Sasquatch in The City


A woolly beast in the shadows of the night, perusing the delicacies of the trash can buffet they call the back alley. This thing, this wild thing, cannot find shoes that fit because its feet are so damn large. But it smooths to the sounds of the urban wasteland, as the jazz floats from the basement liquor bars and ricochets off the concrete mountains, these mighty structures like phallic gods that scream at the thing you are home now you are here now you belong now you have arrived go fuck yourself and it has come so far from the mystic mountains where there are the woods and the trees and leaves of green and beavers of brown. There is no brook to drink from here only the gutter where stinkwater flows to the sewers that sit like maws in asphalt. These are its caves now, reeking tunnels that lie beneath the metropolitan behemoth that towers over the creature that towers over humanity that towers over suprahumanity for this hairy beast with the massive feet is not human no it is above and between a man and a god and a wild and shaggy thing that feasts on the raw flesh of the city its rats and cats and hobos alike and when the red and blue lights of authority scream at it in the gloom and it answers back it howls a sound like a dying angel might at its realisation of its own demise. This is a sad situation. This is the Sasquatch. This is the Yeti. This is the Big Foot. This is the city.

PHONEZONE (into the communicators[beyond the future realm])


dial it up
what is the number
now it is ringing
the dial tone’s bringing
to a magical place
voicemail’s of mystery
punch in the zone code
what is the number
the signal is busy
the connection is whizzing
to a mystical place
operator assist me
electrical whizzwhee
rotary dialing
touchtone compiling
stay on the line
while the wizard completes you
enter the digits
calling inside you

Emotionally Concise and Spiritually On Point


Tonight is forever
and tomorrow is tonight
The moon is shining
And the beach is eternal
Because you are my woman, baby
And you are the rainbow
In the sunshine of the night
And the winter snow is falling
As the warm breeze blows
Through the flowers in the field
And you make it morning time
when the clock strikes midnight
and the butterflies are riding high
and the stars are waving ‘good-bye’
And you are my baby, woman
Making freedom sing its song
And eternity is just a day away
I can’t wait because
you bring the summer vibes
baby woman forever girl
You are the best horse  in the race
and I am the Wizard King
alive and well and busting his nut
in his mountain palace
and you are chief of the love police
spitting squishy justice out
from Central Headquarters
And tomorrow is forever tonight!

Rutabaga Loving


(Note: Sing to the tune of the saddest song you have ever heard in your goddamn life)

Rutabaga, sweet rutabaga,
oh rutabaga, you’re the root of my misery
you’re a big fat turnip
and I can’t get you into me.
You taste kinda bitter.
But the night it comes
and the stars come out
and my tuber floats free from the soil
So I cut a little hole in you, rutabaga
And ease myself inside.
‘Cause you’ve stole my heart
like a midnight train.
A wax-y turnip-y renegade.
Got my loins on fire
like a moonlight roast.
But I can’t get you into me.
‘Cause you taste so bitter.
Oh how your yellow-y flesh-y
is slippery and slidey
and when I make love to you,
Rutabaga. Oh gee whiz,
It’s better than sex.
From the top of the mountain
to the bottom of the sea
to the dirt in the farmyard
where you live until I dig
dig you up
and slide on in
and grease your loving root vegetable
being, with my love!
With my love!

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.

When Nature Swabs my Body


I get up
And I stand
in the mud mud mud
And I stare up
into the Sun Sun Sun
And when the rain
Tinkles down
It is fun fun fun
and the bees come tickle
my nose nose nose
And then the dirty hippy reeking of patchouli slopes up for sure high on the drugs and loafing around, jobless, like a peace-niking, nose-picking slug and does the damnedest thing. He freaking rips me in half, and sticks my bloody torso behind his goddamn oily ear with my entrails getting all tangled up in his stinky dreads that are hanging down his back half-way to his ass and then he says, “Wow, man.”

Eye of the Terlet


Gather ’round, dudes, and perk up them ears, buckarettes, this here is a poem that slithers in the night lake a snake on bad grease.
No, seriously, it is smooth like the skin of a baby’s bottom, and it glistens like a blue moon on buckskin sandals.
There’s so much truth in this here ballad that Nun’s be pimpin’!
Breathe in, Breathe out, and a here we go:
Peppermint chaps covering my loins, crotch open, it is all hanging out.
And my buttcheeks? Well, pardner, them’s being massaged by the gilded wind.
Is that you, God? Old buddy, old pal? Up there next to the sun, cheeks crimson like Satan’s thighs as you’re blushing away in the blue, blue sky?
You bet it is.
I can see you, chum.
Don’t be embarrassed.
You gave me this dong.