The bloodthirsty mistletoe nutcracker tinsel wolf

The bloodthirsty mistletoe nutcracker tinsel wolf
He lives inside of your brain
He wants to eat your brain
You should get him out
You will need a special kind of surgery 

You called and had the surgery?
Great! That means you’re safe.
But others are NOT safe!

Pook pook pook

Eggnog

Holy crap eggnog!

You handsome.

You gotta date to the prom?

You and me, eggnog

We goin’ places

We special

I can just picture it, eggnog

The two of us

Holdin’ hands

You’d introduce me to your yolks

They’d look me over

“You approve, poppa?” you’d ask

And he’d nod; poppa egg nog nod

And you’d be mine

Maybe We Have It All Wrong

A novel wrote a woman

And the woman sure was grateful

‘Cause she’d tried to write a novel

And she’d found it bloody hateful.

So she paid the novel richly

With the money from her purse

And said: “This is how it should be done.

And never in reverse.”

Knower's Lament

There once was a man who supposed

That he knows that he knows what he knows

But did not think it equally true

That he knew that he knew what he knew

He lamented: “If only the past

Didn’t swallow the present so fast.”

The Brain Inside the All of it All

Your brain cells are carefully packed

And your thoughts are all chemical rhythms

But the all of it all is intact

And your thoughts are the light from its prism.

And it’s fine to observe your own brain

And pretend that you’re breathing your breath

‘Cause the all of it all will remain

When the ego dissolves upon death.

And though physically you will decay

Like some meat that was left on the shelf

There was never a ‘you’ that could stay
‘Cause the real you goes on of itself.

The day it rained mayonnaise

The day it rained mayonnaise

We all took our sandwiches out

Open-faced

And got too much

George's Sensible Decision

“But Pa!” George said, “Max Buggaloops
Can train a frog to jump through hoops!
And Fritzbeam Grog Garoompa-Rums
Taught hamsters how to play the drums!
And Arnie Mitch Fortuffen-Fee
Trained gerbils how to waterski!"
“Okay,” said Pa. “But guess what’s more?
They eke out livings, boy! They’re poor!
Just how much does Max Buggaloops
Make every year with frogs and hoops?”
George said, “Well, Pa, that may be true…
What is it you think I should do?”
“I think that you should drop the thing!”
Pa said. “Stop training fleas to sing!
Quit teaching toads to dance the jig!
Stop putting bowties on the pig!
Quit buying skateboards for the mice!
Stop teaching squirrels to juggle dice!”
George bowed his head. “Okay then, Pa.”
He sold his pets and studied law.

night and day

when the night comes, cold and darkness

sweep the sun-kissed clouds away

and it’s black out; starless; wintry

and the mist is damp and gray

and the whistling…can you hear it?

you might think it’s just the wind

but it’s distant, lonely whistling

of the cavemen who have sinned

and who live alone on mountains

with their hearts encased in ice

with no company, except

some black-winged bats, some filthy mice

and when their hearts melt, they’re forgiven

(takes a decade, maybe two)

so to pass the time, they whistle hooosh

and cry a lingering oooooh

it’s a sound that’s sad and scary

and it doesn’t go away

‘til the sinners ooooh themselves to sleep

and once again, it’s day.

Super Sale on Wizard Gizzards

Fifty cents a wizard gizzard!

One-time sale for super cheap!

Taste like dirt and smell like hamster

Come and grab some from my heap!

Are they fresh and never frozen?

You can bet your broom they are!

Highly potent, always local

Never gathered from afar

What’s the use of wizard gizzards?

Well, combined with skin of newt,

They thicken earwax, give you warts

And make your tongue fall out, to boot!

So hurry— grab your wizard gizzards

Quick! They’re flying off the shelves!

Don’t wait, or you’ll be forced to buy at
Marked up prices from the elves.

A Holiday Invitation

On the stovetop, soup is bubbling

In the oven, baking bread

In the cellar, wine is aging

On the roof, a severed head

‘Round the windows, lights are twinkling

In the playroom, children play

In the bathrooms, incense burning

In the yard, the corpses sway

‘Neath the table, cat is sleeping

On the walls hang works of art

Near the stove, the clock is ticking

In the fridge, a human heart

Won’t you come and pay a visit?

Won’t you have some soup and bread?

There’ll be wine and brandy flowing

Please don’t mind the severed head

See the lights? They’re up for Christmas!

Tim’s toy car goes ‘toot toot toot’

Please do come and pay a visit

Just ignore the trees’ strange fruit

When the wine and brandy finish

We’ll all play a game of bridge

For dessert, we’ll all have cookies

Just don’t eat what’s in the fridge.

The Fridge Owl

I found an old owl nestled up in my fridge

He was nibbling on ham bones and jam

“Who are you? What are you?” I asked, and he squawked:

“I’m a fridge owl! Indeed, that I am!”

Then the fridge owl proceeded to open a jar

With a powerful twist of his talon

“You’ll be needing more jam,” he said calmly. “At least

Three more quarts. Or, more likely, a gallon.”

“Now hold it!” I said. “I work hard for my jam!

You can’t eat it! Why, you’re just a bird!”

But the fridge owl just buried his beak in the jam

And pretended that he hadn’t heard.

“You get out!” I said then. “This is my fridge and house!

And the stealing of food I forbid!”

“Buy more jam,” said the owl, “and more ham bones as well.”

And the funny part is, well, I did.

I drove off to the store like a man in a trance

And I bought jam and bones, just because

The fridge owl had told me to. Boy, it was strange!

I almost forgot who I was.

Then when I got back, I re-opened the fridge

And the fridge owl was there, pleased as punch

“A-ha!” he exclaimed. “More ham bones and jam!

Those will do very well for my lunch!”

I nodded, half-dazed, as I put in the food

And the fridge owl pulled shut the fridge door

Then my head felt all fuzzy and woozy and odd

So I curled up and napped on the floor.

When I finally woke up, I thought: “Fridge owl?!

Good grief! That must have been part of a dream!”

But I opened the fridge, and you know what I saw?

That darn bird, with its claws in the cream!

“I sometimes like cream,” said the owl, “But ham bones

And jam, well, I like those the most.”

“But what about me?” I cried, “What do I eat?”

And the owl said, “Cold juice and hot toast.”

“I do like hot toast,” I said, licking my lips

And the owl found the bread and said, “Here.

You should heat up the griddle and toast it on that.

Go on, do it! You’ve nothing to fear.”

That did not sound half bad, and my stomach agreed

It was time for a good evening meal

So I toasted the bread and drank grape juice, ice-cold

And the fridge owl asked, “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” I said, and the fridge owl said, “Good.”

And he clawed off another jar’s lid

“I’ll be here eating jam,” he said. “You go to bed.”

“Yes, fridge owl,” I said, and I did.

In the morning, I opened the fridge for some milk

“Not milk!” clucked the owl. “Worse than candy!

Have cold grape juice and hot griddle toast,” he proclaimed.

“And see if you don’t feel just dandy.”

I had grape juice and hot griddle toast, like he said

And I felt sudden vigor and pep

“Cold grape juice and hot griddle toast!” I declared

“Why, it puts such a spring in my step!”

When I came home for lunch, the owl had already

Heated the toast on the griddle

I washed it all down with cold grape juice and felt

Once again, just as fit as a fiddle!

When I came home for dinner, the owl declared:

“More cold grape juice and hot toast for you!

Then you’ll sleep like a baby, and wake feeling fresh!”

And by gum, it turned out to be true!

For the rest of the month, ice cold grape juice and toast

Was all that the owl recommended

At the end of each meal, he asked, “How do you feel?”

And the truth was I felt bloody splendid!

My relatives noticed a change in my health

Especially my Great Aunt Marlene

“You’re glowing!” she said. “Have you fallen in love?

You’re as healthy and stout as a bean!”

“You must get a fridge owl,” I told Aunt Marlene

“What?! That doesn’t sound real!” Auntie said

“Oh he is,” I insisted, “Come over and see!

He’s as real as the hat on my head!”

So I took Auntie home and I opened the fridge

“Hello fridge owl!” I said. “Meet Marlene!”

I rifled through food jars and old Ziploc bags

But nowhere could my fridge owl be seen!

Aunt Marlene raised an eyebrow and patted my head

And left without saying a word

So I ran off to purchase more ham bones and jam

In hopes I could lure back my bird.

But the days turned to weeks; jam and ham bones untouched

And the weeks sadly turned into years

“Poor old fridge owl,” I thought, as I sipped on my juice

And my toast became dampened with tears.

For although he was curt and demanding at first

He was easy to please—bones and jam

And the first time he squawked, why, the words echo still:

“I’m a fridge owl! Indeed, that I am!”

Three-Paw Cat

Three-paw cat
Limp down the road
She try to catch
A web-foot toad.
The toad escape
The cat say, “Darn.”
At home, she wreck Georgina’s yarn.
“You dumb old cat!”
Georgina shout.
Knife. Thwack. Blood. Howl.
And cat run out.

Two-paw cat
Limp down the street
Scan gutters for
Old hunks of meat.
Eat rotten beef
And ladybug
At home, she vomit on the rug.
“You dumb old cat!”
Georgina shout.
Knife. Thwack. Blood. Howl.
And cat run out.

One-paw cat
Can hardly scoot
Along the road
To look for fruit.
She find no fruit
She feel so grouch
At home, she one-paw claw the couch.
“You dumb old cat!”
Georgina frown.
Knife. Thwack. Blood. Howl.
And cat fall down.

No-paw cat
Can barely crawl
Her feet are stumps
She often fall.
She drag her pawless legs along
She feel so sad, she make up song:
“No paw, boo hoo,” the lyric go
Georgina laugh
'cause cat so slow.
“No paw, boo hoo,” the lyric go
The saddest song
you'll ever know.

The You and Me Bucket

Here we are stuck in the you and me bucket
We tried to get out once, but then we said fuck it
A bucket's a fine place to be for us two
There's a chair here for me and a chair here for you
There's not room for much else, but what else would we need?
You're already wearing your suit of green tweed
I'm already wearing my slippers and gown
So why would I grumble or hem-haw and frown?
We're complete! And I don't miss the non-bucket world
Where A-bombs and H-bombs and F-bombs are hurled
It's scary out there, but it's safe here with you
It's extremely unlikely that we'll catch the flu
It's our very own quarantine, isn't it grand
That my one occupation is holding your hand
Shucks, this you and me bucket will suit us just fine
'Cause the time that we spend here is just yours and mine.

Cursing in impervious carrot shacks

Cursing in impervious carrot shacks
Eunuchs
Bat leather
Gold
You can curse these things and more in your carrot shack
The orange, none say, is calming

&$:&))@/!!"--!
-$)?.,?-&#}_]>"
#*%%!!?~~!\€<$(@!

And if, in your fit of rage, you break your fist on carrots
pop a forehead vein
the fault is yours
do not eat yourself out
they are impervious both ways.

A Day in the Life of an Orphanage Director

The orphans are hungry, the weeds should be picked

The clock on the wall ticks its third-to-last tick

I can’t find my suitcase, my pitbull is ill

It's cloudy and damp and the air has a chill

I’m nervous; I chew on my lips ‘til they’re bleeding

The orphans are pounding, demanding their feeding

The office is locked, but quite soon they’ll break through

They shout, “Give us our crackers and hot carrot stew!”

“Pick the weeds and eat those!” I say. “I’m too upset

To feed orphans. So the weeds’ all’s the dinner you’ll get!”

But the orphans break in, and one carries a brick

The clock on the wall ticks its third-to-last tick

He beats in my brains and he leaves me for dead

My sick pitbull whines, licks the blood from my head

They break into the pantry, steal chocolates and fruits

They break into my closet, try on my best suits

“Call the doctor!” I gasp to one orphan—quite young

Who stands still, watching Spark lick my wounds with his tongue

“I will call,” says the child. “Please don’t die.” (I feel flattered).

The ambulance comes and the orphan boys scattered

I'm taken to hospital, into E.R.

I wake up two hours later; my scalp has a scar

And my hospital gown has a pattern of stripes

At the window, the orphans shake long metal pipes,

And they’re chanting, “You bastard! You give us our stew!”

And I’m sweating, lip-biting, don’t know what to do

So I think of the weeds that have grown in the grass

But the orphans break in, they have smashed through the glass

They’re about to attack, when ol’ Sparky appears

And he’s snarling so vicious it vibrates his ears

With his razor sharp teeth he bites ankles and shins

The orphans, scared shitless, leap out of their skins

They escape through the window, and never come back

And Sparky curls up, warm and proud, on my lap

“Oh, sweet Spark, you got better!” I say, “You’re not sick!”
And the clock on the wall ticks its third-to-last tick.

i want to capture strange tendernesses with you

i want to capture strange tendernesses with you and put them in cardboard boxes with homemade mazes like rats

we’ll need a stopwatch.

one strange tenderness has a diet of lemonade

one strange tenderness has a diet of oatmeal and small rocks

one strange tenderness we cuddle in our hands every morning while the sun comes up

does this last one run slower

delirious with the memory of its sunrise love?

a good scientist treats his hypothesis

like a walrus treats his baguette

"what's it gonna do next?" he asks

(it's just a fancy word
for long bread).

I'm A Cross-Dressing Spider

I'm a cross-dressing spider
And flies are my meals
But it's hard to catch flies
In my bra and high heels.

Lifeguards Are Sometimes Jerks

I went to the beach to go swim in the sea

“You can’t swim,” said the lifeguard. “You don’t have a key.”

“There’s no key to the sea!” I responded with rage

But that second he pushed me inside of a cage.

“If you’re clever enough,” he said then, “to get free

Then you’re too smart to drown, and that’s less work for me.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Nope, not really,” he said, and he sipped on his Coke.

Well, I’d come there with nothing, except for my clothes

What was I s’posed to do? Pick the lock with my toes?

“Come on, lifeguard!” I said. “Why ya doin’ this crap?”

“Cause I dig it,” he told me. “Now shut ya damn trap.”

So I waited all day in that stupid locked cage

With my skin turning pink from both sunburn and rage

And when night fell I said, “Man, I’ve had it! No more!”

And the lifeguard said, “Fine, dude. But first, sweep the floor.”

“Oh, now I’m your slave?” I said. “Isn’t that grand!”

But I looked then and saw: I was standing on sand.

Anthropo-Floral Romance

If I only had the power, I would turn into a flower

Fuse my legs into a stem and make ‘em green
The stem will have stomata, or at least I think it oughta

And my leaves will have a healthy, waxy sheen.

After that, I will be aimin’ to turn torso into stamen

Eyes and mouth and ears to petals, one by one

I’ll make pollen with my anthers; I’ll have seeds as black as panthers

And my petals will be yellow when I’m done.

Then you’ll come along and pick me, take me home and gently stick me

In a vase I know you keep in your boudoir

You’ll gaze serenely at my beauty, smell my fragrance (slightly fruity)

And admire how I’m golden like a star.

Then at night I’ll watch you sleeping, and I’ll silently be weeping

‘Cause I’ll never sleep with you, no not with you

But you won’t detect my mourning upon waking in the morning

‘Cause you’ll see my tears and think they’re only dew.

You will give me water daily, and you’ll play your ukulele

For me, having read that music’s good for plants

Then you’ll sit and do your quilting, and I’ll watch you, slowly wilting

Petals shrink, detach and fall—a morbid dance.

After days of petal shedding (which is like a slow beheading)

You will think that I look bare and past my prime

So you’ll throw me in the bin, and shut the lid (a clash of tin)

And that’s the end…but we were lovers, for a time.

The Born Horn

Long ago, the whole world had a Born Horn

With a trumpet-blast loud as a bomb

It sounded whenever a baby

Came slip-sliding out of its mom.

But soon there were more and more babies

And the Born Horn went off every hour

It disturbed people sleeping or working

Or cooking or taking a shower.

So the people cried: “Ban the damn Born Horn!”

But the Born Hornsman said: “People, please!

Does the thought of a soul sliding into the world

Not quiver the caps of your knees?

Is it too much to ask just to pause for a sec

When new eyes and new noses arrive?

Does each horn blast not mean: ‘Hallelujah!

A dear sibling, at last, is alive!’?

For aren’t we all brothers and sisters?

Is each human not one of our own?

Don’t you picture each babe when the Born Horn goes off?

Don’t you think to it: ‘child, welcome home’?”

“No, we don’t and we won’t!” cried the people

“'Cause the Born Horn goes off all the time!

It’s obnoxious and pointless, and from this day on

Born Horn ringing’s considered a crime!”

So the Born Hornsman packed up his Born Horn

And the babies kept sliding on in

With nobody paying attention

Except for their nearest of kin.

“Well, I can’t have my horn,” thought the Hornsman

“But perhaps I could buy a small chime.”

So he did, and he rang it when babies were born

And thought: "child, welcome home" every time.

A Mirror-Mind's Lament

It’s becoming ever clearer

That I’m actually a mirror

And when I am introspecting

I am really just reflecting

‘Cause there’s nothing on the outside

That’s not also on the inner

‘Cause both in and out are Empty

And it’s Emptiness for dinner!

But a mirror’s just as Empty

As the Empty space it’s seeing

So it can’t be me that’s Empty

Unless Emptiness is Being

Oh it’s strange to be so empty!

What a state of disaffection!

For a mirror feels so useless

When it’s void of a reflection

It can just reflect the things that are

What else can it expect?

But soon it learns that ‘things’

Are just what human minds project

And when a human mind’s a mirror

(Like mine is, as I have said)

Naught’s projected, naught is seen

And so I might as well be dead!

But is there stuff to see in afterlife?

And is there stuff to do?

Or in afterlife, do mirrors gain projecting powers too?

Oh, I envy all you minds

Who can project a world of forms...

And see the trees and rivers

And the sun and clouds and storms

 ‘Cause when mind is just a mirror

With an empty out and inner

Then it can't have steak or French fries
No, it's Emptiness for dinner

And your steak (though it’s projected)

Is your steak, and never mine

And I cannot even see it

But my god, it smells divine.

Flannery O'Connor: An Semi-Accurate, Non-Erotic Biography

Flannery O’Connor, Flannery O’Connor
In 1951, the doctors said she was a goner
They said: “Lupus, lupus, lupus!”
And she said: “Holy cow!
I guess I’ll live with mom and raise some peacocks now!”
She raised a hundred peacocks
She wrote a hundred books
At night she went out dancin’ with the gypsies and the crooks.
Her work was Southern Gothic
It wasn’t Kafkaesque
The critics said: “Yo, Flannery, your writing is grotesque!”
She said: “Ooga-booga-booga!
I’m a Catholic wiccan!
When I was just a kid, I had a famous pet chicken!
I liked to eat shrimp, and I liked to eat pie
In 1954 I got a kiss from a guy
He said my lips were limp
And my teeth were hard as stones
He felt like he was makin’ out with skeleton bones.
I wasn’t dead yet, but I was in ‘64
The lupus ate me up and spit me out upon the floor.
And I said Ooga-booga-booga!
Time to meet God! You shall know the truth
And the truth will make you odd.”

Grandma Tap Dance

Grandma Tap Dance—watch her go
Across the stage she shuffles
She’s wearing ancient tap shoes
And a faded dress with ruffles.


She’s shuffling but she doesn't hear
The music's steady beat.
She only knows the music means
She’s s’posed to tap her feet.


She goes in circles aimlessly
And claps her castanets.
She sometimes knows that she’s on stage
But sometimes she forgets.


And when she’s done, the host says
“Ninety-one! Still dancing! Gee!
I think that’s great!
Put money in the hat if you agree.”


Clink, clink—here come the pity coins
“She’s ancient, after all.”
“She didn’t really dance, but hey
At least she didn’t fall.”


And Grandma Tap Dance, now offstage
Is in a chair, asleep
Her body sags, she looks like
Skin and ruffles in a heap.


Her daughter takes the coin hat
And she lets her mother snooze
Ten bucks, twelve cents—not terrible.
She leaves to buy some booze.


And Grandma Tap Dance dreams she’s young
She’s barely come of age
She’s dancing oh-so-beautifully
Across a lighted stage.


She leaps and shimmies, spins and slides
Until the curtain closes
The crowd goes wild; the stage is filled
With heaps and heaps of roses.


While Grandma dreams, the daughter drinks
‘Til drinks have drowned her sorrow
“C’mon, Mom, let’s go home,” she slurs
“You’ll dance again tomorrow.”


But Grandma won’t be woken up
For her, the crowd still cheers
The lights! The stage! The roses!
Oh, how real it all appears!


“Wake up, Mom!”—Grandma blinks her eyes
Where is she? How? And why?
Her daughter takes her home
And lets her have a slice of pie.

Math for Girls: A Cancelled Course

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plath

Left her socks on in the bath

Taught her own uterus how to do math

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plath

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plud

Dug for worms in dried-up mud

Six times nine and the answer’s blood

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plud

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plo

Tied a kite to a croak-eyed crow

Six times nine is an embry-o

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plo

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plate

Used her thumb as salmon bait

Six times nine is a neonate

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plate

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plume

Pooped in Tutankhamen’s tomb

Six times nine is an empty womb

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Plume

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Ploor

Head in the oven, feet on the floor

Six times nine is fifty-four

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia Ploor

Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia died

Sylvia, Sylvia soo-ih-side

Sylvia’s uterus then applied

To teach Math for Girls (but was denied).

I'm Just A Sweet Old Lunatic

I’m just a sweet old lunatic

Oh won’t you take me in?

I’m a harmless little psycho

With a pimple on my chin.

I’ve got no place to sleep tonight

You’ve got an extra couch

And I can tell you’re friendly

From your squint-eyes and your slouch.

And so I think I’ll follow you

To your apartment door

You haven’t got a couch?

Oh well, I’ll sleep upon the floor

You won’t regret inviting me

I’m gentle as a cat

I don’t need much to eat
Just one small cockroach or a rat.

I’m just a sweet old lunatic

I’ll keep your pests at bay

Oh will you, won’t you, pretty please?

Oh won’t you let me stay?

You won’t? Why not? Don’t tell me:

It’s the pimple on my chin!

You think that it’s the devil’s mark!

A pustule made of sin!

Why, you’re an old religious fool!

Well, if I only knew!

Who needs you, huh? Who brought you here?

You ignoramus you!

And what’s more, you’re….oh wait

I see. You’re just a knobby stick.

I shouldn't trust my eyes

I’m just a sweet old lunatic.

A Fun New Rhyming Medical Pamphlet

What’s in my lovely birthday box
All wrapped in pink and yellow?
Is it a brand-new radio?
A copy of Othello?
No! It’s cancer!

What’s in my porcelain sipping-mug
That looks so steamy-hot?
Could it be coffee, tea or
Warm milk chocolate that I’ve got?
No! It’s cancer!

What’s in the snout of Rudolph
That shines so bright it glows?
Could it be Santa’s magic
That illuminates his nose?
No! It’s cancer!

Why does the Easter Bunny-man
Stuff all his eggs with candy?
Is it the children’s eager eyes
That make him act so dandy?
No! It’s cancer!

What makes the dolphin flip and leap
Above the salty ocean?
Is it a love of splashing
That propels his glorious motion?
No! It’s cancer!

Why does the songbird chirp a tune
While floating on her wings?
Is it because, when given lungs,
The Great Creator sings?
No! It’s cancer!
 

Why did my doctor do those tests

And then give me this poem?

I wish he hadn’t. I’m confused.

I think I’ll just go home.