a harelipped man walked into a liquor store and walked up to the proprietor and said gimme a bottle of gin.

and the proprietor said to himself  "why THIS dumb *******. I'll have some  fun with him!"

He said "What kind  would you like?"

"You mean theres more than one kind?"

"Yessir theres 3"

"What are they?"

"Hydrogen, Oxygen and Nitrogen"

"Thats right" Said the harelip.

and theres three kinds of turds too.

"What do you mean?"

"Mustard. Custard. AND YOU YOU BIG SACK OF ****!"

inside Elvis’
digital pompadour
there’s a
constitutional oligarchy
and a harelip
and
you watch
from the corner of
your eye
as he scratches
deep inside there
and sniffs at his
fingertips
and
turns to his
girl and says
how it’s
oh so redolent
of the eggs
of silverfish
and that Evel Knievel’s
cologne
was never
so sweet

Vote my fist, the ship lists starboard

Nautical twist, birthed sideways

Harelip lisp, tender hearted doe-eye

Little boys cry for scraped knees

Come here, please, and tell me

about it

Troutin', somewhere upstream

Go low and then lean,

smiling and clean and soap on teeth

Somewhere beneath your heart,

a switch to restart,

the whole process.

In her psychedelic boots with a harelip and spent credit card she’s got no neck and stinks of her father’s cologne—
Foul smelling feet feeling like Frank and Levy
Are lifting her legs to take her on a space walk,
Frog-marching her around like Temple Drake,
Left-handed wife letting a **** fly—
A natural brunette in the barn and a blonde under the car,
An Asian gypsy barefoot by the lake,
Computerized and conflicted,
Digital triplets who’ve all inherited their mother’s *******
And now we know her father writes poetry
But she’s too stupid to grasp it,
A fly-by-night illiterate who only comprehends the muted thumps
Of Lady Gaga and gunfire,
A teenage sodomite, reality TV is all she wants to know about,
Plucked from the sticky alley floor by her ripped drawers—
Her vices like balloon dog art, her ******* like a dog’s,
Pierced, plump and pimpled,
She wears pigtails and might be a good lay,
Even a goddess in bed someday,
Upchucking from too much tequila and Coke, five against one
And five and two fit end to end
Her mouth smelling like the cat took a **** in it—
Open the window, please,
The fire insurance agent is looking the other way,
What does he care, fist-******* a nun
Like a kangaroo flashing the red flag—
He’s a five H. man and she’s a five-letter woman,
A fizzling fizgig, grandma likes to go to the movies,
Though she doesn’t watch the picture—
Belonging to an abstract cult of straight lines and no color,
She’s no Gaugin and when she takes her boots off—
A black and white genius face to face with the smiling yellow sun,
A mother’s *** is like no other—
Especially when she wears strappy stilettos,
Her bowlegs making her look like she’s playing the cello,
Sequin gown making her look like a disco ball—
Socrates and Diogenes arguing over how much to pay the *****