Sexagenarian Reptilian

I stayed at my grandparents 
a lot as a young child.
my grandmother was a very
liberal person when it came
to the human body.
she would get undressed
in front of me, and allow me to
look at my grandfather’s 
playboys while he was at work.
she would be in the bed reading,
and I would be at the foot of the 
bed not reading the articles.
at night I slept in between
my grandparents in the bed.

on one occasion, my grandfather
was working the graveyard shift
at the paper mill, and it was 
just me and my grandmother.
we got into bed and I put
my little leg across her leg 
as I usually did at night.
this time something strange happened,
and I said to my grandmother,

“Nana, you make my lizard long”

silence…

she was either thinking that it’s
time he sleeps in another room or,
‘shit, I still got it’

Psychedelic

The Canadian psychiatrist, Humphry Osmond,
coined the phrase in 1956 –
over half a century ago, 
but it doesn’t seem that long;
four years after I was born.
Used it in a letter to Aldous Huxley,
the guy to whom Timothy Leary brought acid
on his death bed –
died the day Oswald shot JFK –
so Huxley could die tripping.

Comes from the Greek words
for “mind” and “reveal” –
psykhē and dēlos, the root of which
means “to shine”: dyeu,
which also informs the words “adieu,” “adios,” 
“diety,” “divine” and more. 

Osmond used the word in a scientific paper
only a year later:
“A Review of the Clinical Effects
of Psychotomimetic Agents,”
in which he discussed therapeutic uses
of LSD and mescaline for the mentally ill.

In his 1956 letter,
Huxley had written to Osmond:
“To make this mundane world sublime,
Take half a gram of phanerothyme.”
Osmond wrote back:
“To fathom Hell or soar angelic,
Just take a pinch of psychedelic.”

thirst

i’ve been watching cam girls
literally fuck themselves
for weeks now

empty beer cans
decorate the area around me
like some kind of enchantment circle
where i can summon a demon
to devour me

but instead i cry frequently
and boil into evaporating waters
that stain the ceiling
like a rorschach test

something is also wretched
in the turning tides that
encompass all my
personal definitions

and now

“a thunderstorm forever, above me”

these perpetual distractions
that linger like a lust unexplored

that bleed into the banks of
my yet filtered deliberations

i’m surely becoming
someone i hate more
than i thought possible

fuck you

the ballad of hollow girl 

she needed the biggest, she needed the best.
the boys in her town were stubs 
and the men of the city were little more.

so hollow girl hiked the globe:
sometimes paying for it, sometimes raping. 
hollow girl went shore to shore
pounced on and bounced on every man she saw
in countries you’ve never heard of.
she passed herself around the few hidden tribes 
whitey hadn’t wiped out yet,
but even they barely scraped the sides 
of the insides of hollow girl 
and as she lay in jungles crying hollow cries
as technicolour beetles scurried over her hollow girl body, 
the satellite picked her up: 
the narcs in secret Lab 47b were surveying the globe
for the next tree glue, the next cancer-curing coconut or whatever, 
when they got wind of hollow girl
and they homed in on her: 
watched her rut and cry and rut. 

a chopper swooped in and got her
and hollow girl was wheeled into shady government clubs 
where:
narcs took turns. 
prime ministers had a go of it. 
royals hopped on. 
powerful men – anonymous and too famous, 
they all plugged her up, 
even all at once at one point
but alas – they still barely met each other 
in her. 
it was no good:
hollow girl was still hollow.

so the important men shot her into space.
the bastards, they shot hollow girl into space. 
hollow girl hurtling through the cosmos in a big phallic rocket
that she could easily take: the irony not lost
as she watched galaxies slide by the window like weird little windy towns. 
hollow girl wishing she could be full. 
wishing she could be a full full-on lesbian, 
as the edge of the universe came yonder 
faster than she ever had

then there was 
nothing

then there was 
something – 
maybe some light?
some white light?

and then
she woke up 
on God’s lap 

who’s your daddy? He said 
and wriggled her up and down His length
but still, STILL
hollow girl was unsatisfied.

that was it. 
she’d had enough
of never having had enough.
it was the literal last straw.
she slipped right off Him,
and He slipped right out of her.
then she leapt up at His face 
and scratched it into a big useless pate.
then she sat panting on Him a while …

finally, she felt good. 
not great, but good enough
there, on God’s dead lap.
still not fulfilled: 
quite the opposite in fact. 
but she was full of unfulfillment, you see?
the agony of hope was gone at last. 
she was choc-full of dreams of vengeance 
as the blood of His face rained down on her. 

a hate 
more powerful than any dick
swelled inside her.
The Hate filled her up, all right. 
The Hate bubbled out of her every chasm orifice, 
on the faceless throne of our baby dick dead God.

on Her throne. 
She was pregnant with vengeance 
as destiny coursed through Her hollow body. 

and Hollow God? 
She looked down at all of us
and now Her work
could begin. 

for the next thirty years

sometimes the neon bleeds
through my soul

she’ll never love me
when i’m dead

i’m not so sure about alive
either

punishment is getting close
enough that her perfume
stays on your mind for
the next thirty years

now, i spend most days
wondering if anyone will
show up to my funeral

another bottle for the floor

thankfully, this isn’t
the first rodeo

the first trip down
choppy waters

lightning in the distance
and you can smell smoke

eventually, you learn
how to swim

how to hold your breath

how to tell a lie so good
you can convince yourself
it’s the truth

You Say You Want a Revelation? Well, You Know…

God comes up to me on the street. Says, “Hey, pally-pally, how’s tricks?” 
“Tricks is good,” says I. 
God stares off down the street where the rats are eating the corpse of an old woman 
who died walking home from her crummy waitress job. 
“This shit makes me want to puke,” says God. “What a fucking mess.” 
“I don’t mind,” says I. “But if YOU don’t like things, why not fix it all?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I just said it makes me want to puke,” says God.
“Damn, bro,” says I. “You sure work in mysterious ways.”
“You know it,” says God, giving me a fist bump. “Stay chill.”
“Groovy,” says I. 
God walks down the street and picks the biggest rat off the old woman’s body 
and shoves it in his mouth. Swallows it whole.
“Mysterious ways,” he yells back at me.
And then the whole world ends, just like that.

The Throne

It’s been called a throne,
Probably dependent on location.
At my office building and on our floor’s restrooms, 
Royalty, or Corporate Executive not withstanding,
It’s just a public toilet.

A means to an end. It does not discrimate.
Piss stains, pubic hairs, unflushed fecal deposits.
Gods and janitors, bums and priests,
pro athletes and carnival acts.

All are equal here.

Today, the asshole in the stall next to mine has gone Nuke.
At best explosive diarrhea, maybe radioactive.
At a Godzilla level.

Does it stink? Like the wet feces of a dead skunk.
Probably worse.  

I struggle not to puke.
My neighbor offers a courtesy flush.
Kudos to him for that. 
And that keeps him out of Dante’s 7th circle of Hell.

I offer him my best wishes and better dietary choices,
And sympathies to the stall’s next inhabitant.
I notice the fucker doesn’t take the time to wash his hands on exit.

No hope for humanity.

She Looks Down and Laughs

She looks down and laughs
They look down and laugh

–While we thirst below with our dying tears–

From their perches above the sun

She looks down and laughs

They look down and laugh
At me at you
All of us deserted down here
With our sadnesses
And our ragged shoes
And our no love

She is pointing and laughing
And they are laughing with her

Her voice cuts right through
A laugh soaked in blood
In guts and blood

They all laugh and laugh
Laughing at us

Laughing from their perches

Their perches above the sun

the good pleb’s war on (more) drugs 

we, damn us, we
don’t ask for much.
we literally 
break our backs at work 
and like good plebs
we haul our broken backs 
to the pharmacies 
and we neck the cough syrup 
we pop the pill
we snort the mint 
and then we get back to work. 
and we break our backs some more 
until we dare to pester the doctor:
a middle man 
who won’t operate on the cause 
but graciously scribbles on a notepad 
thereby giving us his permission 
to buy more drugs
for the symptoms: 
more drugs,
better drugs,
hell – the SAME drugs 
but in nicer, branded boxes. 
and we thank him
we THANK him
and drink and pop and snort 
then get back 
to our back-breaking work, 
relieved that the NHS hasn’t been privatised yet.
no, seriously, we do! 
we’re the good plebs, 
us, damn us, us. 

Steady as She Goes

Rise and shine
Part your hair on the left
Make sure to brush and floss
No cavities will be tolerated
Don’t want to get the dreaded
-GINGIVITIS- 

Hide your tattoos
Tuck in your shirt
and stop slouching

Eat your greens
Do your homework
Pay your taxes
Go to church

Get married and settle down
Your upside down mortgage 
not withstanding
The kiddos will need a college fund
Don’t forget the employer-matched
401k up to 6%

Embrace the two-party system
your choices being: 

-either-
-or-

It’s the same choice regardless;
death by a thousand cuts, or
a thousand little compromises

Don’t rock the boat
Keep one foot in front of the other

Careful not to say anything 
too progressive
too conservative

Wouldn’t want to make waves
make anyone feel uncomfortable

It would be a shame to tarnish 
your spotless record of never
having anything to add

Right down the middle
Keep it between the lines

You can’t hold an opinion 
so controversial 
as to upset the order of things
People may think you’ve gone 
and taken a side

You need to keep them guessing 
as to what you stand for
if anything at all

Once as a young boy 
There were two girls that liked me
both named Sarah
They called me on the telephone
asking which Sarah I liked the best
They told me I had to choose

Make one girl happy
make one cry
I was damned either way

So I chose
and have been choosing 
the wrong Sarah
ever since