Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Not Thing In Excess

I want a rope, a long colorful rope I can use for anything:
belt, fishing line, clothes line, tow, tie down
noose.
One that will-oh god did you hear that?
That sound which coiled in and distracted me
took me from whatever little arc of hell I walked along
with a babushka pulled down over one eye, pirate purdah,
protecting me, marking me as ghost, apart, not quite there.
As far from the mouth of the world
as John Lennon's killer was from reality.
Yeah, shoot me. Go on, just do it.
So your bitch will love you.
Just like that, I take this rope, this long bit of string and swallow it
with two shots of tequila, hands sticky with lime and salt
hands too numb from what I have to do, as intense as Chernobyl,
as bright as meltdown orange glo in the sky.
I want rope to bind me to all these places,
like a ballerina's jetes waft her across the stage,
fluffernut light, a sweet sticky confection smeared over matzoh sinister truth:
rope will wrap around and around your neck, searching for autoerotic ecstasy,
looking for ways to justify killing you.
I'd take the rope, this rope, with a bit of vintage soul,
and I'd follow it, bits, bytes of long ago, and try to sleep,
not caring about the long lists that remain undone.

The Cyclist 12 days of Christmas

On the 1st day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a GPS with integrated mapping

On the 2nd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a wireless bike computer

On the 3rd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
rechargeable lights

On the 4th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a helmet video cam

On the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
two sets of wheels

On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a hydrapak with reflective tape and velcro pocket

On the 7th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a frame mount pump

On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a selle italia saddle

On the 9th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
replacement cleats

On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a new racing kit

On the 111th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a large box of CO2 cartridges

On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
a pinarello prince with all upgraded components

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Chop-a-matic! An ode to Ron Popeil and Billy Mays

They're Bright! They're New! They're Creepy as Hell!
But Wait! There's More!
With voodoo, you get eggdrop
and Styron doesn't crack, chip or absorb odors
Safe and Machine Washable
Non-toxic if consumed by pets or small children
Multipurpose-the more you use it, the more you'll like it!
And the more ways you'll find to use it!
Handling various thicknesses with elan and an upward thrust
Includes a safety guard to ensure that there will be no contact
between fingers and flesh dissolving anal fluids.
But if you prefer dessert,
spelled with two ‘esses' because dessert is so sweet
as opposed to desert with one ‘ess' an arid lonely place,
this little faggot cookie press will do the shaping and squirting for you
with precision and just a flick of your Bic.
Where's Martha?
Jail is such a happy place for some of us.

Freedom

Life is precious. To some.
As for me,
I've let go.
I am fine with the end.
Life has no talons.
Letting go frees me to let it go
to forgive
even myself.

Truth

Until you accept your ugly
have faith to let your guard down
Until you know you can let the one
see what you bury under the broken toys in the garage
Until you stop inflating, glorifying, lying
trust the mirror in his eyes won't slit your veins
until then
until then
until then
you will look, try to stay above the high tide mark
and pray no one sees the clay feet inside your Armani shoes
when you stop
when you let the demons out of the box you call your heart and know
know
that the one will slam the lid so Hope stays,
then you'll have truth.