the bed is not very big
a sufficient pillow shoveling
her small manure-shaped head
one sheet on which distinctly wags
at times the weary twig
of a neckless nudity
(very occasionally budding
a flabby algebraic odour
et tout en face
always wiggles the perfectly dead
finger of thitherhithering gas.
clothed with a luminous fur
a Jesus sags
in frolicsome wooden agony).
Big Dick, The Head Dickhead,
was the head of all the dickheads in the Dickhead Shed.
What made Big Dick so skilled and keen
at dickheadedness was to be seen.
Big Dick had a certain dickish flair,
for tugging at everyone's short and curly hair.
He never had an important specialty,
except for being a type-A personality.
His skills were near to nothing great.
He kinda looked like a backward ape,
with a necktie 20 years gone out of style,
and his middle-management bullshitty wiles;
"I'm better than any dickhead here!"
He'd proclaim everyday with a prickish sneer.
So they put him on his own cocky shelf,
where he could reign all by himself,
and every dickhead, prick or asshole-wanna-be,
would come to the Dickhead Shed just to see,
what they could achieve if they'd observe instead,
the ways and means of Big Dick, The Head Dickhead.
Dedicated to every single uptight, middle-management, pain in the arse
you have ever had to work with or for.
If you fear they will find someone better,
to them, you will become insecure and unattractive.
If you think they will never find anyone better, your arrogance will push them away.
If you never hold them,
they’ll never know you love their touch.
If you hold them too much, they’ll be happy to get away.
If you hurt them,
they will hurt you back.
If you hit them,
they might like it
you do it the right way.
At the third street on the left
from Bourbon Street,
the reddish brown waterline
follows us to the hotel
The sleek white walls appear
to be from ‘after Katrina’
like many here
In the spring sun
the pale green lies deserted
in the shadow of
a long line of soot
Where Sachtmo's park
after cleaning and renovation
is the home of this
other musician with worldly
allure, like a fresh blueberry
on a flat beaten hill
full of loose ends
A gal's gotta have her brothers
She may not think she does
She's a tough nut to crack
But she does care about them
And she needs them
They make great punching bags
Hey big brother, I want you to know
that every morning I wake up and think of you.
I wake up and think of how I'd hurt you if I go.
Hey big brother, I need you to say
that everything will be alright,
and that you need me to stay.
Hey big brother, I know sometimes you're sad.
Just remember I'll always be here for you
if things get really bad.
Hey big brother, I just need to say
that if you ever leave me,
I'll miss you every day.
Hey big brother, I need you to know
that I love you more than anything.
Please, don't ever go.
Could of filled a thousand times
Up I went, opened that loose pink hole
Must have felt like air between thighs.
But you were always wanting more in-kind
Up it went did you feel anything inside
Could say I was small I was 9 inches 2 wide
Keep it coming fill you up, my sacks gave too much
Empty shrivelled bags seeds sewn now only dust
Till the next time my sexy Cum Bucket love.
We are watching your every move in the airports of america
like the stock market every day.
We are telling you that this is the way you should talk about
other cultures because we are the thought police.
We are telling you that we will close your fun establishments early
because we want to change the culture.
Yes folks Big Brother is watching.
We are demanding you buy into the TSA agenda of taking away your privacy at airports.
We are demanding you sacrifice freedom because 9/11 was our way of starting the New World Order
Yes folks big brother is watching your moves.
here we write our epic
from first post
to last bugle fading
and all your readers
throw in a handful of dirt
the day you stopped singing
and turn away to their bowers
to continue in this stranger than fiction endeavour
writing out their hearts and minds one big poem stitched together