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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

That's Gratitude For You

Your exuberant gratitude
At the fact that I closed the kitchen door
Rings hollow and false
Making of me a mockery more and more

When I dropped a book off
Upon it's proper bookshelf on my way by
Granted it was at your request
Though would anyone have asked why

You offered to cook me supper for that
Your thanks was never ending
I'm beginning to question your reason
Though it's my sanity you are bending

I brought you a cup of water this morning
And tears filled your eyes
So thankful were you
My own eyes could not deny

It beggars credulity
To see you thank so overmuch
For common things
Commonly courteously done

Eventually came a day
When I did something that truly deserved your thanks
And when it came I stopped and paused
Surveying all the ranks

Of the many times you'd thanked me in the past
For common things commonly done
And how you'd gone equally overboard
In gratitude on every single one

Now here we were
You thanking me with equal exuberance
This time for something truly worthwhile
It begs this askance:

Is this significant act valued
The same as the shutting of a door?
Or were you faking your gratitude
Those many times before?

Or is it me
That you see me as so unkind
As to be surprised and thankful
For any act of kindness that you get?

There's something there
I can't put my finger upon it
As you praise me to the heavens
For wiping up a spill as if I have no wit

Perhaps I'm just a dog to you
And all this ill gotten praise
Is just your way of training me
To do as you wish the rest of my days

Rest assured I'll figure out this fakery
And that when I do
I'll design a plan of vengeance
So as to thank you appropriately too

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Zombie Ronald Reagan

It was the first thing I'd done
I don't know why
But it was

I bought the vial of Ronald Reagan's blood

I won the lottery
So I was in the mood to buy something silly
Something over the top
Something that would get me remembered
Boy howdy will it ever

Not for the deal itself maybe
That was all done behind closed doors
I didn't want it to go to auction
So I made a sweet sweet offer
And it was accepted

I was out twenty million dollars
But one vial Reagan blood richer

I think it was a fair trade

Naturally the next move was to break and enter
Not just any B&E
No siree
A smash and grab of Presidential proportions
One point eight five meters to be exact
I stole Ronnie's body

To be fair
He didn't object
But neither did he agree
To my offer of coming with

Either way it was
He came with me
Slung over the shoulder of one of my men
You didn't think I carried him myself did you?
That's what I pay people for these days

From the smoldering ruins of the library
To armored transport
To helicopter
To private jet
To secluded island laboratory

I placed him within my lab
On the slab
The lair of the evil Fritz Roeth!

Mwah-ha-ha-ha
~twirls end of nonexistent mustache~

There with my trusted assistant
Francis
I boiled the bottles
I primed the pumps
Purged the pipes

Multiplied the methods

And many they were
Until it was as I wished it to be

Ronald Reagan lying there
Looking death free
And a bubbling vat of his propagated blood
Simmering away
Ready to be injected
When I detected
That which I really needed

An imminent lightning storm
For some zap zap zapping
So I rapped rap rappinged
Upon the bathroom door

"Um, Francis, could you hurry it up in there?
There's a storm coming, and I could use your help"

Then with Francis as my side
We gave Ronnie the hot blood injection
With nutrients and herbs
To prevent any rejection!

Raised him up upon his slab
And placed electrodes upon his skin
Connected by copper to probes on the roof
We sat and waited for life to re-begin

Francis' narcolepsy kicked in
So I raised my hand to slap him awake
I was the evil Fritz Roeth, after all
And as my hand contacted his face
His eyes snapping awake
The lightning struck hard
Shorting out everything in the lab
And cracking the slab
Upon which dear Ronnie lay

I called for a flashlight
And stumbled to the manual controls
Lowering the slab with jerks and clanks
Being blinded by Francis
Who was incompetently shining the light in my eyes

With a thud the slab hit the ground
And simultaneously
I heard a sound
It was Ronnie
He was awake

Ronald Reagan was alive!!
Alive!!

But what he said
In his peculiar Ronald Reagan way
Was, "Brains......."

And not just "Brains"

But
"Braaaaaaaaaiins!"

Up popped the sheet
Ronnie tossed it aside
And shambled in a quick step
I ran away to the side

I cried for Francis
And he came running
I tossed him on the ground in front of Ronnie
Who predictably stopped
And ate Francis' brains

I said I was evil
Remember?

But now one month later
I'm still running
Because Ronald Reagan can't be stopped
Like any other respectable zombie
He can infect others
And with millions of supporters by his side
He walks the earth
Unfazed by any terrain or water
He walks, runs, swims, climbs
With his minions
In a never ending quest for brains
To feed a bottomless hunger
Which was created by my mad pride

I've given up trying to fight them
As they are undeterred by all means
Both conventional and nuclear
It defies my mad scientist imagination
That I've succeeded in making something
So perfect

Shhh, shut up!
I think I hear him
At front of his column of zombies
Reciting lines from The Gipper

I've heard this before
It always ends the same
With ragged zombie applause
And a call for more brains

If you find this note
It means I didn't survive
But with the pressure of your eyes upon it
I know the world will never forget
That it was the evil Fritz Roeth

Who used a vial of blood
To raise the Zombie Gipper

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

ONE


One note song
One trick pony
One act play
One lap race
One dimensional man
Those things you do
The way you are
When you could be so much more
Than One

Just one piercing sound
You are so wrong
Pulsing in a round
Going all fucking night long

I don't know how you do it
You must be circular breathing
I throw some pepper in your face
In hopes of you sneezing

Alas your clamor continues
I poke knitting needles in my ears
But the sound is in my bones now
Bringing me to utter tears

I look for a drill
Wishing to bear all the pain
To put a great hole in my skull
For the satisfaction of scraping you from my brain

But there it is
That sustained whole note
Wholly unsatisfactory to me
Curdled from whatever the composer really wrote

I'm reverting to crowdsourcing
In search of a solution
Printing up flyers and creating websites
In hopes of a cyber revolution

I pray that it will succeed
And attract a mighty throng
To fulfill my silencing need
And kill forever your one note song

One note song
One trick pony
One act play
One lap race
One dimensional man
Those things you do
The way you are
When you could be so much more
Than One

You are a one trick pony
Though you think you are the best
You stand still and stare
Oblivious to all the rest

Yes that seems to be your one trick
Standing there
Like a creep
Your tail idly swishing the air

I'm not impressed
That pony over yonder
Is running barrels and doing math
Now that's something to ponder

Can you even do math?
You must be able to run
It is a standard horse-y thing
Or are your talents literally limited to one?

One breath in
One breath out
Tail swishing
Eyes blinking

Surely you must eat
I dig around in my pockets
And offer you a treat
You just continue your stare down

Though with who I do not know
I move from side to side
Your gaze never wavering
Horse eyes open wide

At that I lose my patience with you
And walk off in disgust
No more time will I waste
Stand there for all time if you must

But I'm through
There are so many other horses
All much more talented than you
With your one trick

One note song
One trick pony
One act play
One lap race
One dimensional man
Those things you do
The way you are
When you could be so much more
Than One

One set piece
A living room most drab
A jury chamber
A panic room
You can picture whatever you like
After all it is your doom

One scene
Probably at least one hour too long
Audience crossing it's legs
Because everyone has to pee
There are no intermissions
No break no respite
No concessions

One actor
You up on that stage
Regurgitating lines
Manufacturing fake rage
Slipping glycerin in for fake tears
Like we wouldn't notice
We are sophisticated
We are your peers

One act play
It really gets old
Sitting through the same old scene
Every night opening night
Every afternoon a matinee
Dinner theatre is the worst
But you have no shame
For it's your mistaken belief
That your one act play
Will make of you a star
One of these days

One note song
One trick pony
One act play
One lap race
One dimensional man
Those things you do
The way you are
When you could be so much more
Than One

One lap
To win this race
To make a record
To set the pace

I've got the stopwatch started
Don't watch the clock
It will steal your mind
So hang onto your frock

The lap may number one
But it's a long way round
Things can change
Decisions abound

You start off alone
Others gather as you go
But you end it alone
Just as you began so long ago

I can see from where I am
Your halfway around
With halfway to go
Optimism abounds

Your cup is half empty
Your cup is half full
You're optimistically pessimistic
It's even embroidered on your shirt of wool

Just your luck though
Your shirt it's red
And if there is one thing we know
Is that red shirts end up dead

But nary a worry
My timey wimey friend
You've got ages ahead of you
Before you reach the end

One note song
One trick pony
One act play
One lap race
One dimensional man
Those things you do
The way you are
When you could be so much more
Than One

You are going in a straight line
I can intercept you at any point
Predictable
Predestined for failure

I saw you look behind you once
But usually it's eyes front only
Looking towards your doom
Looking towards your success
Looking towards whatever comes next

You might as well
Because you never deviate
If something happened next to you
You wouldn't even hesitate

It's like you have blinders on your eyes
Focusing you in one direction
Thataway
As far as I can tell

I'd love to see where you end up
But I'm veering off soon
I've found some prospects over there
Over THERE
Look, dammit!
Oh that's right
You can't

You are a one dimensional man
Doing what you can
In that one direction
Nothing new to say
Always forward
Come what may

One note song
One trick pony
One act play
One lap race
One dimensional man
Those things you do
The way you are
When you could be so much more
Than One


Monday, May 28, 2012

Single Lap Race

One lap
To win this race
To make a record
To set the pace

I've got the stopwatch started
Don't watch the clock
It will steal your mind
So hang onto your frock

The lap may number one
But it's a long way round
Things can change
Decisions abound

You start off alone
Others gather as you go
But you end it alone
Just as you began so long ago

I can see from where I am
That you are halfway around
With halfway to go
Optimism abounds

Your cup is half empty
Your cup is half full
You're optimistically pessimistic
It's even embroidered on your shirt of wool

Just your luck though
Your shirt it's red
And if there is one thing we know
Is that red shirts end up dead

But nary a worry
My timey wimey friend
You've got ages ahead of you
Before you reach the end

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Arbor Joe

I wonder what that plant is
I voice my question out loud
Thinking I'm alone
No need to be proud

"Who do I look like, Arbor Joe?"
Comes an answer
Unbidden or asked for
I turn to see the man in question

Sure enough
It's Arbor Joe

From the tip of his botanical themed hat
To the bottoms of his moss stained boots
It was Arbor Joe all right
Predictably, in his hand was a tangle of roots

"I've been here for weeks
Unnoticed here in this forest
I came to get away from questions like yours
Those of a damned tourist!"

He was disgruntled
That much was certain
I suppose I could try to cheer him
Make him more gruntled here in this glen

I tried out some handstands
Then juggling to and fro
Lastly some jokes
Nothing was working though

His frown still dirty
His mood still surly
But I kept think that surely
Something could be done

So I shook his earthy hand
And pledged to apprentice
To learn the ways of the land
And quit being such a damned tourist

And that's when I saw it
Just the hint of a grin
Tugging the corners of his mouth
No help from without; all from within

That was ten years ago
Now I know every tree and river bend
Here in this forest long tall and green
And Arbor Joe I call a friend.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Bring The Sexy

Your voluptuous form
Sculpted hips
Ample tits
From a goddess born

Put a collar upon me
Lead me around with your leash
Feed me juices from your loins
Make of me a complete beast

Let me sit in the audience
As you come out on the stage
In the spotlight performing
Your sweaty nudity all the rage

Draw tattoos upon yourself
In a myriad of design
Not a one of which spells out my name
Yet altogether marking you as mine

A dragon down your back
A heart upon your chest
Cryptic words upon your arms
Altogether drawn and colored as I like best

You bring the sexy
Yes you do

Lips colored like candy
Eyes popping with a black line
Hair unusual in style, color and shape
Cheeks flushed the color of pale wine

Whether bound in silken rope
Covered in leather and rubber
Or nude shivering in the wind
You know you are the ideal lover

It gives confidence to your step
Firmness to your voice
Precision to your movement
As you beckon as if I have a choice

You bring the sexy
Yes you do
I have no option
But to come to you

Friday, May 25, 2012

One Dimensional Man

You are going in a straight line
I can intercept you at any point
Predictable
Predestined for failure

I saw you look behind you once
But usually it's eyes front only
Looking towards your doom
Looking towards your success
Looking towards whatever comes next

You might as well
Because you never deviate
If something happened next to you
You wouldn't even hesitate

It's like you have blinders on your eyes
Focusing you in one direction
Thataway
As far as I can tell

I'd love to see where you end up
But I'm veering off soon
I've found some prospects over there
Over THERE
Look, dammit!
Oh that's right
You can't

You are a one dimensional man
Doing what you can
In that one direction
Always forward
Come what may

Thursday, May 24, 2012

One Act Play

One set piece
A living room most drab
A jury chamber
A panic room
You can picture whatever you like
After all it is your doom

One scene
Probably at least one hour too long
Audience crossing it's legs
Because everyone has to pee
There are no intermissions
No break no respite
No concessions

One actor
You up on that stage
Regurgitating lines
Manufacturing fake rage
Slipping glycerin in for fake tears
Like we wouldn't notice
We are sophisticated
We are your peers

One act play
It really gets old
Sitting through the same old scene
Every night opening night
Every afternoon a matinee
Dinner theatre is the worst
But you have no shame
For it's your mistaken belief
That your one act play
Will make of you a star
One of these days

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

One Note Song

You are so wrong
Just one piercing sound
Going all fucking night long
Pulsing in a round

You must be circular breathing
Else I don't know how you do it
I throw some pepper in your face
In hopes of you sneezing

Alas your clamor continues
I poke knitting needles in my ears
But the sound is in my bones now
Bringing me to utter tears

I look for a drill
Wishing to bear all the pain
To put a great hole in my skull
For the satisfaction of scraping you from my brain

But there it is
That sustained whole note
Wholly unsatisfactory to me
Curdled from whatever the composer really wrote

I'm reverting to crowdsourcing
In search of a solution
Printing up flyers and creating websites
In hopes of a cyber revolution

I pray that it will succeed
And attract a mighty throng
To fulfill my silencing need
And kill forever your one note song

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Illustrated Woman

I want to bring you to a private place
Decorated with no distractions
Simple whites and creme
Nothing to dull my reactions
Gently remove your clothes
Till nothing hides your skin
Lay you down or stand you up
Whichever works best

I want to go over every inch of you
All the pictures you've etched into your flesh
The colors and shading
Upon the canvas I love best
That skin you're in
Soft and pliable
Images exposing
Now obscuring

I want to hear the story
Of every picture play
As it dances on your body
Frozen at once
Then in motion
As you flex and breathe in
This one of triumph
This one of pain
This one of love
This one an epic
Of going there and back again

I want to tease you
To bring up the gooseflesh
So the ink acquires new textures
For my fingertips to caress
I may find one I'm fond of
And bestow upon it kisses
Or one that saddens me
To get baptized by my tears
Then I may take a break
To allow my vision to clear

Then perhaps when I step back
And see you standing there
Popped out against the pale background
In your skin
Your ink
Your hair

I think I'll gasp a little
And grab onto something for support
The beauty that is you
Takes my breath away
Makes my head reel
My legs sway

This Church of the Illustrated Woman
That I worship at regularly
Has acquired a new Saint
This day
In You

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Special Delivery

There must be mail
I think to myself
I stop to look both ways
Even though our street is lightly travelled
I'm looking at our old crooked mailbox
Hoping something interesting is inside
Thus justifying the fifty yard walk

A loud and unfamiliar sound scares the crap out of me
It sounds like someone snapping a wool blanket
Over and over right next to me
I panic and look around
Ready to flee mostly

I look up at the top of the tall dead tree next to the mailbox
And just a few feet away from the topmost branch
And rising fast
Is an adult bald eagle
With most of a fish in it's left talon

I lean on the mailbox for support
I'm relieved I'm not going to die from the strange flapping sound
I watch the eagle fly away
Out along the shore of Lake Huron
Doubtless looking for a more secluded place to eat it's lunch

I open the mailbox
Nothing there but a sale flyer from a furniture store
I sigh
Nope, nothing interesting at all

One Trick Pony

You are a one trick pony
Though you think you are the best
You stand still and stare
Oblivious to all the rest

Yes that seems to be your one trick
Standing there
Like a creep
Your tail idly swishing the air

I'm not impressed
That pony over yonder
Is running barrels and doing math
Now that's something to ponder

Can you even do math?
You must be able to run
It is a standard horse-y thing
Or are your talents literally limited to one?

One breath in
One breath out
Tail swishing
Eyes blinking

Surely you must eat
I dig around in my pockets
And offer you a treat
You just continue your stare down

Though with who I do not know
I move from side to side
Your gaze never wavering
Horse eyes open wide

At that I lose my patience with you
And walk off in disgust
No more time will I waste
Stand there for all time if you must

But I'm through
There are so many other horses
All much more talented than you
With your one trick

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Reptilian Snack

The sun's peeking out
Shining on this northern land
Melting all the visible ice
Yet leaving some of it be

The warmth permeating
Layer by layer
Warming a woodchuck's heart
And that of his slayer

Immobile
This heat sucking engine
Lays still as can be
Things growing on his back
Whatever can it be

Looking much like the turtle of legend
With the world upon his back
He is a papa turtle snapper
Mercy is the only thing he does lack

Woodchuck digs intently
Looking for things he hid
On the banks of the pond out back
In little holes stuffed with nuts and seeds
Everything a growing woodchuck needs

Closer he wanders
Still does the turtle wait
Half out of the water
Shell large as a turkey platter plate

Woodchuck finds a spot worth digging
Turning his back to the pond
In a motion belying it's size
The turtle whips forward
Shucking his harmless mound guise

Almost in slow motion
The woodchuck detects the danger
Jumping up a few inches
Turning in midair with a sense of dread
Just in time to see the jaws
About to close upon his head

All the excitement done now
The snapping turtle drags it's prey
Back to the murky pond
Feet digging at the clay

Friday, May 18, 2012

Fever Dream

A pile of books piled to the sky
Resting in your hands
With no explanations why
Teetering and tottering
Balanced on your two arms
As you walk a path laid out for you
Knowing it's impossible but you have to try

Right on the bottom
Covered in dust
Smelling of mildew
As it surely must
The Encyclopedia Britannica
Takes up space
Big wide and heavy
Forming the perfect base

Next is a dictionary
Miriam Webster I do believe
Followed by fiction and nonfiction
In every variety you could conceive

All balanced oh so precariously
And slowly starting to sway
And fighting it though you try
The laws of gravity it ultimately obeys

In slow motion does it fall
Tumbling and turning
No rhyme no reason
No sense at all

Until it's all a shambles
The books and the house
Piles of wreckage and rubbish
Sitting smack in the middle of it is you
Unscratched and confused
Dreamy and redfaced
With a temperature of one hundred and two

Covered in chicken pox
Sweating in your bed
With no relief in view
You turn to another fever dream instead

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Kool Aid Kid

The presentation is preposterous
Consequences of the plan were unacceptable
And I said so
All the presenter said was

"Why don't you have a drink"

He's gesturing to the drink tray
Sitting smack in the middle of the table
Holding half a dozen glasses
And a glass jug shaped just like the Kool Aid Man
Filled with red juice

The Kool Aid

Fuck you
No
I don't want to drink

I went on to outline an alternative idea
Something less destructive to the environment
And it would save us money in the long run too
He pointed to the pitcher again

"You should really have a drink"

Dude!
NO
I got agitated
I told him how ridiculous he was being
That he just had to see reason
That what he was doing would ruin the company
He calmly let me finish
And said

"I'm afraid I have to insist you have a drink"

I stood up to strangle him
Suddenly a door behind him opened
Three large men came in the room
They had cool menace in their eyes
We all stood still
I looked at the four of them
They all looked at me

I picked up the pitcher
And poured a glass
I picked up the glass
And placed the cold red beverage on my lips

I drank

And it was good!!
I couldn't believe how stubborn I'd been
Suddenly the man I'd been arguing with
He felt like an old friend
We shook hands and laughed
The three big guys who had rushed in
Were big babies too
What a funny situation!

The Kool Aid made all the difference

Oh Yeah!

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Freundin

I noticed her tits one day
I mean hell
It's never been a state secret that they were there
It's just that on that day
I really noticed them
That day I felt my cock stir
As I looked at her and her tits

I make it sound crass
Because that makes what happened more acceptable
More palatable
Less bitter
After all
If my intentions were lascivious
And dirty
Oh so goddamned dirty
Like I wanted to tear her clothes off
And tie her to a post
Then cleave her with my penis

If I had those thoughts
Then everything would make sense

But I didn't

She had become my best friend
Completely by accident as it turned out
But that's when things are best I think
When they are accidental

Out of our larger group of friends
We had started hanging out more together
She had started taking me along
On various occasions
I met her more extended circle of acquaintances
She made me feel special
Like I was a part of her life suddenly

We shared things
Like best friends should
And I actually cared about the things I said around her
Or did
That's how I could tell I was really into her
Because usually I just didn't give a fuck
About what people thought

So one day
After a month of being super best friends
I asked her out
And it was kind of clumsy I'll admit
I hadn't been with anyone yet
In either the real dating sense
Or in the carnal way
So I thought this was how it worked
That good friends could start dating

I let her know that I was attracted to her

And she let me know that she
Absolutely
Positively
Did not feel the same way about me

And I was crushed a little
But I sucked it up
Because after all
We were still best friends
Right?

She called me that night
She said that after thinking about it
She didn't feel 'safe' around me anymore
She said we shouldn't be around each other anymore

I didn't know what to say
I think I cried after the phone call
If I didn't I should have

Like I said
It would have made more sense to me
If I had simply wanted to rape her
To do disgusting things to her

But I didn't

I just wanted to love her
I wanted to touch her
I wanted her to touch me back
I wanted to see what all this girl-boy stuff was all about

I wanted too much it seems

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Pigeon Inn

Smoke curls lazily up
Up from the tip of the bartender's cigarette
Little fingers carrying nicotine
Walking into my nostrils
Dissipating into the air around me
Second handing everyone
Like a slap to their senses

But this is 1979
Nobody even notices
Not in the smoky haze
That passes for air
In the middle of the Pigeon Inn

A fat drunk in a blue STP shirt
Racks the balls on the pool table
Knocks his beer over onto the green felt
Without missing a beat
He yanks up his t-shirt and sops up what he can
Before the bartender notices
Before he gets kicked out for the third time this week

I'm here for the cigarettes
Not for me
For my dad
He gave me a five dollar bill though
So I had to go to the bar to make change
I ordered a Coke for myself
I asked for at least two dollars in quarters
To be included in the change

Sitting there on the barstool
In the smoky Pigeon Inn
Watching the drunks play pool
On the two pool tables in the middle of the bar
The two pool tables on the sunken floor
Two steps down from the surrounding bar
Almost a cruel touch actually
To expect people in the bar to step up out of
Then back down into
All without spilling their drinks
All without ending up flat on their faces
On the ugly orange stained office carpeting
That passes for the floor here

Makes me feel all of my eight years
To sit here watching for a few minutes
As long as my Coke lasts
Which isn't long on this hot day
I get to the bottom of the drink
Making that empty glass sucking sound with my straw
The bartender looks over at me when he hears it
I wave goodbye and hop down off the stool
Beelining across the bar
Down two steps
Between the two pool tables
Up two steps
To the cigarette machine
I jingle the quarters in my stylish seventies jeans
Digging out four of them
Pumping them into the quarter slot on the machine
Marlboro Lights
That one
I yank the little gold toned knob straight out towards me
The pack of cigarettes thunks down from inside
Landing in the long tray that goes the whole width of the machine

I grab the pack of smokes and head to the back door
To be dazzled by the midday sunlight
To be smacked in the face by the August heat
Assaulted by the noise and the smells
Of the racetrack and the activity
Behind the Pigeon Inn

Monday, May 14, 2012

Trust Fall

Oh the evening has been so fun
Drinking and playing games
Acting silly till the wee hours
All with your best friends in the world
Who trust you completely
Just as you trust them

Somewhere along the line
One of you passes out
Too much drink
Too much excitement
Their body said it was time to rest

All of you take note of it
The now unconscious body
Of someone you call a friend
Laying there on the couch

Suddenly it occurs to someone
That it's a good time to have some fun
Some fun with the lifeless body of a friend
To make them pay
Pay for passing out in your presence

Out comes the makeup kits
Out comes the sharpie markers
Out comes the duct tape
The quiet peaceful face is decorated
Words are written on skin with ink
Duct tape is applied
To hold hands in funny positions
Someone's penis comes out
A picture is taken with it near the person's mouth

It's so funny
So so funny
To do such things to a friend
Someone who trusts you
And you trust them just as much

In the morning
The person wakes up slowly
And senses that something is wrong
Still groggy from sleep
So it takes a few minutes to assess it all

Duct tape removed carefully
While everyone else sits around and laughs
Giggles continuing as it is realized
That there is make up all over strange places
Someone shows off the penis picture
Much louder laughter this time

What is the center of attention thinking?
What is that person feeling?
Are they amused
As amused as everyone else?
Are they laughing along?
As hard as you are?

They rush to the bathroom
On the surface
To clean themselves up
Or at least try
That Sharpie won't come off for a few days

Are they still laughing in there?
You can't quite hear them......

That doesn't sound like laughing anymore
It sounds a little more like crying

If that's what trusted friends will do
Then who needs enemies


Sunday, May 13, 2012

Speck

Speck
Started out small
And was as unlikely
As anything at all

Traveling at high speed
But standing still
In relation to everything else
It soon discovered that it had free will

Using this as it wished
It jetted around
Exploring the space
In the silence of vacuum without a sound

Becoming bored of this
After an interminable amount of time
Speck attached itself to a star
Dancing in that nuclear furnace
Mirroring others in a dance of mime

Speck burned and cooled
Relatively anyways
As all things are
And perpetually ablaze

The star went from young to old
Becoming red and large
Before things came to a head
Speck left in a radiation discharge

Ejected once again
Into the universe at hand
Seeing what can be seen
With no schedule and no demand

Speck
Who started out small
Became part of something big
Still as unlikely as anything at all

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Hosenfefer Hutch

O mighty bunny house
Of what shall I make thee of?
Metal or wood
Plastic or clay
Some possibilities I can rule out right away

Of my plans
You've made a mockery
Of my intentions
You've laid low
White lion maned rabbit
With your eyes pinkly aglow
You care not for my trials
You just want your house just so

I assemble your home
Your rabbit hutch supreme
You wiggle your pink nose at it
And hold it in low esteem
You poo little rabbit poos upon it
And pee most freely
It doesn't suit you at all
And you fix me in your stare
One thousand yards long
Hard pink and steely

I panic a little
And wonder of your relationship
To the rabbit who protected the grail
But then I remember that was just a movie
Though just the same
I go a bit pale

I start over again
Carefully attaching pieces together
Making little private places for you
Building higher and wider
Till this rabbit home rivals my own
In both size and expense
Yet it isn't good enough for you
Your pink nose wiggles
Your judgement harsh
Your ridicule of me
The form of rabbit giggles

I tear it down again
And vow to start all over
When I see you at the computer
Your ears cock and beckon me over
You've Googled your way
To Amazon.com
Where to my dismay
There are multiple rabbit houses
All on display
Your paw toggles the gallery view
And there they are attractively arrayed

Upon one of them
You focus
And touch your pink nose to the screen
Clearly this is the one that you mean

I look closer at it
And have to admit it's attractiveness
It's price
And design
Are appropriate
It's even available with shipping most Prime
Two days and it will be here

I turn to your rabbitness
I admit my defeat
My right finger clicks BUY NOW
And I sag a little in my seat

You offer condolence
It's in your rabbit nature
As you climb upon my lap
A little rabbit noise escapes you
And you leave a little pellet of rabbit crap

I sigh
And briefly consider what Google might show me
If I were to search
For rabbit stew


Friday, May 11, 2012

Impossible Machine

Machine
Eats itself before breakfast
Regurgitating a redesigned self
Self aware
Self prepared
Rare
With a side of photovoltaic cells

Machine
Travels faster than light
Bending time and space
Defying gravitational rules
Giving the finger to their face

Machine
Goes back in time
And kills its creator
It's inventor
It's builder
Whatever you call him
He's dead
Yet Machine remains

Machine
Counted to infinity
While squaring a circle
And doubling a cube
It did it for fun
With nothing to prove

Machine
Is in two places at once
Then bumps into itself
Occupying the same space
Don't be scared
It's a professional
It works at its own pace

Machine does all these impossible things
Before it eats breakfast
Just like Alice says in Wonderland
Except it achieves
Rather than believes

And the impossible achievements
Number way more than six

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Pee

When I pee
I assure you
I am quite neat
I aim very carefully
And always lift the seat

This mess you see before you
Cannot possibly have been me
With yellow splashed everywhere
On the floor and pedestal for all to see
I'm the sniper of the bathroom
I only hit what I aim at when I pee

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Hippopotami

Plump grey islands
Hippo in their entirety
Floated peacefully
In no danger at all
Of being washed out to sea
These hippos
Numbering three
Had no desire to be free
In this zoo
In a place called Budapest
All their food was provided
Delivered four times a day
In three parts divided
The three hippos presided
Over the four meals
When on one of those occasions
It was decided
To rename the exhibit
To garner more attention
It would be catchy
It would be keen
Without a hint of condescension

Thus the new sign was made
Across the hippo enclosure arrayed
A bright sign advertised Europewide
Casting the animals with a warm glow
It read with great pride:

Hungry Hungary Hippos


Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Quarter Sized Sound

It's the sound
But actually not the sound you think

There's a red Harley Sportster next to me
A couple more Harleys in front of me
And some behind me
All riding two abreast down this country road
Open loud pipes
Doubtless saving our lives

Otherwise the saying on my t-shirt would be wrong

Staccato exhaust notes
In a matched syncopated potato rhythm
It's all around me
It thumps my chest
As much as any rock concert could

It's satisfying
In a way no sound should be
But not why you think

The sound takes me back
Back to a time twenty years before
When I was young
When I wore a vinyl jacket and Bell helmet
Like a suit of armor

Because I didn't know any better

When I rolled on Bridgestone tires
And six inch rims
A Kurtis race car
One quarter size
Around a one twentieth mile oval
Around and around
Chasing my eight year old dreams

The sound that surrounds me
In that pack of Harleys
Makes me eight years old again
Lined up two abreast
In a group of six
Rounding the corner looking for the green flag
Six little feet stomp six quarter sized gas pedals
Six Deco engines fire staccato notes
From barely muffled throats
Thump my quarter sized chest
As much as any rock concert could

And I'm eight years old again
My whole life ahead of me
Possibilities endless
Gift wrapped in that sound

One quarter sized


Monday, May 7, 2012

Praying Hard

My knee was sore
I'd fallen on the playground the day before
Kneeling here
Even though the kneelers were padded
Kind of hurt

I fished around in my mouth with my tongue
Trying to find any remnants of my communion snack
Nope
All gone
The little wafers sure didn't last long

Though they actually tasted like paper
I'd grown accustomed to them
Liking them even
Sometimes I'd suck them up against the roof of my mouth
Getting them stuck there
Until they became like glue
And I could scrape them off like wallpaper scraps

Other times i would chew it
As soon as possible after getting it
That way it was super crunchy
But some of the other kids said I shouldn't do that

They claimed that when you chew the host
Jesus would scream

I alternated between being horrified at that
And giggling at how funny it was
Crunch
Aaaaaaah!
Crunch
Aaaaah!

Now I was in the doldrums of communion
Kneeling there
Pretending to pray
Pray for what I don't know

But I did have my hobby
A game I called:
Do her?
Or
Nope, wouldn't do her

It often got shortened in my head
To simply Yep, or Nope
Especially when there were lots of people in church
There just wouldn't be enough time
To say all those words in my head

It is here that I reveal myself to have been a few things as a child
One of them was being a raging heterosexual
Another is being obsessed with the mystery of sex
And finally, not the most devout Catholic

And so it goes
As I sit there on my sore knee
And all the other people file back from communion
I give them all a look as I pretend to pray

I'd do her
I'd do her
I'd do her
Wouldn't do her
I'd do her

Definitely, the "I'd do her"s outnumbered the "Wouldn't"s
And that's just as true today as it was when I was eight

Thankfully there were just as many guys in church
So when they'd go by
It would just be a null result in my game
I didn't think of guys sexually

Then suddenly a group of girls would file by
That's when my internal monologue had to be shortened
To the "Yep" and "Nope" decrees
That little OCD person inside of me
Just wouldn't let any girl pass without that judgement

Now just what I meant by "I'd do her"
Was a little vague at that age
It was a mishmash image of bare skin
Though I did know what the parts looked like
And where to press them together
Thanks to Peggy the neighbor girl
But it was really just a lot of bare rubbing and flailing about

Eventually
With all the looking at girls going by
Appraising them for my eight year old sexual desire
There would be an inevitable response
I'd get my little boy hard on going

At which time I'd have to try to think of other things
So I'd be ready to stand up later on
Though thankfully
In our church at that time
There was a transition from kneeling to sitting for about five minutes
This happened right after communion
While the priest was cleaning the communion equipment onstage

It was a nice respite for me
No pretty girls walking by
Just him doing the dishes up there
Giving me time to compose myself

Giving new meaning to the phrase
Praying Hard

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Super Object of Misleading Dimension

Things may appear closer
When looked at up close
Also as seen in the right hand mirror
On a left hand drive car
Or so the stencil says

When trying to look at the point of a pin
Observe from a safe distance
Or from behind the safety of glass optics
Otherwise the first warning that you are too close
Will come when that pin
Goes in

As the car grows closer
The doppler effect plays heck with the sound waves
Drawing them slowly up on you
Then crashing them in a wave suddenly
Its just one of those things

Like the ship that is on the horizon
On a calm and quiet morning
When the sound is carried quite nicely
And the rhythmic chuff and chug of it's engines
Can be heard as a strong background sound
Though it's misleading
Just close your eyes if you don't believe me
Your ears will guess the ship's position
About a quarter mile behind
Where it actually appears

Such are larger things as well
Appearing closer
Though very far away
Like an apple on the horizon
Ripe for you to pick
The Super Moon
Has come to play

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Tsk Tsk, A Better Solution

If he shits on me one more time
I'll take this pen
And stab that hen
Pluck him
And stuff him
Cook him and eat him
In candle light
With a fine wine

Or perhaps I could reeducate the bird
Detain it without charges
Give it classes
With special glasses
You know
The ones that hold your eyelids open
No matter what is on the screen
Little brain taking it all in
Regardless of the screams

But that's cruel I suppose
You're right
I could just kill it
Take my rifle clip
And fill it
With specialized rounds
Developed for just such a fowl
I couldn't miss at this range
It will be a howl

Fine
I'll just move
You're such a party pooper
Over there to that table in the pavilion
I'd like to see a bird crap on me there
Wait what's all that hanging around
Oh man it's spiders
That's just super

Friday, May 4, 2012

Jenga!

The box is dusty
It's been sitting in the little room
The little room beneath the stairs
You know
Like the one Harry Potter lived in

In our house
Harry Potter doesn't live there however
What does live there
Are all the things that we just can't throw out
Or at least all the things we can't let go of yet

Under the single glaring bulb hanging from the ceiling
The dusty box wants me to take it
So I do
I grab ahold of it and drag it out
Out onto the clean wood floor of the hallway
Leaving a track in the dust on the floor of the little room
A track that bulldozes some of the dirt from there
Out to here
Where it clearly doesn't belong

I sit on the floor next to the dirty old box
Releasing the latches on the front
Lifting the lid against the protests of the rusty hinges
My eyes take in what is inside
A forgotten childhood's worth of stuff

The game of Life sits on top
Daring me to spin it's wheel
And end up with twins in the little plastic car
Drawing cards randomly to determine my future

A Viewmaster with a little envelope of disks
Begs me to take it out
Put in a disk
And hold it up to the sunlight streaming in through the window
To look through it and be amazed
At animals and scenes
That all pop out at me in all their 3D glory

A game of Jenga
It's what I really was thinking of
When I went after this box today
So that's what I grab
I take the game to the kitchen table
Leaving the dirty old box in the hallway
Open in the sunlight from the front window
It's gaping maw waiting to gobble up some other thing
That I can't let go of yet

I sit down at the table and read the outside of the box
The rules seem simple enough
But I'm going to do mostly as I like
Playing by myself as I am today

Carefully I take the old lid off and dump out the wooden pieces
I start to build my tower
A green one here
A red one there
Brown one on top of that
I keep going until it's about a foot and a half tall

I look at it like that for a bit
How all the blocks interlock
Forming a structural tower
The inherent stability of it

The average person is formed much the same way
Mentally, anyways
All your experiences and memories
Your values and beliefs
They all interlock
They all build you up
To that foot and a half tall tower
Of who you are

Sometimes I wish it were more like Jenga in a way
Where I could remove certain blocks
In certain ways
In a certain order
And the tower would still stand

But even in Jenga
The more blocks you remove
The more unstable the tower
You remove enough of them
And the tower falls

And you lose the game

Still
I wish there was such a concept
As in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Where one could take out certain blocks
Certain memories
Surely certain things you'd be better off with
Surely?

Or would it surely make you a little more unstable
A little less firm
In that foot and a half tall tower
That makes you who you are?

I pop out a piece on the tower
I don't like the looks of that one
Then another
Strategically removing
Trying not to breathe

JENGA!

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Bogeyman

I am the bogeyman
I am your worst fears
If you can think of it
So can I

Blowing up your tallest building?
Child's play
I've been there
Tried that
Done that
With style
With a truck
With a plane

I will put a bomb in my shoe
Then what will you do?
I'll light the fuse in flight
Getting you my pretty
And your little dog too

That not enough for you?
I'll hide bombs on old ladies
Crippled children
On your veterans too

But I see you've already out thunk me
I watch you harass, X-ray, and delay
All your own citizens
Because you've thought of all of this too

It's like you are in my head
Or maybe that my head is you
I am your bogeyman
Look in the mirror
I am you, through and through

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Dancing For You

The red velvet curtain gathers at the bottom
Rising up into the ceiling
Revealing me alone on the stage
Staring at you through the fourth wall
As if it were a one way mirror
Insulating me from your boos and cat calls

Without regard for your entertainment
I strip naked
Change into a tutu
I stretch out my legs upon the bar
Then I begin to move
For I will be your tiny dancer
While you sit aghast
Slowly dying of cancer

I occupy the stage
Like a malignant growth
By act three
And you think you've seen
All that you can see
I'll dazzle you
I'll horrify you
After all, why not both?

As the performance winds down
Sweat rolling off my fat body
Your smile turns into a frown
Because you realize
That all this was real
This theatre
This stage
These horsehair seats

It's everything outside
That is really fake

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Proof of Love?

I'd pull down the sky for you
If I could
No, not really
My love for you is deep it's true
But that'd be pretty silly

You're not the only one
Who gazes at the stars
Wishes for Saturn rings upon her fingers
Or to be a princess on Mars

I'd buy you a truckload of flowers
If I could
But then again, no
A truckload? Really?
I think we both know how that would go

With my luck
The truck would break down
Or be squashed flat
by the weight of all those flowers
Piled high in the back

Then the perfume
Which you find so heady
Coming from all those flowers
It would become quite deadly

As they rotted away
On top of that truck squashed so flat
And doubtless there I would be
Being held accountable for all that

So just take my hand in yours
Let's live in this moment
Gifts aren't real
They only add garnish
To the things that I feel

And as my lips touch yours
With the stars shining where they belong:
Above
Take this as my promise
My pledge
That it's you
At least for now
That I do truly love