Friday, June 19, 2015

Morbidly Obtuse


Today's students aren't what they used to be. They used to be literally not even, ugh. They attended dog parties. It was all for charity...until it wasn't. The sun blew up.

A new anthem was called for, but never gassed us. My cot collapsed under us. Well, I guess you have to sneak up on the past in order to change it. But shy away from media, both old and new—it's a sort of notorious gown that wears us, pleads us down to shreds.

Hold me closer, tinny stanza. Speak to your financial advisor.

I must confess I'm at a loss for nuance when obliged to enforce my feelings for modern architecture. Half the time I can't even find the bathroom. Not that I like to banter there. I always feel like I'm being punished for someone I didn't do. (That ass and a cup of coffee will buy you a leaky weekend.)

In any case, it's a nice day to polish one's own inevitability, really get it glowing. It looks good on an adjunct professor's soft tissue, like an ejaculation dribbled from the mouth of a marble statesman. No, really! Check it out—a little French cadaver presses "play" on his pistol

and history's hairy eyeball ignites the hay in which we roll, die, etc.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Whipped Syllabub


Dag Hammarskjöld would make a pretty porn name
For a little born-again tornado-chaser. So why not
Bury your boner at sea and eat it too?

(Harass my meatus and I'll have your badge.)
My heart is so fruitless it's a vegetable
But I'm more than a happy toilet accident.

Nor does exposed brick engorge me.
Money rolls off the tongue too sprightly;
Soccer is a symptom of depression.

It pays to hate-fuck an abstraction; tomorrow I'm
Not done reliving. (This poem could use a hobby
Or a broken ATM with absentee parents.) Don't you

Try to silt-shame the same river twice! Do you
Cotton to a sheep's-eye view? Bleed all you want but
A rainbow's beauty's not a black-and-white issue.
    

Monday, June 8, 2015

Between Hard Places


I thought I'd found a perfect darkness
where I could read in peace.

The night that brought the truth home
was revealed to be a false note

in some jokester's hoary melody
dragged out of the fire.

Down deserted streets it slept.
Folded newspapers excommunicated.

I accused a black hole of sucking
at my peril. It was a good day

for getting out of town.
The Swiss know what's up: the Alps,

Herr und Frau, out on a Sunday stroll
with their little foothills.

In America loom erections
like postage rate increases.

Only the post-coital
can save us now.

Dire endings keep me occupied,
but I have what I need:

a few shaggy arias, a steady outcome,
a weakness for a blonde in armor.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

A Short Goodbye


We took a lot of pride in our druthers. The fat sky
cradled us demotically; in short order
the forest was adjourned. Who lurks there now?
It gets hard to see as night falls

out of favor with the dead. Teased into being,
it begins to warm to your subjectivity
even as mine cools off. Stripped
to its merest identity, a song one once despised
is what one imagines anew
in lieu of an evening's elastic embrace.

That done, one is free to
usurp a throne or two, to open
one's heart for a closer view. Faceless
yet unafraid, I stood hip-deep in your thoughts,
whose train had up and left. Well then, I said,
have a nice life, and a good weekend.
      

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Good News


I heard about your nudity. Congrats! It's a fitting
denouement to our crumbling infrastructure,

petty as a picture. Tossing it aside, I'm all dreamed up
with no lawn to mow. I bought a vacuum

but soon abhorred it. Please to reserve me
a relevant doughnut; it's time

for a new beginning, the last ever.
What an expected surprise! And sorrow!

I'm wearing important underwear now
whose grace knows no natural predator.