The Human Condition According to Cardinale Lotario de’ Conti di Segni, Pope Innocent III (1198-1216)

Innocent III, not the jolliest of Popes,
wanted to dash Everyman’s hopes.
To achieve this end, it was his primary mission
to set out his thoughts on the human condition.
His medieval mind produced a short treatise
marked by a really heart-warming thesis:
that Man’s made of slime and is utterly vile,
(and ‘Man’ includes Woman, so no need to smile!)
Man is conceived in the stench of lust,
ending his days as ashes and dust.
Made of rotten blood and unclean semen,
he enters the world pursued by a demon.
In life he breeds fleas, tapeworms, and lice,
and in death, worms, and flies, because of his vice.
If it’s all vomit and dung when he’s ‘in the pink’,
in death he’s reduced to putrefaction and stink.
So no Gay Lothario was this Innocent Pope.
He much preferred to whinge and mope.
‘De miseria humanae conditionis’
was not the work of a handsome Adonis.
While in frescoes he cuts a commanding figure,
his prognathous jaw was only slightly bigger
than the rest of his prominent facial features
that made him appear to be one of those creatures
of Italian stock that looked more like a German
and regarded fellow humans as lower than vermin.
His lantern jaw of the Desperate Dan variety
had a light in there to search out impiety.
Yet people still read the song that he’d sung:
‘the more delicate the food, the more reeking the dung.’
Considering the chant that Lothario intoned,
he tended to leave no turd unstoned.

Knave of Spades

Dig my grave, clown. Dig it well, dig it good, dig it like a devil down in hell should. Call me the knave of spades – Uncle Black Jack; nephew to the universe; cousin to birth’s curse, and to death’s boon. 

Daniel in the wilderness never lost; though once for five days a mite bewildered. Way out in the boonies, lost finds a way to find a way out. 

Space weaves time’s web. Few and far between any who off the spin wean. I am not one of those either, though once a minute for five days lost in ether.

Call me a joker, call me a card. Grunt I lard the world big with ambiguity. Hear but the top, never peek underneath, till you find yourself with the slops out on the heath.

Chuck that earth, while you chuckle at my rave at the knave of spades. Dig my grave, clown. Dig it well, dig it good, dig it like a devil down in hell should.  

I am not one of those either, though once a day for five minutes lost in ether.

Deal me off the bottom. Cheat me at solitaire. Whip my butt in the woodshed. But never for me shed a single tear. 

Dig my grave, clown. 

Do me the boon, knave of spades, to dig. 

Three Ways

Three women emerge from a sleepy night
drowning in the cobwebs of leftover dreams
caffeine soon to be shared from a bowl
sugary treats pastries being the sole
reason to stretch their bodies in morning ritual
breaking free of constraint with unseemly acts
they walk to the river wrapped in chiffon and lace
no longer avoiding the whispering eyes
they drift in and out of feathery leaves
falling slowly from autumnal trees
the wanton river peaks in early morn
they drown their faces in its liquid silk
feel the force between their legs
the perfect three way
body
mind
poetry

Light a Candle at 58

Exit 58 is a Vegas showstopper
3 suicides this month
I saw one of em
drop from that bridge
like a huge stuffed animal
contorted bent and fluffy in the air
like they had folded up for the hit

The one last month landed 
on the hood of a car doing 70
detective came by
to investigate these incidents
why the exit 58 overpass – why here?
because they can get over the fence
it ain’t high enough to keep ‘em down
he walked away discouraged
there ain’t no secret voice from beyond 
calling to these jumpers
no dark omen hovering over 58
it’s just dang easy

The twins at the bar today
drunk to the point of savage
pull up their skirts in unison
show their stuff
walk over to 58 like they comin for it
they strolled by twice last week
sizing the climb
the fall
holding hands 
they stare over
into a blind abyss
I’m sure they discussed this
either through their telekinetic twin powers
or over martinis
slurred together a plan 
to fly over in a wind of glory

I said 3 this month
2 were addicts
the 3rd lost his house in a gambling bender
3 kids and a wife bring flowers 
and light a candle at 58

The Bassist of Boston

I was in love with her
although she was old enough to be my mother
Maude to my Harold, December to my May
but she hadn’t lost her edge

drinking Stoli 
out of a Dunkin’ Donuts cup
talking about the time she 
dated the bassist of Boston

claiming like every 
other New Englander
that her family was stealing 
her inheritance

okay, maybe it wasn’t love
but it was more than a feeling
when a perfume 
like sandalwood and juniper berries

caught the Gloucester breeze 
and I knew she was walking to the bar,
where I could meet her for drinks 
before my wife came home 

Eastern Avenue Arcade

I’m back in my car,
My mouth smiling but sore
     the way your mouth feels after sucking seven cocks in the last hour

Lunch time, 12 to 1
Face-fuck aftermath, back of the throat tenderness
Sore and edgy
They still fill my nostrils

Sweat and pubic must, musk, and Irish Spring
My sore soft palate will remind me
Until I’m out of Oklahoma
Of every cock that pushed against it

That enjoyed my sweet and slick submission
So free to take in that darkened, roadside, den

Oklahoma City
Eastern Avenue Arcade
It takes a while
For your eyes to adjust

Pulling clean and circumcised cocks from unbuckled blue jeans
Silky hard and throbbing shafts from gym shorts
Swirling my salvation tongue over the tip
Then suckling like a pup

Retired Air Force Non-Com’s and
Construction foremen in their 60’s
Oil field tool salesmen
Use my willing mouth, anonymous

Imagining Goddess forms,
     their wives or long-lost loves
           and other more disturbing deviations
                that one that kept calling me “his boy”

Imagining all sweet release
They grind my forehead into soft and furry bellies
Imagining they were anywhere
But Oklahoma

Used to Be

I waited forever
For the warm days
Of summer.
Now they’re here,
I wonder why.
I didn’t shed those
Pounds I put on
During the winter.
So the pool’s out,
The beach likewise.
I used to be a prime
Piece of a studly man.
That’s ‘used to be’.
Used to nix pussy
That I didn’t think
Met my standards.
Now, I wouldn’t turn
Nothin’ down.
Hell, the little fella’s
Blind anyway.

Encounter on the #15 Bus

“Did you get on 
at North Avenue?” 
the lady asked 

“Yes” 

“Did you notice 
if they have a 
dog wash?” 

“No, sorry” 

“My golden lab 
needs a bath and 
I heard there was 
a dog wash there 
for $6″ 

“Sorry” 

“Surely you saw it?” 

“Look lady I didn’t 
see a dog wash. In 
fact I’ve never even 
heard of a fucking 
dog wash. I know 
where you can get 
your pussy washed 
for $2 after a thorough 
work out. Does that 
help?” 

“You are a nasty man.” 
I smiled in agreement.

***

From: Sex Doll Gumbo

Bathroom Floor Next To Toilet

It goes this way sometimes.
You wake up semi-blind
with fungal toenail dust
coating your tongue and sties
in both eyes that did not exist
before, and the coiling
and recoiling miles of intestines
stuffed in your abdomen
like so many sausages past
their expiry date, turning green
and gray and a gray-green
perfectly balanced. Luckily
we don’t fetishize guns 
in my country, otherwise,
well otherwise, a bullet
to the temple would be 
a small and tender mercy. 
Better than this rusty anvil
rotting in my aching skull,
pulling all my teeth out
of their gums and stretching
my nostrils as wide as my mouth.
Then it happens, the cataract
like effect both beautiful
and leg-weakening.
And thus one surrenders
to the cool of a rim, ceramic
and white and lovely,
no matter, no matter
what went on before this
moment, it’s like being hugged,
it’s like being loved. 

dam i wish i had a mcchicken… 

i sit down on the curb
remembering that great scene in the movie american history x
* so hungry *
look at the ground
a rolly bug (!)
pick it up
watch it on my palm 

a young one approaches
are you really jesus christ reincarnated? she asks,
pointing to the words on my shirt
sure am.  
mom told me you are just a very sick man
well, what do you think? i ask her 
hmm, she thinks.. 
while i put the bug in my mouth
ew! she squeels
mmm! i say
what’s it taste like? 
a mcchicky, i tell her 

JENNY COME HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT! her mom is screaming 
jenny says bye jesus! 
see u later jenny 
i watch her run 
her dress blowing up in the wind
revealing very white panties
i tongue bits of the bug from my teeth 
tastes like pussy

pro tip: if ur really hungry u can eat rollypollies to keep ur energy up 
suburban bear grills

i walk on
through a neighborhood
passing great big houses
perfectly manicured green lawns
cherry blossom trees 
barking dogs
behind big gates
a muscle man is washing his BMW
shirtless
he stares at me
i stare back
i take off my shirt 
he asks what are you staring at?
i say i’m staring at a mcchicken 
what did you say, buddy?
you heard me loud and clear, chum 
listen pal, if you don’t move along, i’m going to call the cops…
i see a lady pass by in the window behind him  
i point her out, 
i tell him i’m going to move a long thick schlong
up that bitch!

i lick my lips 

i’m jesus christ i can do anything i want