Oh Duck!

Looming, Ominous

Shadow cast on the fated

crunching wood...bone...quack

storefront

wouldn’t mind ridin into town on a horse.

six-shooter full of vicious.

set the whole town on fire, then ride

atop the first hill to watch it burn.

but that’s make believe. easier

just to switchblade the next baggypant

that passes the bodega and wonders

how this wall holds up all of my mean.

climb the staircase to the top

to watch the moonlight turn his blood black.

First Steps

The bewildering balloon animals,
painted-on smiles and impossible colors
overjoyed the other children and big people
whose eden and idea this was.

Since they sang together, my terror
somehow an exhaustible thing,
breathless in their voices, I learned that joy
is just your dark shape cast before
you by any cheap light, still you
dance on its feet like a father.

Doggerel: Field Day

Ramming up that rectum with field day trophies.

More little men in that ass than sausages in Shoneys.

Then the 50 yard dash broke the camel's back

and that sphinc'-seam split like a leprechuan sack.

going for the gold--to the breakfast buffet.

step aside, fools.   Black needs a plate.

Doggerel: Magical Stealthness

Buck my horn up in ya like a unicorn ninja.

Magic meat, I gave-itz cuz you krave-itz like Lenny.

El Pegasus in the dressing room at JC Penny!

Doggerel: Blancos

Roughin' up slut guts, blowing blancos on their jowls.

Dong swinging low, oiled and sweaty as beach towels.

gagged-up gobs glistenign their cheeks like gerber babes,

gottem hitting notes like Prince with my purple vein.

Doggerel: Family Kill Threat #73

Crankin' outboard motors, props aimed at the twats

of dopefiend hookers found in vacant lots.

go ahead and scream, bitch, when you beg i bust--

white shapes in the air like pegasus.

i got ur ID--about to head to your house.

find your fat ass kids and pry open their mouths,

ram my piece down, bile spraying from the chamber,

pull the trigger back--brain-covered power rangers.

to the nursing home next and wake granny up from her nap,

throw the bitch off the roof and head to skyride tap.

El Pegasus

Shawn never anticipated that his acoustic ejaculation song, El Pegasus, would skyrocket him to fame in Starkville, a small college town 10 miles due East of the ass crack of the world, the Alabama--Mississippi borderline, nor did he appreciate the immense carnal pressure he'd put himself under.  El Pegasus went viral and...

not sure what happens next, ideas?  

The Long Overdue ban of kansaskansas

No doubt more than a few of those lost souls on rivals.com had been counting down the days with a fucking advent wreath, and the dog's ass has finally come under the sun--our friend kansaskansas has been banned by the board mods.  The likely cause of the ban was a flurry of biting remarks including attacks on both Big Black Guy's actual bigness and blackness and a sweeping tirade against the board's staunch papal defenders on the child rape issue.  No prisoners were taken.  While the entire Fighting Irish constituency and Big Black Guy were summarily dispensed with,  AnotherVoice was regrettably left unharmed.  Below is the Tirade.  Note the characteristic epithetical flourishes and 3rd person employment near the end:

here it is, your special made thread to discuss scum who rape children and scum who protect child rapists and scum who cover it all up. personally, i find this issue pretty uninteresting--to me, it's as cut and dry as they come--these people are scum, period. but it's been brought to my attention that certain of you feel this issue is more nuanced. as a fan of grey areas, i'm happy to listen to your arguments about why church leadership is not sweepingly complicit in these thousands of child rapes. so, please, enlighten me. i realize that you are tender people, so i'll try to put this to you delicately. here goes: you're cowards. i didn't rape those thousands of kids. catholic priests did. i say that's disgusting, and you say i'm 'over the line.' feel free to explain how, cowards. i didn't pay victims to keep their mouths shut, claiming it would be bad PR. the catholic church did. i say that's disgusting, and you say i'm on a bully pulpit. feel free to explain this too. i didn't protect child rapists from the law and the punishment they deserve. the catholic church did. i say this is reprehensible, and you say it's ME who has the agenda. explain yourself. i didn't reassign the rapers of children to churches with more children. the catholic church did. i say this is reprehensible, and i'm a bigot...interesting pattern we have here. where else have we seen it? oh right--journalists break the news of new rape allegations, cover-ups, etc. and the catholic church denounces them as slanderous, gossipy, and agenda-driven. classic deflection. what did jesus do when he found the moneychangers selling livestock in teh temple? what do you think he'd do to the current temple's den of thieves complicit in child rape? and look at yourselves, you snivelling bunch of craven pinheads, with all your unctuous hand-wringing and disgusting equivocations. you scum make kansaskansas sick. and what'll happen next, true to your spineless form, is that you'll tuck tail and run for hills. how could you mousy little cretins do anything else?--i haven't said a single word you can argue with. so, go ahead and run away. back here in the real world, kansaskansas and anyone else with any guts to them will keep on taking this issue seriously and taking it head-on. i'll let you weaklings know when it's safe to take your fingers out of your ears.    

Two Sheets Waiting on a Third

Sitting in Travis watching honeysuckle

hug dogears like that fence was an uncle

means little more than sip and breath.

Say there's a bloom. Say here comes death.

Doggerel: Half and half alley

Rum and cokes in the alley where i got some half and half,

stirring drinks with the pinky that I use to finger blast

'sphincs, plus two in the pink when I shock 'em

and get that head bobbin' like robotic rock-and-sock'em.

pistol grips?  i clock'em.  pistol whips?  i knock'em

"over the top" of noggin just like kenny loggins.

pussy lips?  i slob'em back to front like Das Haggen

Doggerel: Fur

When it comes to normalcy, I'm apostate.

Bout to buy some furry critters to massage my prostate.

I find that sheep hot, hope it hits my deep spot, 

moves through my duodenum.

Quadrupeds with my rod in 'em.

If it's hairy, OK.  I sing kareoke.

Animal dong in my guts playing hoke pok

Doggerel: back in '82

Bangers on the bus trying to stare straight through.

Squint harder, bitches, you can see '82.

underrroos chocked with rocks, cruisin up in your spot,

getting sucked off by your moms and your pops.

you touched my big wheel!  so your cap got peeled.

woodgrain and leather--hope you liked how it feel.

i squeeze juice box and glocks, stoppin hearts like clots.

bloodred booty jammies from all the boddies i dropped.

Grand National

Grand National

 

This aint no jet black death trap, son,

roaring off the rock lip of creation

goddamning all through the blue, violet, black.

 

They had a high noon in mind,

shadows sunk in the ground flush as nails,

when they made this, they took this solid

American Sunday number, overbored the six,

gave it a will and some means,

gave it that look, like a black lava glass

spearhead trailing a line of flame.

 

Maybe it was overkill to take the supercharger,

designed to cram air into aircraft engines

suffocated in the high thin air, like gills

on a dragon, to breathe and breathe fire at once,

and put those ancient lungs in a streetcar.

Then maybe there are bigger things

that need killing.  Special made,

the suspension was just to keep it down.

Hugging turns, brakes to land on a dime—no,

no concessions were made to the lesser

and more bastard forms of speed.

 

The quarter mile is the rough limit

of vision and predation, and the machine

made to run it is made to make differences

between here and there, between us

and them, then and now,

or to make those differences disappear,

for opening or closing ground,

for getting free or even.

 

Settle back in it, youngblood.  Head down

and make some trouble, find something out,

goddamning all set something free

so black it shines, run like hell.

 

 

I want to be a florist and keep a gun under the counter for my customers.

I’m grown up and want to be a florist no one fucks with but the dead.

Can you say they wouldn’t deserve it?  Fucking with florists?  Jesus.

You don’t think about these things, you read poems.  People do

Though, and they’re just the ones who darken the usually bright doors

Of florists, which could be a metaphor for other kinds of innocence

If that’s the sort of thing you get out of bed for.  Others want sex,

Money, to be feared, and coming by all of it easy, hence the flower thing.

I don’t know that florists are innocent.  I can’t speak to that.  I just want

The chance to pump a few .44s into my persecuters as a florist.

I asked you once not to touch the leaves of the African violets.

I won’t ask again.  Or else what, flowerman?  What are you…

The blood climbs out of them in a column and flattens against the sky

Like a fiery mushroom cloud.  That’s how it looks to them

When they’re doubled over and then they fly right up it into heaven.

It reminds me of the way water rises through a stem and makes me think

Maybe they don’t deserve all that.  But then I remember

I garner amputated parts and keep them alive long enough to sell.

That’s what I am.   And I grow.  Now you know.  Run like hell.     

Family Recordings, Thanksgiving ‘63

Listen to this here.
Down South, there is no 'O' in violence,
nor in those flowers, mostly wild
and all but gone this time of year,
only the sinewy vine of an 'I,'
clinging, curling round, the cold grin,
the little giggle.
The big laugh, the 'O' in god
down South.

The Inhuman Phalloi of the Past's Future

Some specific musculature of retraction
somewhere afferent to the wrist
for a cock to spring clawlike from (the hand/its fundus)
for the purposes of precision in fucking
is a precursor. Also a light for seeing
what you’re doing is a precursor.
Pinpoint fuck accuracy in bioluminescence:
it’s hard to imagine the world
where this is not adaptive. Run like hell.

Doggerel: #2

Riding dirty. On the number 2 bus,
when a skirt bends over straight flashin some 'nus.
I said Dang, girl, I'm likin how you ride southbound.
I got some dangle to straighten out and put in yo mouth.
I'll kill your family, bitch, if you can't make me bust.
Cut your granny open, jumprope with her guts.
Once I penetrate it, batter you up inside,
you'll be defenestrated, rolling down Lakeshore Drive.
Riding dirty

Doggerel: Egypt

You need a shower girl, of the golden kind.
I'm all powerful like pharaohs of olden times.
Half man, half god, I don't spare the rod,
putting body parts in you like canopic jars.