The man with two hands

The man with no fingers 
was chasing me, but 
he couldn't catch up 

just bat my back 
with his fingerless hands,
it was creepy enough. So 
I ran and ran 

and began to gasp 
as I cracked my plan 
and examined it. 

I'd found this guy 
breathing down my back 
with his noses for eyes 
and elbows for thighs 
a time or two, 
maybe three before
- I was sure.

He was hard 
not to recognize. But 

I couldn't make out 
what to do about him. 
Should I stop? Turn around, 
make nose contact? I bet 

he'd pretend I'd been 
chasing him.

I will not 
put up 
with a thing like
that. 

top bugs

Bugs are top
animals. They're
basically the dinosaurs
of their size niche. Everybody
down around that size
when they see a bug, they're like
"oh shit! It's on!" 

That's why it's so
excited
down there
at that level. 

oh shit it's on 

lesser length

I don't know how to go on
at lesser length. 
The topic came up. 
I can see it through!
These things come in.
They are part of it. 
Not lesser nor greater, 
just thorough and true. 

In person, one person 
can stop my mouth
with only their eyes, 
or a shift of poise. 
I see they have something 
to say to this. 
The edgewise I give 
is a shining void. 

Without someone there
to tag me out
and tag themselves in, 
I get lost on the way. 
I don't know how to go
on at lesser length. 
I don't know how much
of all that comes in 
I don't need to say.

The mercy of horseshoes

Horseshoe crabs. Those dudes used
to wash up on the beach all the time

I would flip them over

I figured if the legs were wriggling
I'd have to get that bastard asshole
back in the waves STAT, which

I seriously was not looking forward to

It never happened though. Always dead
And I think now maybe
they only wash up dead?
Like they're too savvy to wash up alive,
or if they did, they'd just book on back
to the waves.
Anyway. 

I was always dreading that job

devil-cursed barbecue

I had dream once.

It was on a road trip
through some pretty lumpy country

and

the places we ate
were kind of hostile quaint.
Anyway
that night I
dreamed I was
watching tv.

The only channel
was the local channel, full
of local doings.

A commercial came on.

Some dude

in a messy outfit with big sweat stains
was like: "Come on down
to Devil-Cursed Barbecue! All 'round
these parts know my paw's paw
sold his soul for the secret
to our devil-cursed sauce.
Well,

he's retired now, and paw died
in the whole road fire thing
years back, but I carry on
the infernal family tradition
handed down with that selfsame
hellaciously tasty sauce! Come on
down! People come from miles
all over just for a taste - and I guarantee you,

nobody
so far
has ever been carried off to hell
by a demon in our restaurant. Just
make sure you say grace to be safe." 

Damn when I woke up 
I was in the mood for some barbecue. But 
we asked 
and there was no barbecue around 
for a hundred miles 

it felt kind of eerie 

gonna regret

If you ever get the chance to say something
calculate the risk and effect and shit
but say it anyway, 'cuz

You're gonna regret it!
You're gonna regret it
if you could but you didn't if

you ever get a chance to stop yourself
wonder about that a lot, and hold on
because
You're gonna regret it!
You're gonna regret it
if you could but you didn't if

you wanna grow strong, just
don't when you wanna, and do
when you don't, or

You're gonna regret it!
You're gonna regret it!
Just ignore inhibition
and go against urge

or you're never gonna find out
how it feels
to not swerve.
And you will be there alone,
just wondering what if I had?
And what if you hadn't, don't
forge that

'Cause you're gonna regret it!
You're gonna regret it! And
how does it feel to regret?

Oh it's bad 

teamwork

I've convened my own leadership team 
to develop principles, vision and values 
with a goal: to utterly traduce and violate 
everything we stand for. 

Or I guess: I stand for. It's my team. First
we must find what that is. Only then,
can we 
expose the radical hypocrisy
for what 
it is: false. Deliberately
ginned-up. A pose.

I was framed 
by my own team  

drink pickle juice

I often drink pickle juice
I heard it was good for me. 
No idea where I heard. 
Maybe I invented it.
I sometimes do.
Maybe it's bad for me. 
I'll come in again. 

I often drink pickle juice. 
I love it. 
Dill or sweet, kosher or 
Polish or bread n' butter, 
it provides a sour, tart 
or whatever jumpy jolt
of pure picklishness! Like 
a punch in the mouth 
from an old friend - who
happens to be a pickle! - and 
right down the throat. I haven't 
heard, necessarily that it's good 
for me - anyway, I won't swear 
to it - but hey, those jars are marked
"edible!" "fit for human consumption!" 
or at least it's heavily implied - for 
a reason. Anyway 

strictly, it's called brine. Which makes 
this whole thing seem like I don't know 
what I'm talking about. People might
think less of me, knowing that. Know

what? 

I never drank any pickle juice.
Too timid, I guess. Not too bold.
Afraid to glug, glug the vinegary 
remains, crunch the round white 
seeds - so many! Whatever those 
are - take the whole thing and
upend it by degrees, into my 
smiling maw, totally satisfied 
in a briny catharsis. But 

I've thought about it 
maybe one day 

pickle juice, you are probably 
much just like I imagined you, 
only imagined, for the sake 

of a poem. 

precognition problems

I came over to tell you 
you'd moved, and 
I'd never see you again  
but I guess you already knew 
you'd moved. Shit 

If I could tell you why 
you'd never see me again, 
there'd be a chance we could 
do something about it, but oh

welp! 

Guess you moved. 
However, I knew that 
already 

That's why I came over 
sort of. Well, 
I wanted to check 

dance revue

It's interesting how we all dance
our own way!this 
is top five 
percentile
on poise. Balance?
Check. But I'd 

Be interested to see 
you flow 
and 
keep rhythm. Those
 
Could really round your 
shit 
out

maybe

accentu ate

Don't mess with mister in-between 
they say, but 
I figure after mister in-between sees you 
eeee-liminate the negative he'd say 
"eeee!" 
and not mess with you. Mister in-between 
would be mister way the hell gone 
thataway. Leaving you 

and the positive 
you so accentuate, 

sizing each other up 
for ranged value metrics 
and midrange shortfalls 

the stake

We know what we won't.
We knew what we do. 
We own what we can't, 
and deny what we cue.

For kith or for kin
and for self and within
and all through,
and all in: 

we fight for our sins. 

For threat and for foe 
we are vigilant yet. 
We read between innocent 
lines on a bet. We find
what we take, saying
they put it in. 

Suspecting, we're right.

We fight for our sins. 

Forgiveness all day 
we pay lip-service to. 
With kindness, respect 
in proportion to due. 
You can't take a chance 
in accounting: round down, 

Or else you'll be the fool 

giving full 
to who's made you 
a clown. 

Which is just what we hate
most of all. Our weakness 
revealed in some ignorant 
sprawl of slapstick and butt 
- we are in on the joke 
just a beat-and-a-half 
too late we awoke. 

So we dig in for strength, 
demonize all divides. 
We align and unite - 
but it must be one side, 
and it must be one's side

for the fight is to win. 
It hangs always on-point,
and poised, and about to begin.   

Ode to Waits

Tom Waits sung
in a haunted moan
in soliloquy
over blood-stretched bone
as he pounded jazz notes
out of twelve bar blues
in the thirteenth bar from the last
he'd choose
if he lived forever and you
were the last true love in the world,
and he gave you a pass
but don't feel personal.

That's just his mood,
and it always has pretty
much been unglued. 

Humoring

Her piss eyes raked
his bile soul
adrenaline and blood
surged wild, while sh!t
she said ate his grin whole,
and parts and holes
got versatile.
So fluids harsh
and mild spewed -
“That’s it!” He puled,
“You are just rude.”
“But am I just?”
“Yes, just” he lied.
“Then all is fair,”
she fantasized, and
both agreed to puke
accord, or else to die.
“I dub thee we!” “Let’s us!”
they sighed, and scored
and tried foreverly.

So if they end foreverless,
at least it was quite possible,
and still all right I guess. 

one minute of anger

One minute of anger wakens 
the immune system for 4 to 5 
hours. The immune system 
itself is angry. It's pissed. It 
wants to kill, and who 
does it have access to? That's 
right. Naturally it knows 
who boss is. You die it dies. 
So it seethes and fumes 
for a few hours, poisoning 
you in unimportant ways 
it knows it can flush out 
and buff up later, and 
it gets over it. 

Fucking immune system 
Grow up 

One minute of laughter meanwhile 
- if it is your own immune system 
you laugh at? That ridicule booster 
shot has a delightful effect, perversely! 
Your immune system laughs and laughs, 
and weakens to debility by hilarity, but 
totally gets over it if nothing invasive 
turns up in seven to forty days. Who 

would have thunk it? The immune 
system! 

You've got a sense of humor after all 
buddy 

Bright as pitch

I can bring light 
you can bring heat to the world 
we can each do it differently 
I love it when people buy books to burn 
that's a win-win all around you see 

I got a sales pitch 
to a publisher 
I am sure oh so sure 
about the marketing plan 
and if they buy in 
we got a blockbuster 
this'll be the hottest book 
all across the land, if you 

Burn my book, please
- organize a bonfire,
gather all your friends
Burn my book, please
- mackin' on s'mores and 
dancing like you're pagan 
Burn my book, please 
- buy up all the copies, 
promise you to print more
Burn my book, please 
Stand up! Speak out! 
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