Alien Buddha

I was about to begin the Camino de Santiago
But I preferred to go behind the Sierra Morena
To find the lizard droppings
Or the dried cow dung
That would lead me to knowledge
Of the divinatory fields.
I began to defecate next to a rock
Behind a green rosebush
On four flowers.
The first thing I saw with my third eye
Of my Ace of Diamonds or Ass
Were three similar figures or together
Like three naked maidens.
A knight on horseback passed by
Who looked like a UN soldier
Who said, to the four winds
That he was coming after the three beautiful maidens.
Not far from me, in a nearby meadow
I saw a horse riding a she donkey
On a crown of crosses or squares.
I also saw a bird, a quadruped
A snake, a rose, a thorny bramble
And a willow with melancholic thoughts.
While wiping my ass
With some wild asparagus
Because I didn’t have any paper or a dove feather
I looked up at the sky
Seeing two overlapping circles
Some scattered squares
Some ovals
A straight line with three crosses
Some triangles and a parallelogram.
Suddenly, emerging from a circle
With four points inside
I saw an alien Buddha appearing
Who, sitting on my shoulders, asked me:
-Are you lost?
Have you lost a fart among the stones?
Beginning to move my penis and balls
In various ways.
When he took over the situation
And from that first drop
Luminous drop or aura
At the tip of the bud, he ordered me:
-Close your eyes and turn your head as far as possible
To the ass position.
Position yourself sideways
So you can see both of your faces at the same time.
Put your cock in your own arsehole.
 I’ll help you with mine’s
Through the hole in your own anus, or third eye.
Your ass appears bluish
Seventh color of the rainbow.
Ejaculating both of us inside will produce a release of the soul
Like Tao and Zen together with a Chinese tinge
In a Japanese tapestry.
When I tried to answer him something
He jumped on my fart
Shooting off toward the sun or the moon
Laughing out loud.
This alien Buddha not only disgraced me in unison
But as he left, he stuck his tongue out at me.
What a rascal!

sunday psalm

you
are a writer 
b/c you sit down 
and write – 

not b/c you call 
yourself a writer. 

you
are a writer 
b/c surrounding you 
on your desk 
at 7:34 sunday morning 

are 3 books 
you have written, 
15 raggedy-filled notebooks, 
a typewriter, laptop,
countless pens and
empty cups of coffee. 

you
are a writer 
b/c the sun slits thru the blinds 
and highlights the words
in this poem – 

you
are a writer.

The Male Gaze

Maybe my imagination is out of focus.
By law, I can no longer trust my eyes,

nor can the world at large trust them.
Indeed they’re crimes waiting to happen.

I still believe I innocently perceive 
the beautiful when I see it, and daily 

feast on its sundry optical banquets.
After all, what the eyes see, the mind believes

and what it believes nourishes the soul.
A beautiful day is thus a beautiful day.

But when the eyes see legs coming 
down the street, long legs, lean legs,

tanned legs with golden bristles, 
legs like fiery chariots, legs like wings,

legs like verses from God’s epistle,
denial doesn’t amount to disbelief, 

nor raising the hands as if to block 
the eyes from a radiating sun flare,

or a thermonuclear blast. Avert them
how when the legs are thrust upon you,

striating, striding, flexing—fragrant
as the summer breeze they part and flail?

Maybe go Biblical and pluck them out?
But presuming all this, did God not make

me with these eyes? Did God not also make
these legs I see divine to some degree?

Etiquette & Vitriol

For Nicky Silver

You’ve never met a normal person.
But I have. And I’ve learned my lesson:

people with manners made me who I’m not.

Swallow your gum then
shit in your own mouth
please. Guess what this is:

{(;)}

LOL ROFL IYKYK BTW
do you know how long
I’ve loved you? Never
boils, a watched pot.

Épater la bourgeoisie
or—less like a bundle of sticks—
evil shall with evil be
expropriated. You said once

David Foster Wallace’s footnotes
were like him shitting into his own
{(;)} but do not to mention that to anyone because

it’s too highbrow which is above
where one should actually
shit into. And BTW, do you, yes,

you know how much I love you?
I tried to pray yesterday
but couldn’t. Oh
well that ends well.

I’m well; how are you?
Hi well, I’m dad.
Hi dad, fuck you.

Well, this needs to end somehow.
Nohow. Yeshow. Somehow. Hey,
while I got you for a second,
guess how much I love you.

Until then, goodnight sweet
cocksucker*.

*Insert footnote about how cocksucker actually means {(;)}, lol 😉

Sir, Your Denture

I was walking with my friend Jesus
On the seashore of San Vicente de la Barquera
In Cantabria, Spain
One afternoon when the beach had a red flag
And there was no lifeguard on duty.
He took out his cock and started peeing, saying:
-Look, Petronilo, look!
Here comes Neptune, king of the seas
Strong, with a black beard and long tunic
Coming to manipulate my penis
6’5″ long
With all the forms of masturbation
Trying to perform divine magic
With gods, deities, and sea monsters
Like tritons or nereids and sirens
Like Amphitrite, Salacia, and Venilia
Who are skewered by the slit on his trident
Like sardines on an inquisitorial skewer.
I answered:
-Jesus, it’s not Neptune or Amphitrite, Salacia, or Venilia
It’s your own imagination
While you were jerking off after urinating.
Afterward, we sat on a stone bench
On the seafront.
Jesus, who feels and remembers everything, said to me:
-Now I remember my maid Constancia
Who my wife Minerva hired
To do Housework.
She was Colombian and a sight to behold.
One day, I promised her extra pay
For performing cunnilingus on her.
At first, she resisted
Because I could be her father
And she my daughter
But then, thinking it over, she said yes.
-Listen, Constancia
Your pussy is very cold.
I’m going to put some Anís del Mono (Monkey Anise) on it
To warm it up.
Constancia moaned at my licks and bites.
We stopped when we felt my wife returning
From her nightly worship before an altar.
The next day
When my wife went shopping
Constancia came to me
With a small plate in her right hand.
She stood before me
And with a deep woman’s voice she said:
“Sir, here’s your denture
That you left stuck in the lips of my vagina.
I answered her saying:
-Constancia, my heart
For you I lost my teeth.
Tomorrow I’ll stick my dick in your pot
That’s what I want most
With another extra paycheck
Being careful not to leave my balls
Inside Indeed.

Matched

I am so much
like you
in that I differ
from everyone
or so I think
and thus I feel
somehow anointed
and appointed
the position of
an almost saint
and sometime
sinner on the run
from something
or someone
who might
wound me
after loving
my true self
and like you
no one else
understands this
dichotomy within
my naked anatomy
because I fear
that which I desire
the ice age
after the fire
the morning after
the one night
walk on
passion’s high wire
and thus
we both hide
because we think
we must
like love, cower
under the cover
of lust
and all this is just
another way
of saying
that for both of us
the online dating scene
has been a complete
and total bust

the language of love in a land of despair

six billion people on the planet
and our karmas intersect in a town so small
it can’t afford a marching band or a patron saint

fifty-eight million square miles of land mass on the planet
and our lives bump into on another
in a two-stall carwash off the old highway 
while I’m wearing cut-off blue jeans that expose
my emaciated old man legs and bony knees 

she’s about thirty and obviously from out of town
chestnut hair and deep green eyes
sixty-eight hundred languages more or less
spoken on this planet dominated by jabber mouths
and all I can think to say is nice day

oui she replies
a fucking Frenchie what the hell 
in this dinky town in this backward state
with nothing for miles around
but cow pastures and wheat fields and stifling heat

a hot fucking frenchie
ten feet away from me
and I dodder like my cousin Howie
who hasn’t been able to eat solid food
since Nixon took his final copter ride 

one expert says the average person will speak
over three quarters of a billion words in a lifetime
but the next gems that fall out of my mouth are nice car

can you believe it?
a hot fucking frenchie in a sleek BMW 
in a concrete car wash in dead as hell Gutmore, Kansas
and our entire relationship amounts to five words 
and that humiliating moment when the soapy mist from my spray gun
drifts into those mesmerizing eyes

Attachment

It’s a sick thought-
but it’s comforting.

I know she would agree,
if she still had a tongue.

We’ve known each other for weeks,
and we’re made for each other.

Life got too busy for us,
so I brought her home with me.

I’m sure she is glad for all I’m doing,
she doesn’t even have to get out of bed anymore.

If she still had her arms,
she’d hug me-
to comfort my trembling hands.

Those terrified eyes,
will soon be full of love.

I get my thread and needle,
and I begin working
on our attachment.

Easter ‘98

We got paid double time and a half on Easter Sunday, so I went in
Matt was there and another guy Dave

Matt had me listen to Big Black and Shellac
but The Notwist was more my speed
Dave played air guitar under his cubicle

We mocked him with Hal 9000 quotes
“I’m sorry, Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“My mind is going…I can feel it.”

I told Matt about the time I met Christy Canyon

While bowling one night, Kurt said she was giving autographs at the porn store on Aurora
so we went in

I joined the line up along the adult toys and leather
while my friends browsed nonchalantly

We could all see her

Breasts hanging over a lacy blue corset, matching panties and stockings
big hair, lots of blush

The guy behind me asked if I was a fan
I confessed
I hadn’t watched her work
He narced on me as I stepped up

I should have told him to wait his turn
Instead I flushed in shame

We, Christy and I, were both glowing red and radiant 
as her husband filmed the whole thing on camcorder

To make it right
I bought a movie and autograph
She signed “Neal, fuck me hard and deep, Love Christy, XOXO”
She hugged and kissed me
and smelled like heaven on a hot day

I beamed with requited courage
as Kurt and the other guys teased me
on the way home

At work that Easter Sunday, the one lead didn’t care what we did or talked about
except Dave couldn’t sit under his cubicle and play air guitar
We all put on our headphones and tested

Ken Griffey Jr.’s Slugfest on the Gameboy Color
The tiny people on the little backlit screen
blinded me

I didn’t know then
I was seeing the future

Saddam Hussein

Alright class,
the teacher said,
Which one of you 
can tell me about 
Saddam Hussein?
Murderer!
          Thief!
           Psychopath!
Can you tell me 
when he died?
100 years ago!
   10 years ago!
         Yesterday! 

One girl, Tawny,
raised her hand
saying her two uncles 
had a possum 
in their back yard
they named
Saddam Hussein, 
they let him stay
clearing out all 
the deer ticks,
slugs, & snails,
ensuring the safety  
of their garden. 
One night they 
pulled him off the fence,
bludgeoned him
over the head, 
boiled him in a pot,
ate him, &
used his bones 
for fertilizer. They
won first place for their 
beefsteak tomatoes
at the county fair. 

Everyone in class 
hung their heads
taking a moment 
of silence, 
feeling sorry for 
Saddam Hussein.