Monday, February 8, 2016

The Crap-ass Zone

It was early summer, 1956.

I lay in hospital-bed bondage,
one little leg in the air, suspended in traction.
The leg looked all brown from being crushed.

I was two-and-a-half years old.

I lay in a puddle of
shit and piss and tears
screaming for my mommy
who never came.

How'd I get there?

I was betrayed by my vicious
six-year-old brother
who abandoned me to become milk-truck roadkill.

At the hospital
the self-righteous, miracle-working
doctors saw only my leg.
They wanted to take my mother's children away.
They over-looked my need for my mother.

My gutless, cringing mother couldn't face
the bastard doctors.
So she never came to see me.

So I was left,
night after night, month after month,
a tiny speck
all alone
in a cold, dark void
crying for mommy.

They did a pretty good job of fixing my leg
but they'll never heal the way I feel.
I'll always feel disconnected and bitter.

That leg will drag me down the rest of my
crap-ass life.

Wednesday, February 3, 2016


Balzac: I smash all obstacles.
Kafka: All obstacles smash me.

Where there's a will there's a way.
When you have no will you just
implode down into your puddly, puddlesome

I lost my will at the age of 2
under the tire of a rolling truck
that rolled up onto my little
right hip.

I've been lost and drifting ever since.

Lost and drifting and really fucking angry!

Tuesday, February 2, 2016


Who reads poetry?
Cold, bougie snots
aspiring to femme-dictated nobility.

Who reads porn?
The sick little freak within
and God bless 'im!

I'd write more porn but I've been
gelded by old age.

Still, flippin' off the bougies is
better'n nothin'.
That's right, that means you.

Friday, January 29, 2016

Blue Balls, Red Ovaries

There's just no comparison with the female's
single-minded child-rearing obsession
from girlhood to great-grandmotherhood.

And what do men get?

We get 5 minutes of glorious, hot, spurting
fertilization joy followed by
a lifetime of pocket pool and busy work.

How to wake men up?

Fit 'em with a new 'should' jacket?
Should do this, should do that?
Should think this, should feel that?

Or ask 'em, "Isn't life crimpin' your dink?
Don't you feel cheated of your rightful enjoyment?"
When our dinks have been crimped
and our asses kicked steady ever since we was little?

We've been pussy-whipped to a standstill!

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Good Donuts

Automotive jobbers, they called themselves.
They were on the other side of town
in my small home town.
It was one long counter with
four men behind it, each with a huge set
of parts catalogs mounted in front of him.
Long aisles of auto parts extended far back
behind the counter.

I used to tag along with my dad or one
of my older brothers.
They had great old-fashioned donuts
for the customers in the morning,
along with coffee, of course.
I loved them jelly donuts, they had
those grid marks on both sides.
Dickerson used to tease me:
"gotta get that jelly sloshin' around".

I head Dickerson's dead.
So's my dad, and my oldest brother.

Thems was some damn good donuts
back in them days.

Friday, January 22, 2016

A Masturbator's Lullabye

The queens of flange squeal wanna
put a heavy suction on your love muscle
with their engorged vaginal barrel.
Drain you dry of your piddling little puddle
of manly essence.
Make that big, warm wave of super-good feeling
surge up and wash all over.
Make you feel like you got King Kong's ding-dong
rearing up between your legs.

They can nurture anything,
including your sad little ego
in this mega-crazy-ass world.
They got a thousand little grace notes
to jolly you along,
A thousand little ways to kiss and make it better.
They'll mommy you to death.

Men never grow to be older than little boys
and women are all born a million years old.
Dedicated to GG Allin.

For My Muse

Old fat-man strikes it rich
with his super-califragilistic poetry.

The world lies agog at his feet.

He sees it all now:
the money, the limos the groupies,
unfolding gorgeously like an
ad for Desenex.