You Are Not a Boy

You are not a boy but pimples don’t let you live free?
in glad tidings we greet thee oh Roosevelt of the coal chute,
and surmise that Satan’s scowl has deepened your butt crack.
Deepened the tub to accommodate same, deprogrammed all
your independent swing dancers, daughters of the Reddy Kilowat
forgetting generation, but me. me? me, say, how dare he play with us?
Work for your supper while recognizing the kitchen of our Slavic
youth, recognize its brilliance in Spics, Sambo.
Abortion Clinic Length Fuse Deluxe by Hasbro.

Patrick, Are you ready to please your BFF on Valentines?
How about your BBF? Your big feinting cork on the wall?
Need expert consultation with your cork control?
Gain some extra strength and be ready to become
an advancing army of the red state sexmachine!

Real Estate Sex with a real Realtor
who’s never had sex till this very moment
in the suspension of quality time. Sex After 50
is the new Sex after miles to the border on foot.
No Piranhas, no noblese oblige, no blems
in your finish – Earl Scheib.
You must use your my First Utero Creamsicle
by Fisher Price, loaded with warm hot big huge hard stiff
loads of compassion by the Helsinki Vicodin Quartet, an agrarian
age without the required Evinrude Human Resources Tennis Prrrrrrro.

Their eyes dropped onto the table a short while after.

Against that wall of on-demand binding
riddling the whole Heidelberg inquisition
with Stephen King on bass, rendering Tuesdays
With Maury in potato buds, the undead as a Nazi
mosquito brigade advancing on the crowds in Fireplace City.

Flattens his tongue on that sphere,
skull fragment cocked in a quizzical dog
attitude, he presses an alphabet into her
until an accessory has been born and sucked
its contents dry for trying tofu made of veal.

Pequod over the netting of the Juliette
of the Sportscenter Central West, trapped
at the mouth of the pass and all that harderer.
Arnold gave his life to golf, it just won’t end yet.
Give of me my cold, my hungry, my thin pleasure
found in boards unshuffled upon on the quarterdeck,
the Enterprise was destroyed before any of us were born
singing, destroyed by the evil that lurks in the hearts of men…
destroyed like so many eggs and ham (not any known shade
of green) Then the Pleasure of nice weather no longer rhymes.
Just like it never did.
Question: to every black man who dreams of a white woman in his bed,
would you elect this Cadbury Goat? Question: to every god feigning man
who rides a white horse in his F-150 with stretch cab, would you?
Engineering types the casing took on the look of told us what we needed
to know; man is a chameleon with only one color and pattern to his name.
The promise is not Das Kapital with Johnny Action by Marx. (it must be
good, it’s by Marx!) The problem is in your radiator cap too willing to blow
for just overheating on the pledge drive.

ones weight exists to enter it in the contest to not lose faith.

I can devise work on my palm.

Get ready with the I in I am about to be
Going Easy And Swift With U-Boats Up the Canal.
And see, you step into the prescription canal
and find it made of oil. Oil and the gel of the Alleghany buck.

Make sure they think you were in the freezer when the deal
went down, then take a cab over to Morgana and get busy
going down on Morgana’s miniature Italian greyhound.

The kids knew only its initial properties and killed it for meat.
In that forest of beers and subjects under torture yet there was
nothing more that needed to be entered into the official report.


What Is New Jew? Jew, If nothing becomes you
but the black dress of the hologram, how does that
set on tilt the world of anesthesia? There’s a second
world of anesthesia? Hiding beneath the bed of the first?
Stabbing me in the back at the slippery lipped source
of all life slopping its intoxicating smelling chili.
It was/is life, what he said she said about you, not yours
to take back for credit. That portal into the entrance
lobby, that eight to ten inch causeway, spread
its chili across his back and down.
If he had been a better sci-fi writer he might have
left a better will.
Seriously.
And he might have gotten the chance to direct.

How Often Do You Feel Blue?
Maybe it's your unrecognized depression?
Maybe the too many ess’s in your name?
Two sons who, nobly following in his footsteps, have taken
to reciting, like cloning chimpanzees, the prefatory
negation of all things unrelated to A True Story
About Thee Gods Of Love And Their Mastery
of shipments of primo weed unpacked on the tarmac
of the curve of your lower spine.
This was of course impossible without delay.
Boloney, Febreze, sequential sentient ants traipsing
their way to the islands where they roosted,
or soaring leisurely to Simply Order Top Quality Generic Pills
scattered to the cloud of bees. The bees know. The bees
don’t tell, it’s how they preserve their information sources.
Balancing death by Nestles Crunch on rope, on bridge, on
Poison, on Blitzen, on a snack assortment that was heavenly,
the stuff of a hundred million gleaming nightmare hooks and ladders.
The nest spontaneously feathering.
Cradling it on its side, feigning mesothelioma
when the plasterers union finishes up stuccoing Lincoln’s eye.
Anything, they’d have done anything, just so the holograph
wouldn’t have taken any shit.

Or taken any away.

One was large as a tong.
One, a familiar tune.

Shocking results on your body regeneration search
taught even a woman at the information meat counter
that nothing would nestle not holographically fizzure imbued.
Not, at least, until after they snatched her anyway and reexamined
and retitled and rebranded and reintroduced the same hole
into the same receiving line. The bride bled water from her seat.
Was I going to die when released from the trap?
I was going to continue to die trapped.
They clapped for themselves, so I clapped.