maypole

listen

Living with a Hairy Ass

Your life isn't over. The struggle's just begun. Lemmywinks thickets are no match for your broadsword.

Just watch out for the gym-rat abortionist anal bleachers. They're well-groomed.

sour relief

managed
to bring the perverse pleasure imperative
to a conclusion

there'll be another one
the relief doesn't last long
there's sleep, at least
then the imperative, again

defying nothing
by 2012 we'll all die of AIDS

if i can make just one other person miserable
i'll have spread my seed
it's no imperative
but it's a point

pasty drama

"i just sent this email to say, i'm not talking to you anymore"

she reserves the right, in the post-modern future
she makes her own rules

"and i'm so hurt that you didn't reply to me, and i'm blocking all your replies"

hey, i can barely think of anything to say, anyway
it's just as well
that i only wrote while intoxicated
she seemed worth something
in a roster of hallucinations

but now i'm straight
and yeah, probably narrow

so write, and run, coward
it's just pasty drama, stuck to the rim of the jar
it's lost all its flavour
i could have preserved it
but i'll label it juvenalia
has a nice hollow ring to it

opt outlet

i'm meditating
i'm killing policemen



i'm not sleeping,
i'm meditating
how dare you accuse me of anything else?
i got rhythm
who could ask for anything more?

i'm killing policemen on the shower floor
i'm standing, under the warm spray
next to the vast room with the pool
and standing under the warm spray
while my friends play in the pool
and when people ask me what i'm doing i say
i'm killing policemen - i'm doing my part



i'm not sleeping
but my lids are heavy
i can't care if play-dough is alive or dead

he's waiting in line, to buy a square centimeter
of bedding from a megastar's hotel room
it's only a buck - it's capitalism
i'm the customer service rep
but it's a slow month
not like the boom days

Outlet Inlet

there's still a game to play
we found one more, in the cupboard

i shook off the dust and guilt
and tried to play the game
"play 'the game'", one of a million
such usages in musical metaphors

the sky is mocking me, brightly
every good boy deserved fentanyl
i can't even sleep in the servant's quarters
wandering, stumbling back home
drinking pine-sol never gets the stains out

i shook off the guilt and dust
but the inner-layers are tenacious

the servants all say, sleep is the best part of the day
especially the ones who work graveyard

i was proud when i faced the clouds
i didn't turn away
now i'm cowering from afterglowers
i need to fly away

the charm is a curse
it's lucky in the gutter
it'll do in a pinch, yeah

you can pawn it
but you won't get it back from the shop
and i won't either, and i won't record
not for a while, i'll just make plans to make plans

maybe there's more games in the cupboard
go see, will you? report back
i'm gonna sit a spell
and watch the turkey in the straw
haw haw haw!