I am talking to myself.
Every verse that works
is a conversation
of my own making
with the brightest
fool I know.

Its not so bad.
I am the almost famous
Cinderella man
looking to expand
my influence
over a land.

Too bad I got good
just in time
for mankind
to face the boot
off of this planet
that we abuse
and pollute.

He stood and shook,
the crook who took,
us all for Schnucks.

Pulpit pusher who
spit venom and lies
at those guys
in the pews.

Promised eternity,
but it was up to me
if I suffered
or excelled
beyond the pits of hell.

Not a wit of wisdom
was given
just lies proclaiming
that I should be taming
any skepticism.

He passed the plate,
but I left earlier
while others stayed late.

I am free while he
takes his sheep
and prepares to leave
for the end of days.

Looking forward to
the pain, plagues,
and the agony
of oh so many
people who do not
share his faith.

Seems like only a sociopath
would accept that
the majority of humanity
will burn for eternity.

But that smug mug grins
looking forward to
the bitter biblical end.

The human doesn’t live here,
Emotions don’t appear clear.
Everything he is feeling,
is off like a robot alien.

Confusion is the normal.
Uncertainty, totally natural.
Calamity may come to me
but what he sees is destiny.

Every day he’s learning,
trying to understand,
why what he is feeling
makes him feel more
machine than man.

Bloated buffoon
looks like an
orange painted baboon,
and this is me
writing as the moon
settles and sends streams
of deep blue
thoughts into my dreams.

I am not currently adding
a **** thing
to what we are discussing,
just venting in poetry.

But I watch the mad masses
follow him
into oblivion
believing
that what they are seeing
isn’t reality.

The king of no tact
and he just reacts
without a tac of facts
to point to,
and like him
they are reacting
without a lick of sense
to hold them back.

So, they stroll
with a straw-hat troll
who has no self-control
to a place from which
they will never come home.

I palm my face
in shame for my race
and all that I can offer is
another freaking useless
stanza of words
no one will heed
or even read.

small cheap rooms where you walk
down the hall to the
bathroom can seem romantic to
a young writer.
even the rejection slips are
amusing because you are sure that
you are
one of the best.

but while sitting there
looking across the room
at the portable typer
waiting for you on the table
you are really
in a sense
insane

as you wait for
one more night to arrive to sit and
type Immortal Words--but now you
just sit and think about it
on your first afternoon in a strange city.

looking over at the door you
almost
expect a beautiful woman to walk in.

being young
helps get you through
many senseless and terrible
days.

being old
does
too.

I had two lizards.
Their names were E's and Whizz after the Pulp song, which was apparently about drugs.
Lizards aren't like drugs.
They're just different.
You can't take a lizard to get high.
You could try it with the right kind of frog but licking a lizard just makes you look weird.
Plus if you tried to swallow one, it would get stuck in your throat.
Lizards don't like that.
Plus you'd get done for animal cruelty.
It's ok though, you'd have the excuse that you were smacked off your t**s on Lizard.
I looked after them,
But they kind of melted.
This was real,
Not drugs.
I hadn't tried drugs.
I hadn't licked a lizard.
Lizards aren't like drugs anyway,
but we've already covered that,
it's a bad analogy.
It was horrid watching them,
Think I over heated the tank.
I think it's kind of an analogy for life.
You can spend your life buying all the right food
Keeping the temperature just right.
But never enjoy your lizard  
Too busy thinking about food and heat.
Or you can just get on with things.
Enjoy your lizards,
crank up the heat  
see what happens.
I think life's better like that.
Not for lizards though.
Mine melted.
You've got to keep their temperature right.
It was a bad analogy.  

I'm still single if anyone's interested?