Dork Lord II

My mother's voodoo
dwells, still, in my life narrative
"she really pissed in some Comet household cleaner
to see if you were a boy or a girl"
like what the fuck
I'm sick of vacant luck
balls on the bumper truck
whacked out kids on the halfshell
listening to Icky Thump
George Jones never had it this hard
and his was self-aggrandized
on a stage where the rose tattoo
meets the barbed wire baby boy
tears and fears and dreary days
Nerf gun boom boom
and I have a feeling my children
might get into noise music
and I have a feeling my children
will hate me

"she also did something with a spoon and her round young tummy."
"I think she rubbed it and then saw if it stuck on some onyx or something."

through the hollow door you
punched

through the glazed days you
worried
too much

a real man makes his own sleeves
the safari gentleman said to his wife (about the piled up African):
"He looks like tripod covered in dreadlocks."
African:
"He's going to wake up one day and find himself in a hollow near the river all covered in Patagonia."

"Yeah he ripped out the seats of his Lexus and made a rope and hung himself with it. I can't believe something like that would happen here."

in her pupils, a blue hurricane
The Spirit
furious interiors
she's hard up on clarification like
a bouncy ball in the booth at
McDonalds

O! Saddled Jewel

16th autonomous wonder!
your Memphian hilt
writhes along an aqueous narrative
the bluffs, a saintly calm

your limits,
a cradle to the self destruction
of a once grand place
conservation of motion
declares your Germans and Cordovans
the ultra usurpers
and the mem'ry of a limestone facade
crumbles with the alleyway liturgical
rites and the city exhales
and with every dying breath,
something new is brought,
and something spent is expelled
a delta distillation

next, we have the outliers:
a cottony kingdom
now in the hands of a few Jah Deerie.
Grandly, the earth crinkles
in a greaseless Ore-Ida fashion
and dips down as if it's being pinched by
the Devil himself down there in
the retirement swelter for all
humanoid ultimate deviants
who surround (with mirrors) those who
happen to find their slow road
ending

this lip pucks out
and pouts a little as if to say
boo hoo and hey what about me
and inside the pursed pinch
a trillion fauna dart in and out of dark woods
and driveway motion sensor floodlight
and the urban renewal really renewed
the faith of a dozen developers who were
trying a big boy way of life
copied from the back of double-breasted
limosines in Manhattan.
"I want to be like that."
But really the need for purification
and a real forgetting of the geo-social
and the swing low sweet chariotness
come forth to carry me quo
and set the Stage for a novelty
Central Business District,
a snarled ewy,
an abandoned baby
whah whah! lemme at em!
enough about Nashville

East, let's see: you damn near seceded
from us when we tickled the "great aggressor"
with a palm frond and a great Ankh'd machine.
Lay them down.
You can't walk over all those hills in one day.

Swoosh

apart from the Parthenon,

down West End

we all swooned

when we saw Athena holding Nike

like "That's what the shoes were named after."

and back then it's no shame

or big thing to have fleet feet

and to flop around when you run

it's kind of like ass-slaps in your favorite game;

we know the dance around the masculinity question

but for the violence and but for the brains

but for the Red Bull can pyramid

and the tapped-out soul

of a goy fresh out of the recovery zoo,

that carpeted utility

designated NPO

that wompy zone of bewilderment

tied tight with twine from mom's gift closet

a shark-breathed bottom,

a chortling, sinister construction

of a disordered soul

Catholic Cool

poetry-reading confessional
catholicity in the punk light
jaundiced leanings either left or right
and it's like wow man did you forget about the other dimensions?
my sphere of influence is most definitely a sphere
it's natural

pentagram tattoos are real punk
until the devil comes to your party
and steals all your shit and takes your girl
and burns the whole complex down and
then sits you down and says
dude chill
it's all good
and you wake up like what in the WORLD?

exactly

Tennessee Titanium

"Suffering Jukebox" is the song
I tore a page from the 1964 Dyersburg phonebook
and scribbled the grocery list on it

Things have really gone downhill in this place
Before there were streets and trash on the curb
and now it's a toy strewn lawn
and the trash is inside

When people put the trash outside
we all win

When you ride with style
you don't ride with Kim Jong Il

When you wear Mickey Mouse ears
time still goes

"What is a ray?"

I’ve been sad since I was little, I’ve been bad since I was little, I’ve been not there forever, I’ve been outcast in weather, I’ve been found in the ditch, I have a daddy who is rich, but money doesn’t matter when you want to kill yourself. I had flowers o’er me, way up high in the tree and a thousand fuzzy seeds replaced my hair like disease, when the bell tower had gonged it’s very last ba-gong-gong-gong, I will wake up in the sunlight I will sit up, I will ramble on the hilltops of the Basin on the creekbeds that are crusted by a thousand bad pollutants and a dust so soft and fine; in the orchard there’s a fragrance that is lovely and so splendid, all my cares will wash away and the earth will softly tremble underneath my booted feet, underneath your floral dress, the fissures will gape open and the bad smells will come forth; everybody will be fainting like a druid ceremony when they became so ecstatic that the high priest had no more to say but when he fell over he was entranced by the moss on the edge of some shape that they thought would bring them luck, or misfortune on the bad guy because there’s always a bad guy and the world is white from space, and the men are white in space; I wonder if there’s a man or a carcass, rather, that has been shooting like a ray on a math board in a classroom in the outer edges of space, or if he fell into an orbit and was devoured by some planet, burned up in the atmosphere, or was he just merely jolly, with the angels of the medium of whatever sphere he’s called his end.

a Tacit, a Turn

On bended knee on the rocky Cumberland shore

I wept into the big body

I wept and howled like a wolf

And smote my breast

my knapsack barred me

from the wombish dew,

perfected by the Trappist Monks

somewhere cold

the fields, tended

What about God?

Have you tried everything?

No party should take away

from your seeking.

I've got my freedom.