If men be feed
then hens will peck the heads
of other hens
right to the bloody bone,
then race to close the coop
before the staggered ones,
the duped, can wounded,
enter. Find yourself,
and fill your skin. Become a force
before you enter into
Sisterhood.





Dorianne Laux Must Be Destroyed

Dorianne Laux,
created by radiation
larger than life
threatens Tokyo
stands astride the world,
electricity
crackling up her spine
out of control.

Where is the army?
Where is air support?
Useless now
against this force
that's blackening
the sun.
We need one
with blood
in the eye.

Bring on
Maya Angelou.





For Those Of Us Who Are Dunces

My whole life,
I never got
the bastards
right.

Married one,
worked for one,
mentored by
one, and never did see
signs.
I think there should be
skin tattoos or
flashing lighted cautions
posted, nice and friendly before
you get your
tits
a bit
too close to them.





You Are As You Eat

'Food issues' they call them.
I have as many as most
but mine address
obsessiveness
with 'diet'
and with 'don'ts'.

The secretaries wan
who wend their way through lunch lines,
whine about the calorie count
of donuts,
choosing celery instead-
foregoing bread
and doing penances
of carrots,
shaving pieces of my nerves.

A child in Bangladesh
sits starved
and waits for death.
Calculating nothing
as a Cow-God chewing cud
will tramp her bones.

Vegans by the score
adore their own self-righteous preaching.
Screech like Sinai on moralities
of food.
Devout they are -'Thou shalt not kill'
extends to using honey
because bees enslaved
produce it
not as nature had intended
while a life in Bangladesh
has just been ended-
She
repudiated
nothing.

Tibetans take their dead
and climb to mountain tops
to leave them for the birds to rend
and eat,
returning them
to chains of life
that bind them to belief.
There is a dignity in this.

The Western cultures
pickle up their dead
with caustic chemicals. They drain,
and dress and powder them
to seal in costly boxes-
nothing noxious left,
the boxes housed
in square cement.

And all the mourners gather
to eat compote, cheese and quiche.
They talk of hearty protein drinks
that take the place of fatty meals.
Of vegans
and Tibetans
and the cretins who appropriate
exhorbitance
to feed the poor
of Bangladesh
who "always
will be with us. Pass dessert." You are
what you eat; you live as you feed.





Heinz Poetry

Poetry boards
seem to be
like networks on the tube-
you have your A&E,
your History
channel-
-I've seen
Lifetime alloverthegoddamned net.
The ones with scads of flowers, angels,
fairies,
........MOTHERS, chiding you
yes, CHIDING you to behave
please,
-or leave, then there's the strangest of the lot:
the one with so much shit, needs
its own litterbox. That one's the most like
Fox.





Of Hormones And Poesy,
To Rhymers Strewing Flowers

Beware the tortured man
who speaks of love
locked in his breast.
I suspect
the velvet word that sits like pearls
upon the chest and guards a heart.
I know beneath the broadcloth
there is hair
and even lower, what is truer,
there's frustration
growing mean and large. Scratch a 'gentle man'
and sniff a monkey cage with rump as red as apple.
Watch more closely:
if he thinks you cannot see,
he'll throw a liquid string of pearls
into the corner, where it's dark, as he is telling you
that only men like Shelley could appreciate a lady's
enigmatic
charms
and all the while
his profile, cast by soft and tender lamplight, looks like
a coat rack thrusting out for still-warm cloak.
I would guess it hides a nasty
splinter or two
he could have smoothed, but likes it
really rough; those rents it makes are only what the
bitch, the teasing, slippery bitch will get
from the one dressed up, in a sonnet
for a flowery
lay.





Nasty Tastes

Lies
are what you
thrive on, what you
need. Even the girl/guy
dancing, slinky black and coming on
to the shitsack bachelor are the best stuff
ever read, so thank you, ms. bipolar/sexual
for the physical thrill; the thing you do unfailingly
is gorge rise every time, but then
some do have
nasty tastes.





Not On The 'A' List

Garden parties, delicate as water lilies
drifting on the pond of old Monet, voices carried,
laughter, and the smell of dainties set on plates
fill tables with such
robust
generosity
of spirit, they make me
want
to
take a
shit right in the parsleyed,
artsy middle
of the radish platter carved to look like-rosebuds,
hurl briquettes
at the police. It's all too
civilized. The scream I hear, that no one else can hear
begs loud release. Short of defecation then, I take my
headache home.




Seeing Red

Open a vein in my arm right now;
out would fall
a cache
of knives and bullets.

24 inches
of razorwire
with handles at the ends
for grips, a deck of Bicycle playing cards
with nothing but the Ace of spades
to perch in the mouths
of all I want
to finish
off: I am a violence
curled
inside
been pounded down,
sewn up
but not for long; there is a
head
I specifically
want,

and a mate for it
for starters. Some
jackass thing
who saunters in,
a he or she, a tree
that natives
dance around, this
phantom bitch- this birch
or breach
of nature-

that one's
mine.





Getting It Straight

let's get this straight
i'll only say this once
it's not that you had championed
a struggling bent young thing
who couldn't wipe her nose
if not to please some father-figure
thinking that his chances would be better
if he offered up advice
and mild flirtatious banter
soul to soul and heart to heart
as probably she saw it and was flattered
maybe even hot
somewhat
for you
(because she felt your heat
believe me when i say she surely had)
-what blisters me the most
is that the crap she crafted stumbled on in run-on fashion
pieces of confessional colloquial and most important
sex-u-al-ly choppy bits of diary that almost any teen
will keep but have- i'll say this now
-the common sense to hide. But how could she
withhold the bait you'd wolfed down so predictably
and rhapsodized pathetically of how that spoke to truth and grit
and poetry is more than I could ever bear
-so see it's not so hard to write this stuff
you just don't breathe don't blush don't punctuate
you'll have them screaming genius
as they pant and sweat and pray to see just once
please see just once please down your bittytitty dress
-how cutting-edge your writing is
my dear he leered
and Leared- appeared a fool- now please don't ask me this
again.





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