I've glommed on
to the skin's erie plahn
grow bones and brains
to carry me around and
rub me up aghainst
everiedamnthingahh

And so and so
off I go on my
unbroken flight
carrying a bowl
of broken wings
none of which fit
quite right-
cast offs for the
incurable and for
those of us less
durable
(god speed
they say
which means
exactly
what?)
nothing
in two syllables
and sailing headlong
into the abyss
while answers hang
from questions
the gods sleep their
unbroken sleep
meanwhile twist
so many lovers
the broken slumber
of the horribly
remiss

m'lady mistakes
a punch to the face
as something more
compliant
tis not his kink
you should know
as you stand there
all defiant
a twist and turn
and a slow waxy
burn
is all you ever
hoped for
but with regard
to you and
the things you
do, your neck
is what a
rope's for
to keep this man
one rule of thumb
and forget the
usual blather:
have a ****
'tween your thighs
keep your mouth
well shut and at
the end of day
when he thinks
of you not as
a ***** but
a **** is all
that really
matters

When windows fail
and mirrors who once
bade an affirming nod
now shake a conscience
loose and all reflections
once scraped and bowed
mark a line between
looking at and
through;
When quests and
questions echo not
nor draw an audience
near, but rather fall
flat in front of you
and absent any
cheers;
Take a rest
and your last
breath without
fog or frost or
dew;
Without any calm
or calamitous shows
drawn from people
pets, or pews;
We'll get along fine
by a godless design
to finally be rid of
you

If a Jenny met
a fella met him
eye to eye, how
could he be
so hard to
doom to make
a Jenny cry?
(Did she did
or did she not
look him
in his eye?)
and when
a mirror
conscience
shook did
he not make
a rotten lie?
If a Jenny
smiled at
him or any
bluest eye
laid a Jenny
on her back
and looking
at the sky
Tell her true
(what did
he do when
he took her
by surprise?)
can a fella
can he now
before she
grow old
and die?
If a Jenny lets
loose a fella
of all his
woes and
whys? let
a Jenny o
let a Jenny
rise

I wanted to write a poem
about kissing walls of all
shapes and sizes, about
davening or dervishing
not to mention shokeling
or the Arabic equivalent
but who wants to start
any sort of war? not me
said the girl no longer
a girl so if you see me
with a black box wrapped
tightly around my cocked
to the side head and I am
trying to kiss a rock
and not you instead-
please don't take it
personally- I'm as
confused as you
although I carry no
ammo or weaponry
or even self righteous
blather: I am not from
here or there or anywhere
you think might matter
in fact I do not matter
at all, perhaps I have
Tourette's, perhaps
I like to spin in place
and kiss rocks and
rub my skinny Irish
face at tourist traps
of no specific religious
affiliation, perhaps
I am CONFUSED
by all of your
tourist maps
read the back flap
(*Disclaimer: we hold
no responsibility for
your imminent
death, biblical  
or otherwise)