Alligatorz
Some Bad Poems Written By Yours Truely
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Untitled (11-01-01)
Shoveling Soggy Saturated Corn Flakes
To Stimulate Thrusting Jowl Gyrations
As Powdered Cereal Milk Streams
Gently Through The Antiquated Creases Of Age
Drip By Drip, Silently Unnoticed
Drenching The Washington Post
While Ocular Holes Stagnate
Transfixed On TV
Issuing Long Standing Lapses Between Blinks
While Rumsfeld Regurgitates The Daily Kill Counts
In An Infomercial Attempt To Sell And Promote Escalation
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Half-Glimpses (11-11-01)
Banished In This Strange House Only I Create
The Wood Is Chipped And The Doors Mediate Between The Friction Where The Hinges Rust
Identifying The Reclusive Nature Inhabiting This Form
Beyond The Protection Of Warmth
And Miles Away From The Nest Where The Birds Grow
The Overcast Skies Bring Everlasting Comfort
Even If The Autumn Season Seems Pale
With The Faded Coloration Of 1970s Film
It’s So Much Easier When No One Knows Your Name
And You’re Left To Find The Rainbows Which Exist In The Refractions Of Tear Drops
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Stigmata Stains On Corsets (03-28-02)
Jesus Was An Arabic Woman
Flaunting Her Stigmatas To Gain The Boys' Attention
She Liked To Drink Wine But Hated The Hangovers
So She Took Up Exercise And Walked The Countryside
And Fasted To Lose Weight And Work On Her Body Image.
Dying A Fat Person Would Decrease The Likelihood Of Martyrdom.
And She Couldn't Have that Because She Liked The Limelight
And Couldn't Bear To Be Anything But A Posthumous Rock Star
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Maybe, Perhaps, And Likewise (06-22-02)
Maybe We Can Become The Perfect Pretty Intellectual Icons We Idolize If We Misquote Them Often Enough. Maybe We Can Stroke Some Chicks Pet Dog As An Excuse To Hit On Her And Maybe We Can Ingest Enough Caffeine To Make Us The Nocturnal Creatures We Strive To Personify, And Maybe Those Glittery Feathered Wings Chicks Wear At Clubs In Abundance Will Actually Trick People Into Thinking That They Really Are Fairies. Maybe They Won’t. Maybe The Christian Missionaries That Tell Us We Are Going To Hell Because We Have Chosen College Over Christ Look Aesthetically Pleasing In Their Silk Screened T-Shirts With Their Catchy Slogan “We’re Horny For Jesus” And Maybe Jesus Doesn’t Want Me For My Irony. But Perhaps Someone Else Does. Perhaps Songs Can Give Meaning To Our Lives, Perhaps You Will Write One That Gives Meaning To Mine. Perhaps We Will Become Famous, Perhaps We Will Become Fabulous, Perhaps We Will Lay In The Soil Beneath The Hibiscus, Perhaps We Will Insinuate Drive By Kisses. Perhaps We Will Fill Our Lungs With Tar And Devour Our Surfers On Acid At Skanky Bars. Perhaps This Whole World Will Come Crashing Down On Us. Perhaps It Will Just Be Us Who Crash….Individually And Alone Under Our Own Invested Circumstances And Its True That We All Have Our Own Vises But Some Of Us Define Ourselves By Them To Get Attention. Maybe That Attention Is Plastic But Perhaps Its Ok To Use It To Get One’s Foot In The Door Until They Can Embrace Us For Our Real Flaws And Malfunctions.
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Detroit (11-05-02)
3am Snowfall The Lodge Freeway
Running Like A Scar
For Miles Stretching From A Decapitated City
Where The Blood Only Flows In One Direction
Leaving It Depleted And Void Of Oxygen
Fuming Factories
Warehoused Along The Riverfront
Embalming Under An Orange Haze
East Side, Eastern Market,
Ren Cen Silent, Sitting In Staled Stagnation
Encrusted, Encaged Within Its Concrete Coffin
EKG Flat-lined At First Glance On Surface Streets
Beneath The Pulse Of The Underground Beats And Radiates Steadily
Unfortunately Everything Dies When Its Soul Begins To Flicker
But For Some It Comes Slower Than For Others
