happy halloweeeeenIa

I am going out of town to visit Lake Superior and will not be able to wish you a happy halloween tomorrow. 

 

I love Halloween. This year I am dressing up as a giant hot dog. I look stupid in the costume… so stupid it is awesome.   Every year me, husband and daughter dress up and go trick treating. I feel bad for people who don’t have a good time in a hot dog. 

 

Okay. Trick or treating can be annoying but at the same time my daughter is not going to be little forever (stop wasting our time). 

 I hate knocking on people’s doors…. leave a candy bowl out. 

 

Later in the evening …. I am going to a party that is not for kids in my hot dog and I will drink scotch.  

 

 Halloween is awesome.  It is time for 

freaks and misfits, creatives and monsters. 

 

Besides you don’t have to buy presents or visit fifty relatives all one day. It is fun and no strings attached. 

a time for pranks and odd smells.  o wonderful let the play begin

Some People Think

Some people think that is easy to move and make new friends

but if you are unlikable or married that changes everything.

 

If you don’t have a job and you are shy it is impossible.

 

This is no place for fat girls who have bad teeth and

don’t like to ride motorcycles or have sex. 

This is just the way the world works.  Swallow it

gnawing on road kill out loud

Even When You Can’t Art

Even when you can’t art

anything good keep at it

Even though you’d like

to drink and fornicate and run

wild and nasty art

with a sober grip into your hurt.

There is nothing that works

out the world or fulfillment.

 

A purse must be whole

wheat bread carefully sliced

to share substance.  

Badly torn to feed the great masses

 

A Raised Fist Or A TV Dinner

A bush man I occasionally eat with

is a big animal and a bad dancer. 

His cheeks blush when he talks of war. 

 

He lies to get out of trouble with an

overweight woman with a copper

smile who doesn’t have a knife to gut a pig with. 

 With a book and flame all the woman

can do is look off with a hurt or rewrite

an angry poem. There is nothing

dangerous about that. 

 

Even a cunning and charming

lard can’t motivate a country to war and prayer

or afford to upset the current authorities

the way a 300, 000 million raised fists or tv dinners can.

 

 

My Witness

A woman came to my door

With a pamphlet she wanted

to tell me about Jesus’ return-

his coming again.  I didn’t remind

her that two thousand plus years

had went by or tell her

 he is not coming back

 

 

I mumbled historical evidence and told

her Jesus’ message was divine and

who cares what else is and If there

is a god, a god has it under

control and if a god needs me

a god knows where I am. If a god tells me

to jump. I would jump and wouldn’t know

why I jumped. 

 

The woman wanted to talk about

a god’s love for the world. I wasn’t having it.

I said I don’t know the truth and no one

does, not even you, and she said,

    “You don’t want to know the future?”

and I said I didn’t need to know

the future and laughed until she left.

 

 

I do hope she comes back.

My dishes are dirty

 

Gnawing On Road Kill

There was a confusion of years where all I did

was take drugs and drinks and chaos. 

 

I would bum with dirty men who

wanted to finger me

but I had a man’s tongue and I got

the dumb fuckers to see me

 as their wing so they would

share their poison and for that

I would listen to their bullshit

for a bit and say good things about

them to women. 

 

They liked to hit on the ladies and

would go on anything that

had a pussy. 

With dirty jeans and red flannels

sunken eyes and work boots

they were ugly lot

but sometimes a thing worked

for them.

 

 

I was waiting for mister

right or some handsome fantasy I don’t

recall now or I saw through them

 

I tried to teach

them what to say and how to lie

so they could stick their dick in something

wet and get back to the important matters of

 drinks and drugs.

 

Sometimes I would get

them in a fight with someone

because I was bored and I wanted

to see someone’s jaw broken

or because I wanted to throw

my glass at a wall or spit on the

carpet or break  a window  

or go somewhere else where there

was better poison to toss at my gnawing sobriety.

 

It was easy for me to hate

 the stupid hicks

 that were around the town

where I came of age and easy for me

to accept them for what they were. 

 

They liked to drink until they passed

out and I stayed sober enough

to influence them into insanity and movement

 

It was beautiful.  They didn’t have a chance

They were slurring toy pheasants and I liked to drive

fast, run over things, and eat road kill.  

 

There were so many dumb

sluts who danced stumbled

 laughed snorted and attempted to sit stand,

rise fall off their chair, 

ignore flirt with my dirt ball friends

cry smile and try to hang grope on

I’d get restless after a while

and kick the chair

from under the woman and push her

on the dude, and say get a room

pigs. And drink her whiskey

while he banged her fat. 

 

When she passed out, I’d

suggest to him that we should take

her car and go get more beer

and go to a different party or bar

 

We ditched the car after we ran out of gas

or  crashed and rolled it.

We kicked and jumped on the damn thing for a while

and then we’d leave before the cops came.

 The next day he had

to fuck her sober so she wouldn’t

be pissed and act like he wanted

to be her lover. And I’d tease

the dumb fucker about his romance

with a whale or a retriever or whatever

she was until I got restless again 

and then we’d go on another

search for fulfillments.

 

And it would be some other sluts and hicks and

there would more fights and fucks and more

 sobriety to fight off and more poison to live on

 

There would be so many nights and days I spent

in this  hate stupor

that now when I enter a bar or a party of strangers

I automatically scan the scene

for losers and whores, poisons and chaos

and begin the task of entertaining the restlessness

that rises when stuck with stupid fucks

that don’t have a future worth biting

their way to.

 

I’d bum with them but they are mostly dead.

There is no chaos in the grave;

  no worthy  entertainment or poison

in the top soil. 

So  I left them behind

 while I was restless and still alive, and it was harder

 than sobriety. 

 I Left them to rot in that hellhole and it was easier than

  the calm of the jags to follow

molly and the nutty dozen: a work in progress

     So I admit I don’t know my audience. That is probably because I don’t have

one.  It is very hard to get to know something that you don’t have. 

     I assume that my audience will be humans but perhaps gorillas are a better choice.

I am still on the fence on this. 

     How hard could it be to learn sigh language?  I have hands. I already can sign the

letters of my name and mojo. 

      I need a couch.  I have lived in this spot for almost nine months and still don’t have a couch. The air mattress popped.  Blame my friends that come over with knives and hot dogs.  They are always messing up the place and won’t leave when I tell them it is a bad time and I must make roasted chicken.  Gravy is not something you can start and then forget.  I tried to watch the debate.  There were two men I have never met that kept repeating the same thing. The pale one looked a little sick and I wondered if he had eaten.  I  am sure he had.  He was very old and you know how old people like to eat on time.  It keeps them regular.  I think it is good to be a regular. 

      But my friends, the nutty dozen raised by sailors and farm hands kept making jokes about mayonnaises.  Their jokes are very complicated and full of stops and pretend gaffes.  I am not sure I got them or the debate.   I couldn’t focus.  The nutty dozen were spinning bottles on their heads and the two men were saying things about taxes and change. I am taxed but I don’t worry about change.  Even if I know some change is coming I too am never comfortable with it.  It takes me a long time to adjust and by the time I do, something unexpected happens. I have change in a jar. It is not worth worry.   Why don’t cashiers hand you the coins first and then the dollars.  I’m not the only person who doesn’t appreciate an awkward handoff. The nutty dozen look up to me as a leader.  They are never together unless with me and they take my ideas as law.  The night of the debate I told them to shut the window up and they were silent for a good twenty seconds while I am informed them who to vote for on November fourth. They were really glad I told them to vote for younger one.  They said they did not like the sounds that old people made when they ate and felt much better about someone who was not tortured.  They said that kind of thing could really put a damper on a party.

     The nutty dozen is actually a group of five but in my wisdom I said I’d call them the nutty dozen so that is clear we have room to grow. 

     They are an odd group. I make them even.  They are very different from one another but share the same sense of humor.  If I think something is funny so do they/  They like to tell jokes that go on too long and are full of subtle humor and as well mixed with debauchery.  They really appreciate quick wit and occasional off beat toot. My goal in the beginning was to teach them they could make themselves happy but this was not the case.  Then I tried to teach them that they had to be responsible for their own well-being. It is a slow process.  They are now studying self-control.  I hope that one day they can have a handful of chips and then stop or only one lover at a time but for the most part I hope they will read more.  They like to read but they don’t like to read alone.  Every time they come over they beg me to read to them.  They say they just like to hear me read and I have a nice voice and that my infliction reminds them of the sun and raisins. 

     They bring ale and pie and sometimes cheese.  They are nice that way.  They bring books too and ask me what I think of them.  And if it is okay for them to read them alone.  I tell them yes, it is okay. I want you to read alone. Read whatever you like but they want to please me so much.  They ask me about the books  each time and I tell them same thing. But I think they know I hate best sellers and they are scared I will tease them in front of the others about their book choice.  I just want them to read a wide variety of books and not get stuck reading just one kind. Like mystery I told them to fantasy and James Joyce and now they’ve been reading Shakespeare and remembering lines.  Sometimes they a have a hard time staying focused. I must manipulate them to do a good thing.

     How do my socks stay so white?  I’ve been thinking about getting a kitten.  I like cats.  But there is always the problem of kitty liter on the paws and then the little fur ball goes on the table and then you have cat shit on the table and I don’t know if I can commit to that. 

     The Nutty dozen was not my first name pick.  I first I coined the name, Molly’s Mojo/. Then a couple of months later I realized it was an innuendo and that was the only reason the Nutty Dozen liked it.  I saw Horace and Jennifer laughing and signing, “Mojo Mojo.”  Then I realized my grave mistake and said I’ll take Marty’s idea, “The Tea Marty” and that made the Marty blush and say it wasn’t satisfactory and the Horace and Jennifer and Edward and Moesha had their own ideas.   But then I looked each one in the eye and sternly frowned at them.  They got the picture. I wasn’t having ana-chary in my celebratory party.  They zipped up.  Then I told them they all had room for improvement and this had been a test and since it was test to see if they were all there I said they would be called Nuts and Bolt.    

     This was a very important day for the group.  It seemed to me that they all understood the responsibility of such a group and they all wanted to do their best.  They had something to live for again.  It was recess.   They needed me.  That said, I picked each out of a long list of contenders.  I wanted the best, the brightest, and best looking.   That proved to be difficult but at last, my search is not over.    But you must be concerned over my rationale. Fear not, I have the best indentions.  I am not perfect but with hope, I am improved. 

     Marty my first pluck is a loser.  That is why he is in the group.   Every group needs a loser to inspire the others. That is what losers are for.  Marty is an old man to rest of the group. he is 37.  He is not feeble yet. He is spray and healthy.  His hair is grey and he wears feathers.  He likes to play the guitar a lot.  He has named his guitar Honey Bear.  He reads poetry and rides a bike.  He teaches history, I think.  He does something. He is a zookeeper.   He brings good ale and honey.   He is a nice guy but he is a loser.   He wanted to join a band.   It never worked. 

     He sings like a lovebird or some hit because it is awesome. He is pretty, so I said, “Sports coat, would you like to join my celebratory party? Marty said “Yes.”  He is a very eager guy.  

The Best Thing About This Condo Is You

The best thing about this condo is you. 

When you were behind the clouds

for two years I depressed

around this hellhole and barely looked out the window. 

 

I didn’t go out side for a walk or go swimming.

I didn’t go out with friends to play ball or write poems.

 

When you make waves in the ocean

Moon- will you please call on me

occasionally and pester me to go

swimming and when I want

to leave after an hour will you splash

until I agree to stay longer? 

If it shocks your armpits dry

Go ahead and bite on a fangled turtle head.

Who am I to juggle?

 

 

You  roll around in cheeseburgers and dollars.

Smear secret sauce on exposed flesh.

Confuse sex with violence or death with forgiveness.

Call it new romantic stew collage of futuristic diction.

You ease the itch of living- of rancid wet

whiskers and give conscious to the robot enchanters

 

I will not. 

The First of The Birds

The first of the birds are flying south. 

The mornings are cool and in a week

fire will resume in southern Wisconsin.

The big bluestem is brown and breaks underfoot.

 

The art book wrestled a prairie chicken and now is full

of feathers.  Please hold my hand as I learn to create

in the void dead  earthworm

 

 

I went to the local coffee shop and the second cup

of coffee gave me bed bugs. 

 

A man who played a banjo and did old folk-

mountain numbers sang strong for the tip of it

 

Later at home I played my guitar and sang some

poems and felt good but incredibly hot as husband

giggled at the computer. I tried to sneak a bed

time snack of mashed potatoes. 

In My Prayers

In My Prayers The Land Of Mother

In My Heart The Song Of Freedom

In My Tears The Chaos Of Civilization

In My Rifle The Bullets Of Greed

In My Back The Order Of Murder

In My Mouth The Blood of Youth.

In My Nose The Rot of Humanity

In My Bones The Peace of Death

 

In My Hand A Mashed Banana