Handbags

Handbags
Handbags
Everywhere handbags
Hanging in my closet
And off of my face
Handbags made of hands
It's a horror movie disgrace

The cloth ones are so casual
In patterns so swell
I fill them with hobos and sell them to seashells
Full of bits of Sally from the sea shore

It all happened in a rage after one too many tongue twisters

Faux patent leather vinyl affairs are for looking trashy
When only looking trashy will do
With oversized glasses reflecting my eyes back at me
Matching all the stares I get with my matching outfit

A single piece shiny red pvc suit
With a six by six golden fucking buckle baby

Leather purses smell of Coach hell
Where things are a bit expensive for bits of flayed cow
And the stitching and latches are guaranteed for life
Which is a living if you can call it that
Stuffed with my shoplifted 'purchases'
Smuggled back to my mansion in the hills
Hiding from the paparazzi beneath an oversized hat
As I hustle across crosswalks in broad daylight
Unshaven legs propping up a crossdressed Prada delight

Such things make me feel pretty oh so pretty

In such a hurry to get back to my flat
So full of handbag finery
It vomits out of my mouth from overstuffed belly
Swollen with handbag delight
The swag of Rodeo drive in my gullet
Paid for with my good looks hauled by a pair of meathooks
In most gruesome fashion from a runway in Paris
Shown in an oversized handbag palace
Where the waiters are walking wallet advertisements
Touting the champagne pissed by chimps in Paraguay
Collected by the natives upon the jungle floor
Sold by the ounce to discerning sets of jowls that jounce
In our cocktail dresses red as lipstick
Beards upon our man boobs
Hems barely long enough to hide our dicks

Handbags
Handbags
Everywhere handbags
Woven of the hair of sinners and saints
Stretched on the racks of the rude
Ejected from the show for talking too loudly
Chewing their popcorn a bit awful proudly
We grow their hair like Rapunzel's
Till it gets fed into the loom machines
Powered by steam engines in the basement
Leather belts flying everywhere
Threatening the limbs of the children
Whose fingers are the only ones delicate enough
To weave the handbags we hold so dear

And it matches your dress
It really does
Now wax that mustache high into the air with a prayer
And give us a deep tongue kiss

Mwah!

Maid of Winter

Snow, you swirl to me exclusively
We are monogamous you and I it seems
For whenever I step outside you find me
Plastering yourself to my skin with cold wet dreams
Of thickly frozen still mountain lakes
Fed by fast moving ice cold streams

I drift along with you for awhile usually
Until I wake up hours later stuffed into a bank of snow
Fingers and toes blue and unfeeling
With face giving off a damp red cheeked glow
Asking for some warmth to recover
All you ever answer with is a chill wind that whispers "No"

Someday I know you'll be the death of me
But since I cannot stay away from you
Perhaps deep down I'm in love too
With your cold crystal kisses
And velvety white coldly melting against my skin embrace
Tugging at my warm lub lubbing heart against my wishes
Maybe I'll just lay down for a nap covered in your fine pale lace

Just as I suspected I awoke to find my fears realized
I was trapped beneath an icy road
Which flexed in a fine sine wave broad across
As tractor trailers traced a path with their winter load
Pressing down in unmeasured pounds per square inch
Exerted by storied sets of eighteen wheels supporting steel
Along with my hopes that a gaping crack was a sure cinch

Luck did not go my way
And the ice simply continued to sway
Growing further distant from cold hard eyes touched with bitter
Held not by a mistress of snow as I'd suspected
But pressed to the breast of the maid of winter

Inspector X

The flow of parts never stopped
Just like the finished aircraft out the front doors
Just like the creeping progress of the war
There just didn't seem to be an end to any of it

Hank's workbench was full of assorted parts when he arrived in the morning
Taking over from the swing shift inspector
Who had faced the same sort of semi-organized pile when he had arrived
And on and on

Cup of coffee nearby
Hank made sure his magnifying light's lens was clean
Then got to work
Picking up a random bracket
Noting the part number upon it on his list
And giving it the old once over

Looking for cracks in the metal bend areas
Sharp edges anywhere, especially around the mating surface faces
Fingers caressing the surface of the part almost absentmindedly
Unconsciously feeling the primed surface
Fingertips ready to register any irregularity for further looking at

This part was seemingly just another in the long blur of parts that passed through his hands
To be weighed against the known normal for such things
Quickly
As there was a war on
And wars do nothing less than eat planes and pilots like a fat man at a dollar buffet

As he often did
Hank wished he had more to do with the effort directly
But a childhood accident that had left him with half a left foot
Insured that he was a supporting character in this grand play

Always on his mind were the GI's who got to work directly with the planes in combat
The constant activity with regular maintenance and repair
Along with the morale boosting art on the aircraft fuselages
Messages scribbled to the enemy on bombs and drop tanks
The general feeling of giving the finger to the Nazi's almost directly

As Hank was musing on these things
His hands, eyes, and fingers were doing their inspection thing
Touching, peering, making notes
And almost without consciously realizing it
Hank didn't put down his grease pencil when he was done noting the part number and condition

Instead he moved it to the long flat side of the chunk of wing spar he had in front of him
And scrawled in neat draft block letters
"BE ALWAYS STRONG"
Along with his small ink inspection mark next to it

After writing it
He glanced at it for a long moment
A smile tugging at the corners of his mouth
And a rabble rousing version of himself giving a massive finger to the Fuhrer in his head
Before he put it on the transfer cart next to the table
To be taken out to the assembly area
With that bold black blessing upon it
Carrying a strength with it that Hank would never have guessed at

Idle Hands

Scruffy McBubbles performed his regular antics onscreen for me
Vainly attempting to entertain and educate the audience
Both things seemingly out of his cartoon four fingered reach
Consistently for the entire run of 8 seasons so far

Today's debacle had something to do with counting the fish he was catching
Tossing each rubbery muppet brand fish onto the pretend glowing coals of a grill near him
With Scruffy calmly explaining the circle of life and prime numbers
All while the latest flexi-foam trout writhed in mock agony upon the metal grating
Staring with blank puppet eyes at the camera with each pan and zoom of the lens

It is no wonder I bored of watching
The trifecta of faux animal cruelty, mathematics, and recycled Lion King philosophy was nothing to hold my attention
So I sat back in the old wooden chair with a creak and groan of wood
Drumming my fingers upon the old square pine armrests
Looking around my vicinity for something to occupy my hands

Aha!
What did my little eye spy
But a really cool roller thing on a yellow handle
Which I scooped up with nimble small fingers

Pick, pick, pickety pick
Two fingernails plucked at the edge of the black rubber handle upon the device for a few minutes
Producing a soothing noise to accompany Scruffy McBubble's empty hearted teaching moments
Until my thumb found something to squeeze

Oooh!
When I squeezed the handle on the yellow thing
A circular blade popped into view!
Wow, but it looked sharp

Scruffy's voice was completely drowned out now
At an ironically inappropriate moment oddly enough
As his big flapping face mouth was just then cautioning all his young friends watching
To never play with things adults might leave lying around
Because something could happen
Just look at his friend here
Lefty Bumpkin
At which, a one armed muppet wanders onscreen trying to carry a large pizza box
And failing miserably
Flopping a cheese pizza onto the ground
Topping side down

Splat!
Though not even that distracted me from my new toy
Which seemingly of its own volition
Was busily carving straight lines into the old chair armrest

The old wood accepted the blade easily
As dry pine will
Creasing in an addictive way around the razor's edge passing over and through it
Flaking off the clear varnish in small scale-like pieces as it went
An original finish applied sixty years before by a man named Hank Winston
In a factory only sixty miles away
When camp furniture was all the rage for a new middle class
Who needed such furnishings for their newly built cottage vacation homes

After converting much of the smooth wood surface to something more like a knurled finish
And the silky varnish into confetti on the floor
Wandering young fingers found a pair of glasses
Hmm, I wonder what this blade would do to these?

A quick motion later
Accompanied by a very quiet sound much like nails on a chalkboard
A one half inch curly bit of plastic fluttered to the carpet floor
To lay there with the other leavings of my idle time activity
And a grand deep scratch now decorated the exact center area of the right lens of the glasses

I felt a bit guilty at that point
So I hid the glasses in a drawer I found within reach to my left

Now satisfied that I had hid the evidence
I blankly watched Scruffy McBubbles berate his one armed companion for being one armed
Telling old Lefty Bumpkin muppet puppet that after all
It had been his fault for playing with his grandfather's dynamite in the barn
Which was only to be used for stumps

At that I laughed with a tiny snort from my young nose
Since I was just sharp enough to realize that the dynamite Lefty had played with
Had done what it was supposed to
Sort of
Since instead of removing a stump
It had made one!

My right hand still gripped the yellow handle with the black rubber grip tightly

My left hand came up to fiddle with things as well
But coming into contact with the round disk razor blade head
Cutting deeply into my palm
With an ease that put the lines I'd made in the soft pine wood earlier to shame

For a shocked instant
My eyes looked and registered nothing but cut meat
Blood hadn't had a chance to flow yet
And that moment held itself for an eternity in my mind
A Polaroid photo of a parted skin sea
Where the water walls were red and glistening
Like fresh steak ready for a barbecue

Then I breathed again
And the picture started moving
Blood filled the short trough in my hand
Overflowing out and across
Then cascading onto the cream colored carpeting in a miniature waterfall

The yellow handled roller razor cutter with the black rubber grips got tossed off into the corner by the television
Where Scruffy had switched to baiting some poor homeless rabbits into a debate on unemployment
And I found my sneakered feet moving automatically
Carrying me into the kitchen at the other end of the house
Tears leaving streaks upon my cheeks
Blood leaving a half-footprint imprint trail back the way I'd come

I'll blame it on grandma
I silently decided

She shouldn't have left that thing laying around

New Years Baby

He's a New Years baby

Climbing out just in time

To suckle moms fresh breast

And celebrate with bubbly wine

After drinking his fill he defied some physics

Jumping and spinning like CGI come to life

Holding the doctor hostage

Along with the rest of the staff

New Years Baby is the newest 1920's gangster

Rocking a tommy gun and pocket watch

In pin striped suit and jaunty hat

Talking that Cagney gangster talk

Just like he heard on late night TV

A terror on the Chicago streets

New Years Baby is certainly something to see

Taking out the competition and smuggling booze

Just wait until he hits puberty

PTSD Jesus

The son of God finds it hard to get out of bed these days
Though his dad bangs on the kitchen ceiling to call him to breakfast
Jesus takes one look at the cold hard floor and shivers
As the polished wooden planks turn to water before him
Flooded with memories of walking upon it as he once did in Galilee
Which gives him nightmares now
As hungry things not seen since the dawn of time
Swim up to see what the soles of his feet might taste like
If his faith were to fail him
And natural laws reapplied

Mary tries to comfort him
As only a mother can
Applying a gentle cold washcloth to his forehead
Upon those too frequent times the night terrors bring on the sweaty shakes
Fanning him softly with cool night air
Saying soothing things
"It's okay
They can't hurt you anymore"
While gently kissing the scar upon his side with her fingertips

She can't help it
Anymore than he can
Cringing from her touch
As if it were a short Roman sword

Loud noises freak Jesus out
To say nothing of large crowds
For in his head they are screaming at him
Some begging for blessing or healing
Others calling for his head
Crying out that he is a demon

There are no stylish or functional hats for Jesus anymore
A baseball cap feels just like a crown of thorns to him
As much as a Stetson, a scarf, or the real sharp bloody thing

Sermons don't leave his lips as they once did
Now they are spoken haltingly
To small groups
Who know to give him some space
And truth be told those gatherings are attended out of respect mostly
Since the words have lost the fire that they once had
Now that Jesus is riddled with self-doubt and fear

It was truly a double edged sword that the Lord forged when He made Jesus a common man
Both as capable as great things as the rest of us
And as vulnerable too
Jesus now wears his worst scars where none can see
Trying to work things out with a therapist who specializes in PTSD

Sideshow Shafted

Can one reach the brass heights of the bell?

With the Strongman breathing down your neck

A heavy long handled hammer clasped in both hands

Colorful stripes on the shaft worn away by countless sets of other sweaty hands

Impressing their girlfriend

Trying to win the stuffed pig

Proving their manliness

Justifying their existence

Pounding a mushroomed hardwood head into that silly levered platform

Sending weighted slide up a worn metal pole

Higher and higher it climbs

Past 'Baby'

Through 'Wussy'

Up a sideward glance at 'Awkward Adolescent'

Until it stops at 'Not As Good As You'd Want To Be'

Showing the world that has joined the Strongman at your back that you really aren't good enough

The Strongman wipes the sweat from the top of his bald head
That had accumulated there just from the effort of watching you fail
Grabs that worn handled mushroom headed sledge out of your spidery fingers so frail
Nonchalantly flipping it around with one hand
Into the flapping tongue board lever labeled as "Hit Me"
Sending weighted slide up a worn metal pole
Much too fast to read any of the horrid monikers for the weak and wasted
Straight up into the old clanging sound of a rusty cowbell
Proclaiming the Strongman as strong
Denouncing you as not
All the blood leaves your face
Pale and dry you drift to the ground
To stare numbly and horizontally at the suddenly fantastically complex levered platform that the now at rest weighted slide sits upon

Exposed to your vacant defeated gaze is a compendium of compound complex lever action
With springs wound with werewolf whiskers
And gears cut of crystallized giant's tears
Revealing that this was no ordinary operation
But a shameful shenanigan in the making

Seeing the lie for what it was
A film fell from your eyes in a disgusting slough of cataract flavored skein
Displaying surroundings vividly glowing as if from within
Showing truth

The Strongman shaved his head and never could grow a proper beard
While popping steroids have left his gonads shriveled and weird
He worries about his money problems almost every day
And flays himself nightly over fears he may be gay

The goldfish in their bowls at the nearby ping pong ball toss
Have clearly been trained in jujitsu and lacrosse
For with every throw of the light white balls that occurs
One golden scaled blur leaps from water to air above bowl
Tail-whacking that ball just off its course
With a derisive sneer that only a domesticated aquatic could manage
Before dropping with a sploosh to swim in circles looking innocently contemplating more damage

The rings were too small for the posts at the Tossing Off contest booth

The Guess Your Weight game was rigged with random integers

A Pop The Balloon! shoot'em'up that used only porous balloons

This whole place was crooked as a politician's spine
Though the knowing of it did absolutely no good seeing as how you're stuck on the ground still
As that is how Almost Adolescent, Not As Good As You'd Want To Be's often spend their time