trees replied with beetles
That made the Pines’ bark lurch
The Sweetgums hid behind a hill
While a lone pioneer made sure
There numbers would outweigh the skill
Of the resilient Douglas Fir
The Cotton trees shook a great, big cloud
To taint the water of the warden Oak;
While it dried to death, bustling loud
The Cotton trees just wretched it choke.
Out West, rebellious brotherhoods
Allied and formed The Front of Ferns
To overthrow the Redwoods:
Trivial, for in the end
Every tree still burns.
When Jealousy creeps
And probably sleeps
With every word that’s ever been said;
Tis then, from the deeps
That Distance leaps
And annotates what you’ve read
About great White Whales,
Of captains mad with fervor;
Searching holy grails
Or unmapped trails,
In order to get further
Away, away, so far away
From romantic ropes which fray
And fail to rise the heat;
And on that day,
When your blood turns gray:
That’s when Jealousy has you beat.
When once sweet smiles
Lose their luster,
To be smudged,
– Tarnished –
And heartless filibuster
They’re forlorn to be re-varnished.
It’s a cold cut, machine carbon copy
Of a body
But it’s not your own.
It’s a nice, warm, time-killing hobby,
But the trace job is sloppy
Like you’ve never known.