Poems II
Do you think there'll be no day again?
The kid watched him. Will it not stop? he said.
It will not.
-Some dialouge from Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy,
This first poem is dedicated to George W. Bush.
Bad little monkeys
Go to Monkey Hell
Where instead of fresh bananas
They’re fed tiny yellow pills.
In Monkey Hell there are no trees
The monkeys live in cages.
Fluorescent lights, shine all night
Which drives the monkeys crazy.
Minions in white lab coats
Shave your monkey balls
And attach to them electrodes
Then apply the shock and awe.
Then they shave your monkey ass
They hold you down, you see.
And all this really turns them on
As they begin to spank the monkey.
This torture lasts all day and night
Into eternity.
Monkey see and monkey do
As well as hear and speak.
So shut down your business and get off the bed
Repent your monkey sins.
It’s the only way to save your soul
And enter Monkey Heaven.
On a far away planet
Lives a species
That looks like you and me.
But they reside underground
And slave for their Queen
Like ants in an ant colony.
The Queen is a woman
As big as a mountain
And she eats all the live long day.
When her servants explain
That the people are hungry
She replies, “Let them eat cake.”
This bitch of a Queen
Runs the machine
Upon which all of her subjects rely.
For only in she
Can men plant their seeds
So that they may multiply.
So she eats and fucks
And fucks and eats
Much like some women I know.
And because her mouth and her pussy
Are always quite busy
Babies are born from her asshole.
Yes, babies are born from her asshole.
There once was a man from Nantucket
One day he kicked the…fuck it.
Some people live
In a world of dreams
Where their actions cause others no harm.
They have interface faiths
Resources to waste
And pay taxes like good little pawns.
They smile fake smiles
And speak not the truth
To make themselves look good
For me and for you.
But at the end of the day
They’re wasting away
Despite all of the shit they consume.
Despite all of the things
That they see on T.V
Despite their wardrobes, their friends, and their cars
They feel empty inside
And lonely at night
As the nightmare resumes in their heart.
I once beat the shit
Out of my shit
And the whole thing disappeared.
Believe it or not
I miss it a lot
And instead of shit now I shit tears.
So stay on top of your shit
And don’t mistreat it
Or else it will forever be gone.
As the old saying goes
Each man's shit is his own
And some shit is better than none.
So help spread the word
That each sacred turd
Is a melodious ode from the ass
As Mozart would say
Each shit is holy
And holy shit’s purer than gas.
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