Milk Weed Pills

 

Too many milk weed pills is not a way

to forget the lullaby of a  heart beat

musky Badger

 

Death will bob-o-link you

a sad hero no matter how

you live and pink it your way. 

 

Boom and cackle for me prairie chicken,

drummer of love. Sing your sad songs

Big Bluestem and help me, the 13-lined

ground squirrel find comfort and cover

in this lonely federate dart.

 

There is no reason to live and even less

to die. Pat my back or string me to sleep

in the shelter of the red cedar.

 

If we met on the side of a road or over

a cup of nectar I would tell you

I am depression and live to give away

honeysuckle but instead of saying this to you

I say it to the stained Sparrow Hawk

  

Please excuse if this is too personal but

I am afraid that you are not in time Yellow-faced Bee. 

There is the chuckle of decay on the purple cornflower

tucked behind my ear

 

I hope the mulberry ale sustains you

until your head rests on my fat

stomach and you are soothed by the

gurgles and booms of my womb.  

I am not a working girl

 

I am not a working girl but I saw one once.

She looked so fucked with the lipstick on her eyebrows

I stole a horse and rode through the window of the theatre. 

Such a weird day when you realize you could do

anything and it wouldn’t matter.  You’d feel lucky

no matter what you didn’t do. 

 

Who goes around calling themselves

Dick or Harry anymore? 

 I liked to meet someone like that;

who doesn’t give a cunt

what it wants and just goes

off and plants a field of corn, or reads the paper. 

 

Most people don’t read the paper. 

They just hold it and scan the headlines,

occasionally nodding at someone’s name. 

If people knew what was going on

there would be more riots or jobs.  

Tom Likes Salmon

Tom likes salmon more than

most people and he is full of  bad

genes that would hop your face for a whole

day and feel like they accomplished

something musically unique and exquisite.

 

Where others get bored and change

the tempo Tom The Bear keeps

his ears up and his paws berry clean. 

 

He doesn’t give a damn what

your granddaddies told you about days 

that are WWIII polkas and homesick

fiddles or why  you swallow heavy

metal and not Burl Ives or a gospel ship.

 

For a lead belly, and jammin on again

Tom could give a shit less

why you waste life hurting people

when you could just drink the cup

of soup  and kick up rad sweet potato pie.

 

He’d rather sit alone and listen

to the turps and tins of cream soda

in a can than ponder anything you

could din him.

 

Against The Traffic

 

The kids at the pool and barn swallows

are living against the traffic that grinds

away Main St. and the garbage truck’s

snarling brakes master the chimes and their

ding a little and my fingers’ clipped rhythm.

A faint of some flower I don’t have a name for

distills the potato spiced with ginger and curry.

The coffee, burnt, and almost in the toilet hits

the refrigerator and the fan spins the bowl of cereal. 

The smell of window cleaner and the neighbor

closing cupboards is on the dustpan that is desperate

to pick up the onion peels that travels the world,

starting with the hairy floor.

 

The hairy floor elopes with the carpet dust bunnies

in the corner where the vacuum god cannot

get and under the bed where a lunch

spreads open and  requests someone to eat.

The lunch spread experiences hope as the roots

 of despair. Blah blah blah blab if only the dopes care

Beak for change

The way it is I am the blue

sky and you are the barn swallow

It would be nice to bug in your

beak for change but at last,

I am the immense ambiance and you,

you are my tiny play flutterin’

I wonder when god will return and burn a bush

I wonder when god will return and burn a bush.

No offense but I think somebody made a mistake or something

because I’m pretty sure when I pray I do it just to make

myself feel like someone listens. 

It is kind of like when I was kid and I sang

to the kittens and chickens. They had no idea why

I held them down and breathed

on their face with gooey little eyeballs. 

 

 Life is hard because it sucks ass. 

Just sucks ass, and all the enlightened bullshit

-sloppy little experiences are just products

of an over active imagination that would rather

create gods and emotions and silver rainbows

then face the fact that their leg

is gangrene and gonna get chopped off.

You ever want something but aren’t sure what it is?

 

  

Like you keep looking out the window expecting

something to happen or waiting by the phone for no

reason or looking in the frig when there is nothing in it.

You keep looking and nothing happens but still you’ll spend

most of  an hour in limbo and you don’t even know what for or why. 

That’s pretty and dumb. What could be better? 

I don’t think the world was waiting just

for me and I don’t think I’ll get mine. 

That’s a nice thing to say but if it were true

more people would call just to talk or write letters

about their jobs and kids and how they chopped enough

wood for the winter, so they hope. And when I said “stuff” to people

they would understand and say, “yes you are right.”

Instead of “what the fuck are you talking about” or the blank

scratch of their balls and for sure they would never say,   “I do that too.” 

 

So the point is, earlier today

 I was taking a bowel movement and the phone rang.

I got up in mid-limbo, pants around my ankles

-without wiping and carefully made my way

to the telephone, and said a supple, hello.

 

The nice person just called to tell me I won

a free trip to Florida and only had to

pay the small fee of $149.99.

 

All I could do was stand there

in front of the patio in disbelief. 

I Saw A Penis That Had A Tattoo

 

 

I saw a penis that had a tattoo of a blue

pig with packwoman on its belly and the penis

wanted me to look very close to see the universe

inside the packwoman and I kept pulling away,

saying no, this is boring. 

Lets play cards, I said,

there is nothing special about the universe.

 

Then twenty kittens came by and tackled

me, and licked my fingers and I giggled and felt

so warm until the man who lives downstairs

came and said the building was on fire. 

 

Later in the day I sang on stage and the crowd loved it.

They shouted and screamed. I really let myself get into it.

I did the splits and jumped up in the air and everything.

About twenty minutes later I realized I was in the line

to the bathroom and the people were facing a different

direction and cheering for some man who played

funny songs on the piano and did magic

tricks with women who are not obese. 

So I went piss and walked around the city

until I felt it was ok to go home.

 

It was four in the morning and birds sang so loud

I wondered how anyone could sleep and sat

there cold and smoked five cigarettes.

On the last one I realized I was smoking

caterpillars and not tobacco. 

I was kind of mad because I was pretty

sure it was the penis who put them in there and stole my cancer.