Thursday, April 30, 2009


CAP'M: What's caused you to loathe the careerist poets so?

PEG: They snotty. They guard a sidewalk dime as a bitch on her rib bone.

CAP'M: Are you a fella or a man?

PEG: No.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Yes, Girl

"My sane mind said ok I'm gonna go ahead and take a walk up that hill. There was sage and signs of an old burn. I had the choice then to follow him off trail, up through the hard lichen and loose dry sands dirty with life and its wastes.

Yes Girl, he wants you to go with him.
Yes, it's he, he's caring, and slim and

"Either he needed to be babysat, or I'd just let him take the heat for a little pleasure ride if there were consequences, some rough moments. Now here we are and it's sort of like surfing a city bus: the bumpiness and having to strain to enjoy sights a man wd rarely see from such a wide angle.

Yes Girl, he wants you to go with him.
Yes, it's he, he's driving and tight and

"It remains to be seen, then, where we'll end up together; maybe the law of hostages has taken over; we are committed now because it hurts more to jump than hold on. But he is pulling me along so hard, and he's so strong.

Yes Girl, he wants you to go with him.
Yes, it's he, he's caring and slim and

Call and Response
Shiv Pageant of Minor Deities:
Maundy Connie

Yes, Grrl [the Movie]

Monday, April 27, 2009

Fire Ants Led to Warts

She began feeling as tho she shdn't even be doing normal everyday things like taking her film to have it developed or replacing the filter of the forensic bucket.

Since she'd not had to renew her Waiver and Acceptance of Social Toxicity Estimate, it still felt like a marked worl. Her society wd never regain her trust.

It had been a healthy communal impulse to stand in the front yard with a hose. Nodding. To neighbors, passersby. Fire ants are so tiny and light that you don't feel them coming, but Connie felt the mist of a spurting rubber leak along the fronts of her ankles.

They kept biting and biting and pushing their announcements sub-cutaneously. Connie remembered a documentary about Africans who went insane and fed themselves to muddy river crocs at the itching created by some parasitical worm. It wd hypnotize cobra like before attaching to the neck or rectum and pumping its load of larval serum directly into the esophagus.

Connie looked down at her bloody fingernails in the observation room at Pharmsupply. She'd been clawing at her ankles and forearms in a blackout. Then she looked up into the unforgiving Diagnostic Mirror. The insects were gone, but a single HPV wart had been able to spore across her entire hide in sprays. Infinite beige ellipses, slightly raised, now monumentalized a paroxysm of histadelic rage.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Bio-Weaponization of Nuisance Anthroballistic Siege Virus

Mthyuh Preservation Society Garden Club
Announcement of Live Public Oracle

Each of us will bring a dish: the dish must make use of as its primary ingredient one of the endangered food growths in our valley. Participants will also bring unmarked packets of viable seed stock if available, and it's not funny when it turns out to be human sperm-- someone already thought of that many WD's ago, and again just last, so relax.

Because our mission on this night is gardens, nor shall we partake of blood spirits.

As we sample, in bibs, our legacies, the member will recount the hist'ry of each vittle and its plight, though by now we must surely know what's in store for all that is life in the Chanks.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Genital Anomaly

The Pegyuh and Chamatilly stand panting facing one another in a gray sunset with hunched-over shoulders and pushed-out bush, naked cept for headbands over their afros after their epic battle to end all preliminary warfare. Their eyes simultaneously drift downward, out of gravity or fear. They get a fix on one another's normally private parts in the blacklight.

"Has it happened to everyone now?"

"Yes, I believe so," one says to the other.

Pan out to planet view. Surface has been fundamentally changed as by a spray of synthetic HPV growth transcontinentally.

After a pause, one of the voices scolds, "While we agonize in our bodies, the planet dies."

Planet chimes in: "Since I'm under your boot, I get to not respect you. Whoop-ee."

Chama and Peg are ashamed in their fatigue, impotence, and malformations.

"At least I know I am moral after all. I am still a moral consciousness, I burn with a moral fire," says either Peggy or The Chama. They catch one another in the eye once more like a pair of savagely handsome young sires who know they fine.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang

We, busting flynt an slinging paint, are co-captured pissanteros in the Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang. If you could help us from where you sit, sure as dark, you'd want to get us out of it. But try this on first: we are only re-animated flesh, like a jerky. Not a zombie, silly. We a system under control, and we are fresh. We can accommodate every challenge because we also have a will, thanks to PharmSupply. New-Crop Shiv is the way to go when you're feeling watery. Got something to give? Don't just mourn it. New Crop is a dead cell's opportunity to live and even eat life, with a conscience and a spunk that's engineered. We on the Chang K. Chang Chank Tank Chain Gang piss in the Trough of Our Fears and take another step with cock-suredness wrought from a thousand WD of inter-miscegenation, sodomy and flight.

Time Crack

Legend and truth overlap in the parking lot of Chang K. Chang Chank Memorial Hospital. Howling, at half moon: birthers jamming at a Vaginal Borderline for their generations to pass. Wanting, not waiting: screaming, clawing blindly through a rat tunnel of pain toward the Crisis of Being. Mother, you hang in first-world maternity from a nasty Time Crack. You are the Bloody Poop of Creation.

How can I not love your babies? Until three decades cross,
They eyes wide with fear, or a Shadow of Medicine over Nothing.

They skins, pimply or clear, are oil of your Love and Care and Brutality.
How can I not adore these Puppies Smudging Up my Rug, bitch?

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Peg Thinks Hard, and Spits

This desmadre has been censored by the Mthyuh Preservation Society due to a redundancy of phrases such as open farts, devil's whoreshop, and holy skank hoar.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Trukk Stoppe Ho

Truck-stop Ho:
Truck-stop Ho:
Truck-stop Ho:

Yor aways mad when I leave you or upset when I didn't need you
Little Rembrandt of a paisley weasel, you are a slime right where a
man seeks some lube, chall. When I rent you, I feel all I get is a m-
-all! o' wheezing crine, Tiny. Anchored in whatch-u-whan! (a meal).
Truck stop ho. Truck stop ho. Truck stop ho.

If we can both just agree that you with me, lady, Mother of Evening,
you can leave aside your pleading, rise up and serve me, Muthuh W
-heel. You roll the dough, but someone rounded off the dice, Lucile;
Muthuh Wheel, give yor nights off such a feel, like the bride o' krais,
Muthuh Wheel, Truck-Stop Ho, Muthuh Wheel.

Here in this rain-po puddle, a man can meet a thousand jet-setting
sangle, from all seven corners o' the building; but then what is he h
-olding but his own butt in a butcher-shop case. When in Boulder, h-
ook up with the look-up king of older trade names: The Roller. He a
-ck laik he on TV bowling when he rilly in the gutter.

Trukk Stoppe Ho:
Trukk Stoppe Ho:
Trukk Stoppe Ho.

Trukk Stoppe Ho [the MP3]

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Break the Law and Die

Drink grog, gorge all winter, go sleepy.
Then somebody when they go to pee
spot a meat spirit silhouette top a hill.
Tribe, there are meat spirits moving.
I'll make coffee. Slowly to get up, but
then with throbbing imploring, break-
fast is all about calorie packing into th
-e body so you can run, hunt weep la-
ughing. Force Nature to your will, Na-
ture. Emotions held us drugged hosta-
ge of emotions for survival in a cave. P
armSupply and each one of your cu-
ieServ agents would like to inform y-
ou that we are your Natural Chemical
Brain Regulator. Just as Braino hisself,
in partnership with nature, used to, w-
e now hold the golden key to your slee
-p patterns and thought affect. Would
you suggest we give it back to Bigfoot?

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Easter Stilborne

On Sunday we had a baby, we call her Easter Stilborne
Because my husband went down to the gym for the first time in a year,
And it was closed in observance of the Holiday o' Hope, or outta fear.
So he went instead to the Filipino place next door
For some homemade chicken-noodle soup, pork adobo, and a beer.
When he got back, I was squatting in the flower bed
Where some lily blossoms had suddenly unfurled
As if to anticipate the death of our little girl.
Now on the highway, ery time we see a 4x4 with the symbol of a fish,
We pass the assholes, give them the finger, think of Easter, and make another wish.

Connie Soda

Saturday, April 11, 2009

intraceptive missionaryism

We noticed as we swung by to check for blood on your door
that there was none. and now, in the light of our torches,
you seem quite agitated, maybe insane. we are afraid for y-
our soul. we are afraid of what our God might do to you if
we decide it is appropriate. He may cause us to harm you
badly, and your family, and your future generations. we are
here to perform an intravention to protect you from any
further danger. Do you have a knife, or have you lost it?
Where are your lambs-- or have you failed to fulfill even
that most basic of norms? You are harming everyone by your
non-conformism. You are attacking our way of life, and we
are tired of being victimized by your mocking, obscene exi-
-stence which is only meant to cleverly highlight the futi-
lity of our Reproductive Circle.
We noticed as we scanned your home that you have taken the
dangerous step of disconnecting from your county's Filter
of Loathing. This will mean that the intended effects of
the drugs we have proscribed for you which were meant to
counteract the sickening effects of the pulses will spiral
out of control with nothing for them to heal. In addition,
the local Pharmsupply has informed us that you have not e-
ven picked up your proscriptions for several months. We h-
ope that you have not engaged in this type of antisocial
behavior as the result of financial difficulty. We care a-
bout the wellbeing of all members of our community, so we
are generous to remind you that discontinuance of a manda-
ted service or medication does not constitute release from
responsiblity for payment.
[Text of two ancient tickets found in Peg's glovebox, clipped to the back of an expired W.A.S.T.E.]

Friday, April 10, 2009

When is he coming back?

I used to ask where is he, does he beckon.
But now I know that gone is just a wash.
Now I want to know but cannot reckon
If Ilyn's coming back, or is he lost?

One sighting happens ery WD,
but never all up in a bed with me.
No chance because he's uglier than shit
the danger of a shoe that doesn't fit.

My Ilyn sends his pow'r of gravity
to meet the Goddess of Infinity
who reaps his tenderness as an hors d'oeuvres,
and vomits his remains into an urn.

The urn is dumped each Friday on some rocks;
Then, as from an undertaker's table,
And soon he is quite able, Ilyn walks,
Hideously marred by private journeys

Through intimate Halls of Our Intender.
Where there is scalp, red hair grows back. Where a
Crime left sin, a hymen fills in. You say
Wheel of Life
; I say Vortex of Gender.

Maundy Friday

Won't even roll over when I shuffle into the room, but they on they knees bathing my feet when I stoop to weep. Go away, M'Lady; go away, Missy La-La. Gonna put you bitches to work one day. When I feel depress, you shake your tails like a single kaleidoscopic Goddess of Asses. I want to turn your force on my enemies. Stanky bitchcunt of infinity. Love weapon. Merciless forgiver. Virgin of recycling. Inundation. Burning saliva. Breath that cuts and scars in rosettes. Christ command me! How much time have I spent in bed? It's a Maundy Friday.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Two-Kleenex-Box Altar

kleenex boxes flowered and shed
cascading trills of snotted buds,
their tissues ripe with wet evacuation.

kittens picked their way lightly sniffing
where dogs the salty offrings shook in vain;
all organ product laid before bitches is meat.

Dog-Like Sick

unease around foreigners
suspect they digestive system
revolted n' curious as a bitch

Below the border, you swing upside down;
In a crack, they walk over you.
A million futures monetize in your groin.

back and forth till we dog-like sick
sky-chanks popping where they speak sang-skritt
mthyuh's bowel, rock-cum-flesh, eat me now

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Connie Soda

No one remembers me, I am a sister.
Sometimes they call me Commie Splices.
Bearded Lady, Zygote Birther, Goddess of Propriety,
Muff of Fur, Topless Coal Walker, Native-American Squaw,
Mucky Muck, Two Decades of Feminism: Dual Tank Treads;
Food Covetor, Wisdom Mist, Virgin, A Sentence Said [A.S.S.].
  • I could have made my way up. There have been investigations.
  • I got left aside, maybe the story strangled me in its turns.
  • I have a weight as a One Crossed Over, but even the boatman trumps.
  • I have no control over the situation beyond the sweater I was wearing.
  • Ted found me dead weight or weightless on a very good mattress.
  • My first husband was a scoundrel like all Southern men.
Father bleated on preaching of coin-slot plotters and drones,
They impeached him in the middle of a Period that was Misunderstood.
Show respect for the drifting cadres, growing, of Robed Men sifting in
from the forests and deserts and Fallowed Lands.
If you see a One called Ilyn, with a Red Afro, tell'im I'm his chillun.
Somewhere along the road, I could be Born Again like an albino I know.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Someone has to Occupy the Boundaries

We're not here to fight the other side, but rather
to stretch the leash of Our Own as taut as can be.
Someone has to occupy the farthest bound'ry
in the paradox of interdependency.

But they are turning us out, Syl, unencumbered--
Free to wander like meaning seeking a structure.
We could make a human chain to hem in others
like a padded room where they ricochet in fun.

Nothing's holding us back now that the kids are gone.
We take to a panting tourist road, The Driven.
Forward and Backward are twins in our time mirror.
How'd we win a life beyond our own destruction?