The emus formed a football team
Up Walgett way;
Their dark-brown sweaters were a dream
But kangaroos would sit and scream
To watch them play.

"Now, butterfingers," they would call,
And such-like names;
The emus couldn't hold the ball
- They had no hands - but hands aren't all
In football games.

A match against the kangaroos
They played one day.
The kangaroos were forced to choose
Some wallabies and wallaroos
That played in grey.

The rules that in the West prevail
Would shock the town;
For when a kangaroo set sail
An emu jumped upon his tail
And fetched him down.

A whistler duck as referee
Was not admired.
He whistled so incessantly
The teams rebelled, and up a tree
He soon retired.

The old marsupial captain said,
"It's do or die!"
So down the ground like fire he fled
And leaped above an emu's head
And scored a try.

Then shouting, "Keep it on the toes!"
The emus came.
Fierce as the flooded Bogan flows
They laid their foemen out in rows
And saved the game.

On native pear and Darling pea
They dined that night:
But one man was an absentee:
The whistler duck - their referee -
Had taken flight.

Craving has begun
They taste so freaking good dude
It's snowing on Mt. Fuji

Sometimes
Things build up and get knocked down
Sometimes
I can't hold on to the cliff
My hands slip off
and I look at the water below
Sometimes the world looks too tough
The dirt is frozen
And the shovel won't go through
I try to hang on when it
gets too difficult
But sometimes I
go over the edge
My fingertips are slathered
in the butter that fills me with self-hatred
And fear
Fear is a lion
threatens to swallow me whole
bares its teeth and looks me in the eye
I run in every direction
but he's always there
And I can't get free

Sometimes
The world is too much
But I stand strong
And bury my feet-
just my feet-
in the ground and
stand
up
tall

Her pulse rate
Please match me
"Bee's high"

No fireflies to burn my money
Honeycup fingers devour it
The yellow- brick road pours it
The Van Gogh yellow
Honey Queen Bees follow
their fellows
Am I Waiting? 12345_*

The first mate
he ain't got my sting
The others don't mean a thing
The headset swirled to pitch black
Watch your tattoo back blinded
by your yellow
Too many honeycombs
spoiling his ring,
His honey like some hot disease
What an increase in salary
month of June
All the Kingsman double sting it

On the ebb, to triple play it
It's a  Lil- Deb on the ebb
buzzing the personal
Up close the sting
One of a web kind
He makes his move
"Google it" checkmate

Miss Butterfingers her
clicks get stuck
He caught her act
What a stinker

He checked her off the fate
of a singer

To update, on the ebb bees
Sting Shrine what's mine
But why on your time?
That parking meter roar lion coins
build me a buttercup
What a buzz cut please shut up
On the ebb of my interns the
a seduction that's no crime

The Queen of Cherchez
So the lemon square
Bee's at 1960 Worlds fair
He took the bait
La Femme au-fait
Post date, 
 The ebb bees
two lips stick like beeswax
The ebb of everlasting sales tax

"Les of the Mohicans"
of her most desirable
words he narrates,
The honey-blush trees
Upstate

Bees on his proposal knees down
The Queen's bees money

Money for nothing and your
checks for free our freedom
Dire Strait music shrine
Sunshine Gold free state
She donates her heart he awaits

Like 100 degrees hottest light
The golden armor shield
Bees were coming to America
Oh say can you see by the
Dawn-Sting Night

His overflow
His soul the magnitude
every heartbeat
extremity on the ebb of destruction
On the edge of our sanity web rated

Taking a long devouring breath
Like it came at birth
Ripleys believe it or not
forget me not flowers bees
Love was true never to
be false eyelashes

He touched her skin
He goes deeply drawn in
Sting shrine all the envy of mine

Ebb of the darkness her virginity
like a novice

The sting buzzes shes the naughty novella
His sunrise spread with his pocket knife
That honey (Goddess) sun Italiano

Sting shrine like Valentine her Spa treatment
To be raised in the
"Amazon Prime" Honeybee sticky hands

Facebook take a look everyone is an open book
On her ebb of the Emmy multiplying
I hear the bees **** seduction
Geology is the Bees Queen hot Sting
Her impulses she tried to hold back
But went forward with her
desires of him
Her draws bumble bee lingerie
She was the drawback
Wanting her ringback
Honey eyes were set back
And I'll be back to slingback

Asteroid Ebb of her hub ******
God
Wicked impulses being
aroused by his hot yellow rod
Like the smile increased
her face value
All body textures of virtue

What a pressure body point
Attuned to the sting shrine
The Monk the bees are alive
with the sound of
music modifying her sting Gods
Got reckless Moms whats the odds
Like a shock of eternal love, I'm sold

Toxicity facing our reality  
That's the jungle of publicity
Duplicity like the twin city
Both smiled bright yellow and black
Dress Bumblebee sexuality
To its authenticity

Her color of lips
build his sexuality
Beehive sanctuary
Playing the flute
Ebb Bees are so cute

Her name is Brooklyn
beehive of hair
Heres the shock waves bride of
Frankenstein
Changed to better
brains of Einstein

They both stare face to face
Her ebb of the tip
of her ***** with Grace
We earned this day
Be happy I crown you
Queen each and
every day

Reese’s Pieces are for people who
Are used to picking up the pieces
Of broken hearts
But they still want to make it
A good experience
Smiles that look like peanut butter
And kisses that taste like chocolate

Butterfingers are for the kids who
Are used to being picked last for
Everything except to cheat off of
In math class
They’ve grown accustomed to
Not being thought of

Popular kids like the M&Ms;
Because in the end
What else do they have except
For the stories of muses
And the parties they attended
One-by-one they picked apart
Everyone who didn’t act just like them

Pop Rocks are terrible and
So are Peppermint Patties

Crunch bars and 100 Grand’s
Made the jocks think they would actually
Go somewhere and do something
With their lives
Hope comes in strange forms
Monkeys don’t know the difference

Kit-Kats are for the hipsters
Talking a little too loud about mustaches
Listening to music that nobody knew
Grouping around vegan lunch tables
They would break off one by one
When another clique accepted them

Anything made by ***** Wonka
Was a favorite of the kids who
Knew who they were and
Weren’t ashamed

After all, what does candy say
About any of us
Clothes and shoes
Were only disguises
To hide us from the world we
Desperately wanted to fit into
If you had a Five Star notebook
Started mattering a lifetime too soon

When I step into the convenience store
I picture the kids that I know
Because of the candy they ate
I regret having such a sweet tooth
To pick apart kids’ lives
With nothing to satisfy the bitter
After-taste of social humiliation

Message, Dragon-Man, and Lady of the Night left the Dragon Tower to take care.
Message asked, Where will I sleep, and Lady of the Night asked, What do you mean where?
Just go back to where you came, and Message yelled, Where I came from was destroyed.
Dragon-Man soon realized that more tact would soon have to be employed.
You can stay with me, and both Message and Lady of the Night looked at him without stop.
Yeah I have a fully furnished two-bedroom, very comfortable co-op.
Message wearily asked Is this punishment for when I brought you in front of the Federation.
Dragon-Man said, No, consider it a very special Dahomeyian Rulership invitation.
Message desperately looked at Lady of the Night, but Lady of the Night looked away.
Message then said, Alright, I guess I could stay at you coupe for a couple of days.

Lady of the Night left, and Dragon-Man and Message walked onto a field.
Where is this, Message asked, and Dragon-Man replied, it is one of my hidden skills.
I play as part of a football league for fun, and we need an extra teammate.
Message enthusiastically shouted, I wish to play this toe-spectacle so it will be great.
Soon Dragon-Man’s team came, and he was simply Jonathan Maine, Quarterback.
But Message’s happiness did not equal her football skills, all of them she lacked.
Jonathan threw her passes, and she dropped each and every one.
The one pass she caught, was in the other teams end zone as an interception.
Message huffed at the end of the game, This toe spectacle is silly.
Dragon-Man said, From someone who holds a Dahomeyian Rulership, really?
You have the Death-Hand, but your Death-Hand is made up of Butterfingers.
Message stared at him with a glare that could melt ice, and made that look linger.


They soon pulled up to the co-op, and Message and Dragon-Man were walking.
He was surprised at the newfound ease, with which they were talking.
Message and Dragon-Man arrived at the door, and Dragon-Man held it for she.
He figured there was no harm in displaying a little chivalry.
The door was still opened, he was puzzled but thought that it was nothing.
Little did he know that on the other side, someone’s heart was racing.
So as Dragon-Man took the door and stepped inside, something happened that made him feel weak.
Because Message turned around and kissed him, and that kiss was not on the cheek.

It’s not much, I mean, but
uh, nothing, sorry, man I got butterfingers
slippery as my tongue, here
did you drop something, are you sure?
cause my thump-thumping heart dropped
so hard to the floor when it knew you were near
that it bounced right back up
right where it goes, then straight out my crown chakra,
only to dissipate and erupt
into Truth
the literal and the metaphorical
allegorical nebulas that resonate in full high-definition colour the way
all Nine symphonies played simultaneously
would look
sedimentary, like a cheesecake

when I first saw you, something
shifted in my horoscope with the same scope and scale
of a modern Greek myth – Prometheus rising, fire
in the eyes of one woman, that’s all
all Aphrodite could gather up—fix it to the mainstay, Odysseus
let’s get to it, in siren seas, eating weeds to survive
if there’s nothing left when Cthulu
comes alive, I hope at least
I’ll get to talk to you at a party
like, once, where we’ll mix some more
mythologies

Once Inana birthed the world, and Spider Woman showed her how
I could show you how Saraswati
makes music, and old Bacchus stays on his feet
Care to play my Isis? If that makes me Osiris
then drown me, chop me up. Throw my body
to Mr. Lucifer; the Morrigan will come to inspect your ****
and finding it satisfactory
will whisk you away somewhere better

How’s that last part sound to you, eh?

there’s not much left to waste in the techno age
of “nothing in moderation,” with all our
degradation,
defamation,
discrimination,
and mild inflammation caused by
nonspecific anxiety medications
in our nation of constant false elation,
so
my point is time
the one thing we got left to waste
is time, and I’m a dedicated pacifist, but
I wouldn’t mind killing
some of that, with you

Let’s blow this pop stand
and go hunting.

my hands reach for the strings
but i have butterfingers, and i hesitate too much
another missed chance, another lost opportunity

i wanted to tell you first
the confession was sitting on my tongue
but it burned down my cowardly throat instead

every time, the acceptance settles in my heart
heavy, like a small weight on my chest
at least i can carry my regrets without anyone seeing

go ahead, keep the lights shining on me
as i dance with someone who deserves better
who should have received a whole world

but if you look closely, all i had to offer was an arm to hold
and a smile for the pictures when we needed to pose
for my whole world was already in someone else's arms

The earth is getting warmer,
the ice are melting,
the polar bears are endangered,
mermaids are not real,
my dad's never getting clean,
you'll never drive two hours to bring me Butterfingers,
you'll never listen to the songs I send you,
you don't know my middle name,
I feel like I have to beg to be with you,
you'll never read this poem because it's so tiny and insignificant,
and my heart's going to break any day now
but I'd still ask you to pick up the pieces for me.

Happy Halloween

Trick or treats at the front door,
give them candy, but they want more.
I put poison in their candy bar,
razors in their apple will leave a scar.
Tired of hearing, the ringing of my bell,
all these **** kids can go to hell.
Putting tacks in their Milky Way,
don't they know candy causes tooth decay.
Even with the lights off, they still knock,
I hate every kid on this **** block.
I give them lint from my dryer,
their stupid costumes, I light on fire.
I put pennies in their pillow case,
some kids so ugly, don't need masks on face.
I smile at their moms, standing on the sidewalk,
all the hot ones, I can't help but gawk.
When they say trick or treat,
I make them lick my smelly feet.
Putting pins in their Baby Ruth,
no longer will they have a sweet tooth.
Putting nails in their peanut butter Twix,
I have a big bag filled with rotten tricks.
I put Anthrax in their Snickers,
on the Kit Kat i cover with chiggers.
Three Musketeers are filled with staples,
Butterfingers have splinters from wooden tables.
Naughty kids get a bag of my ****,
from the toilet, that I often sit.
Maybe next year they will learn,
or I'll give them ashes from their parents urn.
Sometimes I scare them and make them beg,
their so scared, you can see *** running down their leg.
I've even given left overs from the fridge,
all the maggots make their bodies twitch.
Next Halloween, if I'm not in jail,
I will urinate in every candy pail.

My head feels like it’s holding a $100,00 vase that weighs 100 pounds with my slippery butter fingers and I haven’t been to the gym in weeks and my arms are getting tired

Chapter One: Bozo & Bonzo

The Goatman was a fat guy who lived in the old part of town where everything looked tired. No one around there cared very much about anything.
There were two bums who liked to hang around the train tracks over there. We started calling them Bozo and Bonzo. Bonzo didn't mind because he loved The Who and Bonzo happened to be his favorite drummer. Bozo did mind and would curse and spit at us whenever we'd say the word. He told us to call him by his real name (Charlie) but we liked Bozo a lot more.
Anyway, my friend Lawrence and I would give Bonzo and Bozo a quarter each for a recounting of a recent sighting of the Goatman. One day after school we decided to drop by the tracks to see if they were around. They were, and they were both **** drunk and stunk like wet dogs do after they come inside from the rain. Bonzo asked me if I wanted a swig from his flask and I shook my head no.
"******' *****, I knew you weren't the real deal," Bonzo muttered as he swirled his flask in a circle, as if it were an expensive martini.  
"I don't need your nasty backwash, thanks," I shot back.
"We want more information on the Goatman," Lawrence broke in.
"We have quarters," I added.
Lawrence took the 50 cents from his pocket and extended his arm. Bozo quickly snatched up the coins and laughed.
"You two hot for the Goatman or somethin'?"
"We're not gay for the Goatman," Lawrence says. "But we're definitely gay for finding out who the **** he actually is."
Bozo laughed some more but it came out as a hearty, borderline obese and drunk gargle/scoff.
"We saw him yesterday, believe it or not. I was takin' a **** in a bush across the street from him and he came amblin' out. I was too drunk to care much at the time but lookin' back, I shoulda been more scared," Bozo looked down at the worn boots on his feet and kicked the dirt. "He was carryin' a tiny plastic shoppin' bag, all neatly *******. After he went back inside I crept over and took it and just ******' ran, man," Bozo seemed distressed just verbalizing his encounter.
"So what was inside?" I knew he was getting to it, but I needed to know.
"Just some candy wrapper. Nothin' but candy wrapper. Butterfingers', 3 Musketeers', Pay Days. You name it, he ate it," Bozo completely broke down laughing this time. I'm coming to realize he is the sort of person who thinks he's funnier than anyone else seems to.

One discovers quickly
enough, which side
their bread is buttered
when it falls off a table.
        

              [ ~~ ]

cue music,
don't ever lose the plot
because you've got
butterfingers.

i’m wasting all your ****
because every time you get high
i blow you like ****
if i bit the tip off
blood stained teeth look so bad
because the braces off
gum problems grinding teeth
crunching on pearls having dreams
of pearly whites falling out like
chuck e. cheese token
wake up startled and you’re not next to me
panic attack paranoia at 3 a.m.
witching hour demon watching through
the window
i am not safe from cherry eyes with the
lamp on because they can see me
staring through the window
spazz out to realization
what’s behind the woods
i take a pretty pill and slither out the window
while laying in my bed
pillow texture heavy but pitter patter crunch grass therapeutic
soar through fence, float over trees
come to the spot
by the lake we sat at on easter
i want to go back to summer
i want to go back to spring
i want to go back to winter
when we were shy for each other
now i can’t look you in the eyes
without twists of guilt and adoration
because we argue too much
i don’t even know how to cry
while you fill up the lake
big brash geese flop down into
this pool of your tears
i brush my hand against your shoulder
to comfort you but you shudder away
from me
like i’m a ghost’s breeze
my heart dips its head and goes
downstairs for a snack
water dispenser don’t work
so my mouth’s dry with toasted air
strained lungs can’t cough up words to say
knowing how to comfort you is a skill i forgot
all i can repeat is i love you
you sob at the side of your house as i flutter to you
butterfly butterfingers
as you slip out of my touch
i’m getting so distant
because the tide is pulling me back
let me say i love you baby
you say “i know you do”
i retract back to my bed
no night’s sleep stuck in a trip
doxycycline ***** cycle
you witnessed eight times
in one night
and you comforted me
i miss when we took care of each other
cycling through our memories
i want to pedal to you
but i don’t know how to ride a bike
told your pappy i ran over my mom with
purple disney princess bike when i was six
you let me in your home
built up on swiss cheese drywall
basically an old married couple at sixteen
waking up in (y)our bed together
naked planning for our baby in ten years
please let me cross this imaginary line
and run into your arms
our bodies were crafted from fire and amniotic fluid for the sheer purpose
of holding each other
the nook of your neck and shoulder
and the cranny of my hips
we come together like puzzle pieces
please don’t swipe me off the table
i want to fit with you

Tweezers
buzz
"butterfingers"

and bulbous sneezer
that is touched
by a feather

to make it
sneeze
and tickle

the funnybone

Hello poetry is public matters Id say because I walk this streetlamp eating nutty butterfingers total blown down deeper than the throat young yella bone chicanos can fap maniacally as ***** ***** dancers watch me much much munch. I am Hello Poetry yet Id **** a microphone in the closet because my eggcrates ache grunge album that do not belong to Yyclef. I lied **** head but butter me up buttery enough that my under pants don't snag my inchy tagged and tickled gnome. "Oh Underpant we ****** Old Gregs crack pipes he leaves on cold countertops this month for this be Off season." I weep. Why not my pans or my pun tease these ******* growing mickey mouse thunb prints before my nuts become cheese. Good greaf I'ffy if me sneechy ***** beach teacher teaching toddler that the fingers thumper. Thump my thumb. Pinterest my buns before I *** critters all in tune to teepee creaking creeps kitchen chicken finger fetching fists before *** educari gets carry on that vibes to Marshals mashed potato. Mathers you do matter much. I love the gleam of your crust. Tears up to the Beautiful song that becomes songs and weeps once more.

out of the mouths of conservative gals
who hate their lives. So, they find someone
to tear apart, piece by piece. It’s become their art. You

will find me in words of a poem. It’s my secret hide-away,
black on white, Times New Roman. You could learn
something if you get between the spaces. You will

find me before the antebellum, in school-yard nosebleeds
broken ***** and garage band singers, bell-bottom pants and
butterfingers, chubby thighs and cellulite. You will find

me after the break, when hair has thinned, but belly
bloated. Drinking wine and eating cartons of Rocky road, watching
reruns in my pajamas.  You will find me

when it rains. You’ll smell the ocean and feel
my pain. But do not cry a single tear. Sing my song and
you will dance because I did what I wanted to do.