Counterfeit

I'll pretend to love you
so you'll keep making me sandwiches
and I'll try to figure out how to keep you happy
without losing my mind

but the days wear on
and my patience wears thin
behind this false smile
my teeth are clenched
and grinding

when you talk
I look over your shoulder
out the window
at anything else
but you

our love is counterfeit
at least mine is
built on a lie
hidden under false hope
and whitewashed
with a fading coat of lust

Stonemason's Lament

You. You were right about everything.
A warm blooded ghost casting shadows on my eye.
I. I knew it from the start.
Suspending reason to chase my love of sorrow.

I'm the one who reads a book twice
and expects words to change in the meantime,
while in between time, print is dead,
each syllable a mortared stone
art's illusion suggesting life
when the only possible change
is destruction.

So when you look back
(I don't expect you to look back)
You'll see me running crooked circles
around these crumbling monuments
forever bearing witness to ephemeral truths
locked in cold, dead stone
or as close as human feeling can approach.

Mother Nature and Father Time

Mother Nature and Father Time

Mother Nature never changed a diaper.
Father Time don't understand the moonwalk.
She just lets her children figure things out for themselves,
While he's marching on and on across their corpses.

And all the children sing and dance forever.
And all the children march and carry praise.
And all the children smear their gold dust into tired, blinded eyes.
All the children cry and kick at bedtime.

Mother Nature doesn't care about her babies.
She only ever cares that there are more.
She spreads her legs and welcomes any suitor.
Mother Nature is an eager, lusty whore.

And all the children clutch her apron strings.
And all the children shout and scream “she's pure”.
And all the children crave to suck her supple breast.
All the children do is break her heart.

Father Time doesn't care about his sons.
He only cares that they will keep on spinning.
He will not listen to them whine and talk about their feelings,
Father Time wants the trains to run more promptly.

And all the children try to make him proud.
And all the children want to catch his eye.
And all the children try to play when he gets home from work.
All the children scan the darkness for his face.

Mother Nature and Father Time went to market
And all the children stayed right here at home.
Mother Nature and Father Time went to the Milky Way
And all the children got was a lousy T-shirt.

Pound Puppy

On her second day
at a three day kill shelter
she found me
with her bright eyes full of dark rain
and a hyperactive tail that drew my eye

I was looking for a cat
because puppies are dumb
chew everything
and piss all over the carpet

But she was cute enough to tame
and learned to come without a leash
we laid together afternoons
and dug up the neighbor's garden

On the way out one morning
I forgot to latch the door
and she ran

To the old man down the street
singing a recycled, borrowed lullaby
through tired teeth

So now I keep a plate of kibble
on the doorstep

Whistle strange melodies for her
and double-check my locks

Hoping she'll run back for a walk around the block

Or five

diggin holes

When it comes to dangerous women
i'm like the croc hunter with a drug-fueled death wish
lookin for a beauty
i'll stick my thumb in her bum
and flash my baby blues
at her snarling maw
reach in and snag a heartstring
to tie around my neck
before I throw her off the bridge
like a cinder block

I pick the winners
in a roomfull of stable women I will find the one
that had her first abortion at 12 years old
in the TV room of her trailer
administered by her father's left foot
wrapped in a leather engineer's boot
because he wanted her to stay an only child

so now she smokes and snorts and drinks
to outrun the memories until she passes out
and she gets raped so much
it seems like a hobby

and I say I wanna bring a tender touch
but baby, I'm the toxic pretender
lookin for a stockholm hostage
I can infect like an opt-in tumor
enthrall in love with a capital D
with my weaponized sexuality

I'm just looking for another hole
to stuff my bullshit in
and if it isn't deep enough
I'll keep digging in

my twisted princess to have and to have
to hold and to suffocate
own and control
and kick to the curb
when I'm tired of playing house
till I catch her back
on the bounce

I'll treat her like a goddess
to worship and adore
as long as she keeps me happy
because I love you only means
I love the way you make me feel
and nothing makes me feel
very good
for very long
and I get bored
very easy

i'm addictive
best taken with other drugs
cause complications
and decrease tolerance

by the time they pry her loose from me
both our asses will be covered in clawmarks
and the screaming lies called promises
will still be ringing in deaf ears
and hollow hearts
till something new comes along
to fill the holes

Un Dunga Dook

ten million years ago, right here
give or take a couple thousand millenia
bo chaka came back from the hunt
with a fat sack of elephant meat
and his youngest son
cho locka cho
with the cowlick dredlock
and a heart full of pure love said
un dunga dook

which means nothing in the here and now
with unlimited text cell phone internet plans
and ten million digital channels
but what he said to his father that day was
daddy, where have you been

and bo chaka the brave
with his well-scarred flesh
said son, I killed me an elephant
but it sounded more like
un dunga dook

un dunga dook the boy said
how did you do that daddy

and daddy said un dunga dook
with a little help from my friends
T-boy and shorty,
and lazy-eye ned with the limp

we went to the jungle and ned hid in the branches
and T-boy hid behind the tree
shorty went to scare up an elephant
and chase his fat ass right to me

and when he ran up I told it a joke,
to keep him distracted while ned jumped on down
and T-boy hit him low, shorty got the behind
and we got us some meat for the town

cuz cain't none of us take daddy elephant
by ourselves, we get squished just like grape
but un dunga dook son with a little bit of help
we can be something more than an ape

and un dunga dook, poetry was born
it a hot cave in a swamp in a jungle
and ever since
we been trying to get it right

but that's a fallacy
a pipe dream
a phantom in the wind
because there is no right
when you share it
when you paint the world with your heart and breath
or peel paint with the force of the stench
it's all good

un dunga dook
it's not about
looking cool
being right
fitting in
or being proper

connect letters
into words
string words into lines
lump lines into something like stanzas
and with enough truth you got yourself a POEM
connecting two minds, two hearts, in telepathic synchronicity
like Corsican colonies feeling communal pain
we beat with one heart, scream with one voice
the fittest beast only in company

because a poem unshared is like jizz in a sock
it might feel good, but nothing will come of it
and a poem in the wind is like dandelion seed
carrying love and pain like a desert monsoon
sprouting weeds in the gardens of stepford
un dunga dook

speak your heart
speak your mind
and fuck anybody who says they didn't like it
it's your poetry
it's what you're made of
so make love to my soul with your wind