There isn't a mission. There isn't a goal. It's just words on fake paper, sliding and tripping and flowing all over the place, because we're all full up on words in here and there is no way we can keep them inside. Like Tony says, "Nothing in here is true."

Monday, August 28, 2006

haiku for the birthday of byoo

one year a vapor
image embodied in text
left behind like seeds

Saturday, August 26, 2006

discs of cake

floppy like eight-paneled hats, flatter than a can of grandpap’s blatz,
saturday morning pancakes more massive than channel cats,
not all the time, but once in a while they’re an event,
akin to running into that girl you love--wearin’ a scent,

slap butter on 'em like yarmulkes on heads in synagogues,
now shrouded in fat like london-night beds hidden in fog,
but that’s the flavor, as you already know too well, me maties,
pancakes without butter is like a devil-less hell, a styx-free hades,

not to be outdone by the all-enveloping sap of the maple, of course,
syrup sinks into my shortstack like absorbine jr. soothes a charlie-horse,
but easy on your pour, i’m not the guy for excess sugar that relax in tooth cracks,
this is a hungry man’s breakfast, get your hyper toddler some sugar smacks,

eat them quick, the heat’ll vacate the premises now that the syrup’s aboard,
rip into them with a utensil, in relevance to your plate, the fork’s starboard,
aft i’ve had my fill, my stomach’ll appear to you as a hogshead offshore,
my tee-shirt snug, holding on for dear life, clinging close to my core,

i pound down some one percent, the red cap is a bit too heavy,
my belt and i are gonna bust like brian bosworth, his movies, and louisiana levees.

Friday, August 25, 2006

your set of 32

your teeth, your teeth,
allow those words to pass by,
they should’ve slammed shut like
heavy black gates
in almost any movie you can think of.

them teeth of yours.
32 flags of surrender,
giving larynx carte blanche.
foolish bicuspids,
i bet you're sorry the ones with wisdom got yanked.

those teeth that are in your mouth.
aren’t judicious. they don’t edit.
they just linger in hot darkness
like stalagmites and stalactites,
caring nothing of your blather.