The Forceps on the Skull
The Freedom Down my Throat
The Careless Jaunty Attitude
The Dead boy long Gone
No voice, No mouth, No brain
No Opinion, No Choice, No Thought
The child coaxed in rudiments
The warm fuzz ball of puke
The play-doe reindeer bones
The bandaged up wild wet wagon movie
Throaty
Toe drum octagon
Therapy Slowly
Octopus keymaker
Uh, you don't know me
Grow old in set bone brains
Can't hold a lighter to a memory of a conversation flicker
Septum dust headbutts tattoos of a mirror
**** shiver
What's His Name?
What's His Name?
Slidin’ care home cider casket cycles home
Nun **** jar finds a hair in comb
Hold a Jug up to your speakin’ ear and drink
Run circles round the square
Run circles round the square
Why don't you just do it?
Why don't you just?

I’m turning from Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit
taking a streetcar named Desire to Monday Night Raw
after the oppression of the law got stuck in my craw
because the discretion of the flawed became the voice of God.

I’d always relied on the kindness of strangers
only to find the Million Dollar Man’s danger
directing the Army Rangers to Jesus’ manger
letting the Undertaker deal with the remainder.

I relinquished my rightful place
to the bank’s Crippler Crossface
taking everything until I lost grace
going into a holocaust craze.

I’m upset about the places I can’t go
because I’ll be ***** by Marlon Brando
when I ask the referee for a hand though
he just responds with a ****** no.

I have retired my display of Vivian Leigh
now Whatever by Our Lady Peace plays
as the Rabid Wolverine walks to the stage
to fight the Big Boss Man in a cage.

I gave up teaching class to my sister
to fight an *** who’s a mister
whose slaps can blister
so he blasts this spinster.

The law is a tougher opponent than Eddie Guerrero
so I apply my aptitude into becoming a pistolero
after getting jabbed by my French Quarter pharaohs
I can feel resistance down in my Marc Mero.

I start to take steroids
because there are boys
whose terror noise
impairs my poise.

I go all out performing flying headbutts
fighting until I see the dead’s guts
exterminating enemies like bed bugs
but then I start to dread hugs.

Now I assume a stranger’s spite
so I can immediately fight
I’m swallowed by night
wearing these tights.

In my rage I **** my wife and son
now my anger is no longer fun
even if it came from their gun
it’s me who’s the loneliest one.

I changed from a lady to a wrestler losing my ****** mind
fighting Mankind while stepping on landmines
until I can’t find any grand signs
and I’m anger defined.

I first met her at the market
Right in front of the butcher’s bench
White skin she had, a bit scarlet
Clucking a lot, she wore a trench

Little and silky Hermès scarf
Horn-rimmed glasses laid on her hair:
Money came from Canary Wharf
Her home was surely in Mayfair

Immediately my plan was made:
I’ll soon get her tossed in my ***
- High standing geese got to get laid -
I would then take her whole jackpot

I got her laughing and dreaming
I did apply all the secrets
Allowing us the besieging
Of pretty chicks with no regrets

In Hertford Street, where she opened
Her house, her heart and even dress
I swept the board of what she served:
Both her reason and prudishness

Then came the time for robbery
- Bit of a rush before she twigs -
And it began to be scary:
The goose was working for the pigs

In a very special unit
Where they do learn some useful things:
The fight, the gun, how to hit
While putting on fishnet stockings

With headbutts, pengs against my fame
She got me stuffed like some fall guys
I cried a bit and I became
No golden eggs only black eyes

the vanquished lay screaming
blood dripping all over the tracks
a tale of rank deception
with a maniac at the throttle
and damnation in the boilers
trailing smoke and scrap metal
it became clear to the mindful
you can't stop a train with bodies
it will potato peel your skin off
and noisily eat your liver
while you grok the new data
we squander ourselves daily
at the stadium dome-o-plex
the howling hooligans lusting for blood
and they by jiminy got their fill.
you don't shed time like a layer
the 300 decapitated that preceded me
were prone to outbursts of dire warning
its more than a game for compulsives
they play Russian roulette every dawn
the best of them last 5 days
with resurrection just around the corner
stoic echoic prosaic Prozac
before the world nothing
before your birth nothing
the same old nothing question
his prayer was bless the quiet night
which only got him blasted through
the arbeit macht frei swinging gates
by the Bureau of Infinite Statistics
which obviously didn't want to be
in the modern world anyhow
their disinfectants no longer potent
at the required level of nuance
and the antifreeze froze at room heat
the goblins outside the wire
caught the shrapnel in Jai Alai baskets
glued his shattered remains together
with hammer blows and headbutts
and he could totter on both feet again
not so much affluent as effluent
yet still the luckiest man alive
somebody's mascot apparently
shadow occasionally on the screen
a little less self dialog
said the projectionist
hi res wifi high five he went on
the highest resolution possible
aren't we supposed to get smarter
as fast as we can

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon