Post-work Circle of Verse

The horn has blown, quittin’ time! Gather round employees and join ye hands, now we are a circle. A circle of the employed. Representing eternal employment, no beginning no end. Close your eyes, bow your heads, open your hearts, let it flow out of you. And let it be free. Your souls have toiled so hard on the job. And now it is time to release. And so each one of you, in turn, make poem make poem make poem:
Take this job
and shove it
up your butt
like a coconut
Prolapse it
Like the stinkhole
This job is.
Where we work away
From morning ’til night
For very little cash, jack
and extended benefits?
Nope. And our families
ask us, “Why are you so grumpy?”
And we do not answer.
We get drunk.
And let our misery fester
Inside our bodies.
Like fucking cancer.
we are jobbers
who are jobbing
The job

And so it floats and gathers and draws away the ire from the employees and they come to love each other and their place of employment. And then everyone kisses each other with open mouths.

Orbiting the planet of Broth

The lizard man, in his little ship, hovering above the earth, looking down, and wondering, why is that child crying? Does it want some candy? Does it need a hug? Is it because we are stealing the water for our alien soups and stews? Don’t knock it ’til you try it, kid. It may smell bad but it’s nutritious and it’s not easy to make. Especially since our world gone and done dried up. It’s really made everything taste s bland. So we came here to planet earth, to check it out, and fornicate with your women, and jack the juice and squirrel it away and use it in our alien cuisine. Which is good eats, I tell you. You have to try it, little boy, it’ll change your life. Trust me, your palette will think it’s died and gone to taste heaven. Of course, us lizard people know there is no heaven per se. It’s infinitesimal mud hut full of slobbering reptilian sex organs that pleasure you for eternity. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, kid.

Eating at a restaurant: a review

This is my review of eating at a restaurant. It was the first eating at a real restaurant I done because I never had before I got sent up and when I got out my moms took me to eat at restaurant to celebrate. It’s not like I hadn’t eat out right like when I was making moves on the street I went to Burgs&Slurps and Skweezies but never at no place with glass plates and maitre d’s and shit and I guess in the pen it was kinda like eating out when you was having chow at chow time in the hall but without the waiter and then sometimes you had to throw down with some fat pig over who was whos bitch or maybe he was just a punk and you had to step up but thats not what eating at a restaurant is like. Which I saw for myself when I ate at one because I didn’t know that before but I know that now because I ate at a restaurant. It was called “Black Noodle” and it was an italiano style pasta restaurant and they had lasagna right there on the menu which I didn’t order because one time inside they served lasagna at chow and then one of the bulls got all up in my face and I don’t back down because I ain’t no ones bitch and I ended up in the hole over it and so lasagna don’t sit with me. So I got what they was calling linguini with them clams and that was some crazy ass shit right there with all them sea things on there all over these flat noodles. It was like when I was out in the yard with Sniffy Jeff and he was telling us how he used to be known as Banana Jeff before he got sent up and then he had to change his name because with a name like banana dudes inside be wanting to see that banana but no one wants to see your boogers so he changed his name. And that is my review of eating at a restaurant.

Bananazzz

apples and oranges
bagels and doughnuts
cigarettes and clarinets
purse them between your lips
one you suck
the other you blow
either way you’re making smoke
just like when you’re making love
where there’s friction
there’s fire
where there’s rhythm
there’s melodee
a banana’s just a banana
until it falls out of the tree
and then it’s you, baby,
and then it’s me-ee
tickles and turnips
chocolate and nicotine
music is a lotion
like a lazer beam
soothes your rash and blinds the eye
music is the magic that lifts the sky
into the air
way up there
where there is no air
or gravity
just floating things
around and round
like apples and oranges
and bagels and doughnuts
and clarinets and cigarettes
and atoms
and gluons
and molecules
and asteroids
and meteors
and aliens
in their funky ships
and in the caves
are the monkey apes
whistling their tunes
of smooth, smooth seduction
how great is this?
It’s super great.
Even though I have a rash
Itchy-itychy-itchy-itch

Awesome lays upon the rug in the back of the van

The van is a place where the incredible goes, where the amazing come to ride in comfort, to be taken from the here to the there. They get in the van, these pieces of holy moly in their bright jams and flip flops and they kick back into the plush and they be, man they just be. These are the marvelous and this the van. And in it, they ride, my lady, do they ride. The incredulous hang in the back as they cruise the night streets, the tunes are set to smooth and the fridge is stocked with chill. The wonderful dig this van, man, they dig it because it is everything they are and more. Because the van has the storage space, dude. You can load a couch in there and still have room to lay out. And the prodigious are all over that. It’s their jam, right. They like the cool vibes you get from a plush and mobile interior. Wall to wall bear skin rugs, fridge, a place to put your beverage so that it won’t spill are all the things that the splendid are into. They like to ride. They like to relax. They don’t want to separated from both. So the van, man, the van.

Dream of the Soak & Salad

I’m in the tub, having a soak, enjoying a delicious salad. Romaine lettuce and croutons but it’s not a caesar. Because I used French dressing! And the water is hot and the bubbles are lush and I also put some essential oils in there too. I put some WD-40 and tea tree and lavender! Soaking so slick it’s sick. And this salad is crazy good. I’m so relaxed right now you could carve a chicken on my chest. I have a bite of my salad, NOT A CAESAR! FRENCH DRESSING! And then I let my head slip beneath the bubbles and down into the water and as I chew my delicious salad I pretend I’m an undersea explorer looking for the Lost City of Pleasure and Vice. Oh boy, if I was there, with me and my crew, look out! We would burn that nasty town to the ground! Seriously, we’d drink it dry and bust our nuts all over everyone and everything. Stinky sticky sweet and sweaty. What a bunch of crazy apes my crew is. Shirts are optional and underwear does not exist for me and my crew. We’re bonkers for sex and booze. So if you let us loose in a town like the Lost City of Pleasure and Vice just a heads up stuff is gonna get creamed and reamed. Big time. And then I swallow my mouthful of beautiful salad and slide up out of the hot depths of my bathing dream and I get out all dripping wet and soapy and I go into the kitchen and I make my magic stew, ketchup and corn. Life is good. Thank you and God bless. Have a good one. Forever yours. Slogbottom Johnson.

The Slickening

Dude slipped on the vest over his freshly shaved shoulders and he felt the leather caress his smooth skin and a ripple went through his loins like a lion’s a gazelle. He pulled his chaps on over his bare legs, newly hairless after a soothing body swab session at Eye of the Tempest Skintorium. The black rawhide massaged his knees and thighs so tenderly that it had his limbs whistling sick Dixie. He eased his feet into his leather sandals, his toes twinkled in th eopen air and sent a tickle up his bones and into his face that set his mouth into a smile so wide and bright it was like a dungaree rainbow. He pulled his hair back into the pony tail it was born to be. Like a naked snake hanging from the back of his man head. He was the partiest party guy at the party.
He got so high he farted the sky.
And that’s how the universe came to be. The one featuring you and me and everything else. Fascinating stuff.
Is this the end? No. It’s the beginning…

Love on the Highest Sea

They stood on the bow of boat, looking out at the velvet sea coated in a satin sheen of silky mist.
“Ooo, ‘twoos foogy, me sweets, soo foogy,” he said to the woman beside him.
“Ooo, me coop’n, twis’ soo foogy, luke dooo oopon thoo oopen seeeeea,” she said back, looking up at his burlap face. His gaze dropped down into hers like two pieces of sexual guano.
“Ooo, yoor root, thoore, it’s luke goooey doo oopon thoo oopen seeea, oot remoonds me ooof thoo noots we spooont oon the toont ooon tooo booooch oon cooboo sooon looocoooos.”
“Ooo, thoot wooos sooo hooot oond stooomy, I wooos soo swoooned I coood nooot wooock fooor a wooook,” she said and set her eyes back upon the furry ocean. Inside her heart, it skipped a beat and prayed.
“Ooo,” he said, “mooo tooo, me loooins wooos blooostered luke choooorcoool brooooquooots ooon unnn booobeekoooo.”
He fell to one knee, taking her hand and turning her to face him. Their eyes met like baby doves crashing down upon the shoals. He took a breath. She bated hers.
“Ooo, wool yoo mooory mooo?” He said.
“Yooss,” she said.
The end.

Licorice Stickin’. To the Max! THE MAGIC MAX!!!

Phweeeby-deeby-deeby!
This kid can play. His mouth is like a magical hole. A conduit to a land of fantasical winds. That when they blow, oh man, it powers the sounds. It’s the harbinger of sonic dreams. Calling all the wizards! Calling all the witches! Calling all the prestigitators! This kid is playing your song. Can you hear it? I bet you can. You know you feel it. In your thaumaturgucal loins. Getting them hot. Getting them bothered. When it goes like this–
Phweeb-deeb-deeb Deeby-dooby-deeb!
Do you feel moved? Deep down. As in your necromantic bowels? It can’t be helped, this kid can blow, man, this kid can blow. Through his lips comes that voodoo sound mixed with the soothsaying melody of the fairy boys.
THE MUSICS OF THE MYSTICS! TOOTINGS OF THE GODS! RHYTHMS OF DRUIDS! PHWEEB! PHWEEB! PHWEEB!
This kid can play the clarinet! This kid can jam with the ghosts of enchantment! Stars and spirits and sortilege massaged by his tunes, casting their spells like angels breaking wind.
It’s new jazz, baby!
Phweeby-deeby-deeby-deeby-deeby-deeby-deeby-deeby-deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
This kid’s alright!

Cornelius P. Dogg

Dude acts like he has a stick up his ass.