I thought about this long and hard
In fact I thought about it all the time
What would happen to belly button lint
If you set the stuff on fire

I collected more than enough
Over the years to see this through
So I went and invited a few friends along
The word it spread and the crowd it grew

All the folk from the town came out
They'd been collecting belly button lint just like I had
Not quite as impressive a pile as mine
I guess I'm the biggest belly button lint dust collecting man
That's (B.B.B.L.D.C.M.) if you want to simplify who it is I am

You might think that's something to be proud of
And believe me when I say that I am
After I got through signing autographs
We proceeded with my grand plan

The crowd stepped up one by one
To toss their lint onto the pile
Coming close to blocking out the moon
As the pile grew ever higher

(Finally the time had come to light up
the famed belly button lint dust fire)

It was Frankie who spoke up first
And said he'd be honored to flick his bic
That was the very last time we saw any of him
Frankie and the lint lit up like a rocket ship

When the shock wore off I turned around
And saw the whole town up in flames
I've had a lot of great ideas before
I'm not quite sure this was one of them

I now live in a hippie commune in the woods
Since my towns no longer there
It's kind of lonely without Frankie around
Although there's still that lingering hint of burning hair

I no longer collect belly button lint these days
I sure learned my lesson with that
Haven't worked out the details of my next grand idea
But I can tell you it involves a big ball of my ear wax

Have you ever stopped to wonder
Where pocket lint comes from
Is it mass produced, does it just run loose
Or is it grown on a pocket lint farm

And are there tiny little farmers
With tiny little hoes
Who's time is spent planting pocket seed lint
In tiny little rows

Is that why so many pockets
Are lined in cloth of white
For the best in growing conditions
Letting in the perfect amount of light

But then you have to wonder
What the farmers do for rain
And if your always wet in the front of your pants
What would people have to say

And why go through all the trouble
Since apparently it has no use
Unless we hire tiny little tailors
In the making of pocket lint Leisure Suits

And if we do I'd like mine in baby blue
To wear at all the Bar Mitzvahs, Proms, and Wakes
I'm sure that once it catches on
It'll be the latest craze

There really must be some sort of purpose
In pocket lints grand design
Don't you ever wonder where it comes from
I myself think about it all the time

the world is a dryer.


if there is a washing machine section within our universe, I am unaware of it.

I don't work that rotation. I work the dry shift.

tumble low heat, fluff, repeat.

repeat.

in almost every dryer known to mankind, some contraption serves as the lint trap. collect all of the lint and excess laundry fluff as it goes through the dry cycle.

in this world, in this universe; if the human race consists of the articles of clothing in the dryer, I am the lint trap.

it sounds almost cutesy when phrased like that. dryer lint is fluffy and soft and the combination of all the different fibers of the various clothing.

I'm the trap, though. the filter.

I must absorb and filter the excess fiber from every article of clothing. if the entire human race is in this dry cycle; I absorb and filter their raveling ends.

it's ******* exhausting.



here's a better analogy. have you ever had your stomach pumped?

they handle this differently now, but when the doctors, nurses, and staff working in the ER would get a patient who swallowed an entire bottle of ****** with a ***** chaser; or a new mother's young son swallowing her bottle of sertaline, they would get to work. one hand activated charcoal, the other hand with a large suction tube.

activated charcoal is what neutralizes the bottle of ****** or the bottle of Zoloft. the charcoal can absorb **** near anything. it pulls out stains and poisons, neutralizing and absorbing.

this is where the tube comes in. the charcoal is harmless on its own, but the ER staff is in a hurry to console (get rid of) the screaming mother; to move the seventeen year old girl with the ****** ***** chaser to the psychiatric unit, and continue their night.

insert the long tube to suction the charcoal out of the stomachs of the two children. this is often haphazardly shoved down the back of the throat, down the esophagus, reaching the stomach. flip the switch, undo what peristalsis cannot. it's not pleasant. gagging, rough, foul, I've been told.

the body is working in reverse order. vomiting may be easier. the suction tube is fighting the natural flow of the body. the esophagus is attempting to push everything down down down, and the tube is fighting back.

I am the activated charcoal found in every ER across the globe. I absorb the poisons that human beings put into​ their bodies.

I can pass someone on the street, and my activated charcoal soul absorbs the negativity, the poison, the hatred, the emotional chaos from that individual.

I often wonder if the person feels lighter, noting the absence of the venom that once crippled them. I never ask. I just keep my gaze down and ignore the tempest ensnared within my activated charcoal lint trap.

there are others like me. activated charcoal hearts, lint trap souls.

tiny piece of lint
was my imprint at birth.
She named me
the most insignificant piece
of it... the lint in the corner of your pocket.

held close, near the warmth of the thigh.
secure, protected.
little piece of lint.

the challenge with it
is that I have always felt it.
insignificant.
humility has been my blanket.
it has protected me from the
fingers reaching in to grab hold
of coins and other pocket stuff.
that dark corner down there,
where the blue piece of lint rests.
wash after wash, the water only
beats it.
forms a perfect ball. the sides never
stop. the cycles maintain.

the challenge is I still feel this.
insignificant.
I always will.
I see what I am a part of.
I feel the magic of it.
that background buzz, humming...
yes..... I hear it.
my perspective just one tiny
bit of it. little pocket lint.

significance rests there.
in each piece of it.
the wind only exists
because of the other tiny bits.
this is the delicate bliss.
the kiss.
this awareness.
feeding from its passion to be
because it is.
it is repetitive in nature, though
what I see is. It just is.
and it creates. it extends.

I expand into your hand
and you free me.
you release me from the dark corners
and set me free. to be la nita.
to grow by attracting energy.
with the right charge, a lint ball
can exchange electricity!

my tears burn some nights,
they purge the energy of the day.
though I was built this way,
molded and shaped for it.
flexibility to change is key,
until that day. and in between
I've now seen,
my responsibility is to just be me, my imprint.

I've been collecting ear wax
Since the belly button lint dust fire went bad
I lost all my dignity in that fiasco
So ear wax is all that I have left

Believe you me, it's not easy
Coming up with another scheme
After burning the whole town down to the ground
To get a single soul to look or even listen to me

But that fateful day that I dug deep
And pulled a replica of the Eiffel Tower out of my ear
I knew that fame and fortune lay before me
My time had arrived, my time was here

Who should I call first over my artful discovery
The Post?  The Enquirer?  The Times?
No I would call The Museum Of Modern Art in NYC
For the Art World would soon be mine

I knew I had to ratchet it up a notch
One piece of ear wax art might be a fluke
So I got out my brush...the Q-tip
And removed a portrait of John Wayne AKA The Duke

Since I live in a hippie commune in the woods
Little furry creatures would always stop by
To gaze upon the artful process
Squirrels can be the best of critics...no lie!

Which gave me the idea with all the left over ear wax
I sculptured a mini-amusement park with mini-arcades
And charged the woodland creatures nuts and berries
Which helped feed the hippies with whom I stay

It wasn't long after that I received the letter
Stating that art had a need for me
I've become known as The Andy Warhol of The Art World
With abstract ear wax being my specialty

Now I go to all the major "Who Does"
Where everybody knows my name
As I create masterpieces right before their eyes
Just don't hold it to close to the flame

Who would have ever thought that ear wax
Would be the perfect medium
To jet propel this Simpleton
To Art World stardom and beyond

I stared at the hollow plastic black handles,
disgusted.
my blood shot eyes burn within the cheap
yellow tape
used to keep the covers on so they
stay sticky.
red print, black letters, yellow tape
so ugly
I looked at their cold metal tan shelf with a
sticky stain
then up at the gas station attendant, a fat
greasy man
in an unwashed t-shirt stained with
armpit sweat
who stared at nothing, mouth agape
and useless.

I thought how little care went into the
lint roller,
one purpose with no need to be pretty
or perfect.
how little care his mother put into
raising him,
how little care he put into himself,
sickening.
disgusted I lifted my gun with ecstasy
and fired.
a smatter of red decorates the bland
station walls
that shines with rapture in the florescent,
dimly lit lights.
lint rollers only have one purpose, so
I leave them.

They brought them
from the hollar
to the barge
to the field ~
into the wallows
in prayer
skinny little pinkers
cropped by ivory gates
buzzed with hot wire
hooked on bug worm
whistling dixie
around scrummers
and **** pen

peckers squawk
down eden lane
(nipping at jean lint
and fraystring)
deep in the hollows
a mad crow
(with steady tap)
the snouts high
on grunters
and squealers
stomping past
the feather pack

folded fingers
on the gatekeeper
(an engineer by
trade they'd say)
pigtails and
slack line
down the dusty lane
a snap of the jawbone
and lawn chairs settle
(facing north)
the bold script
and chimes
uneasy

bathe your slow gin smile in gossamer moss
an epiphyte
of long miles above thought !
your germ sings !

this love
dilutes proof of plain facts.
the obvious; obscured by the harsh aye of No !
a black white
fiending  for gray
and
Oatmeal paint
and
lint.

peeling from the  seam of lost moments.

I reserved a table for the two of us
at the only restaurant in the world
that not only offers atmosphere and setting
but tone and syntax as well.

First some articles for appetizers. They're
easiest on my pocket you know.

An an, a the, and an a.
Let's not even start on the punctuation,
I'm treating you to a rather large meal.
As large as the entire English language,
now back to the articles.
Sure these taste like lint but they still
taste. Petit fours but there you are.
Try to be disinterested or you'll
put me off my food.

Nouns now. My, what a variety.
Bit meaty, eh? These have staying power.
They taste like a bit of everywhere,
and everyone, and everything.
What's that? Surely they're not that bland.
Maybe you need some seasoning.

"Adjective" comes from the
French for "to the word."
So exotic aren't they? These
really are fantastic.
Exquisite, unique, zesty to say the least.
You must admit, they
make the meal worth it.
I hope you're not allergic,
I could have sworn I just
had something "nutty."
Oh, it had nuts "in it"?
There must be some prepositions
mixed in here.

(I'm glad we're getting through
these now, I've never been a big fan of them.
When I was a kid, I would always push my prepositions to the end
of my sentences. You just can't do
that in a joint like this, it seems.)

Ah finally. The verbs are served.
Well-prepared it would seem.
Yes, anything you can do to a verb
they've done to these.
Infinitives (too good to realistically be believed!),
gerunds, and participles (No, not particles. But we
did have some of those at the Japanese restaurant.)
Fairly lean too, as I can't see
any auxiliary fat.

For some reason
those adverbs (just to your left, under that
thesaurus) really go well with this.
Plus those adjectives from earlier, rather pleasantly.

Now a brief selection
of conjunctions, but don't ruin
yourself. They're not a meal of themselves,
just a link to...

Oh! Look at those interjections.
So delicate, so (Wow!) incisive.
I told you to keep your appetite.
Well, just try a little of this. Goodness, me!

And then everyone proceeds to
die  
from a split infinitive.