To Not Have Needs

Among the dead, I sat and read

The book aroused some grief

A digger dug a nice, neat grave

Less tidy were his teeth

A girl walked by in Catholic skirt

Put flowers on a tomb

Her grandma had gone on to dwell

In some post-mortem womb

The digger in the sun is brave

To do his morbid chore

A grave is brave to hold the dead

Not vomit up the gore

The skirted girl needs Grandma back

The digger needs new teeth

But I am needless in the shade

The book, the grave, the grief

Angels of Death

Some angels are dangerous, angels of death

They look like old rags and they smell like burnt meth

They’ll watch from above with their squinty, red eyes

They work for the devil, professional spies

They’ll leap down from their perch on a telephone pole

They will land on your chest and they’ll sniff out your soul

And if, in your soul, they smell shame, fear or doubt

They’ll stick in their straw and they’ll suck your soul out

So unless you’re scrubbed clean of such things, I’d advise

You watch out for old rags that have squinty, red eyes.

A Love Poem

I want to make you out of clay

Your hair will be curly snippets of yarn

You’ll have raisins for eyes

Did you know you have raisin-black eyes?

I want to craft your tits

As two clay hills

I want you to sit in my fridge

So on days when my hands sweat,

I can hold cool clay.

I don’t want you to have free will

Because you might end up in someone else’s fridge

Someone who always has cold hands, even in summer,

And doesn’t want to hold you.

Bears

You and me, we once were bears

And bears we once-time were

We both had claws and pointy teeth

And thick, protective fur.

I tugged and pinched your fuzzy fur

And asked you to be mine

With rat bones, leaves and squirrel guts

I made a Valentine.

You said, “How sweet! A Valentine!”

It sounded like, “Rarr-rurrrr.”

And how I trembled when you tugged

And pinched my fuzzy fur.

We made sweet, bearish love in caves

And hunted fish in streams

We slept together, paws held tight

And met again in dreams.

And when the winter came we slept

The cold was sharp as pins

And when we woke, we were not bears

But Homo sapiens.

We went into the city then

And each obtained a job

You changed your name to Susan Beth

I changed my name to Bob.

We don't have caves for making love

Just mattress-on-the-floor

We don’t snatch fish from raging streams

Just buy it from the store.

And we don't tug or pinch too much

Because we don't have fur

But you and me, we once were bears

And bears we once-time were.

Jabberwocky Does Chores

‘Twas brillig and the Jabberwock

Had much to do around the house

Replacing lightbulbs, sweeping dust

And setting mice traps for the mouse.

And when he’d done those basic chores

No more did he the Missus fear

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

And drank a large and frothy beer.

And as in uffish thought he stood

He scraped his claw upon his tooth

And then remembered: “Frabjous drat!

I’ve got to fix the leaky roof!”

So, Jabberwock, with eyes of flame

Went whiffling up to fix the roof

But ladder’s rungs went snicker-snack!

He fell with one galumphing OOF.

“Ooch, ow! Ow, ush! I’ve bruised my tush!”

The Jabberwock began to moan

And with his tail between his legs

He went galumphing, sadly, home.

“And hast thou fixed the gutters yet?”

Mrs. Jabberwock was quick to ask

He shook his head, and showed instead

His bruised and battered Jabber-ass.

‘Twas brillig and the Jabber’s wife

All beamish, called the Bandersnatch

Described in full her husband’s fall

And chortled something awful.

My Weirdest Tinder Date

Chasing after my most recent Tinder date

Shouting: “Hey, you left your sweater, baby! Wait!”

She runs faster; I speed up—is this a race?

Tap her shoulder and she turns; I see her face

What this?! A gumdrop nose?! An oven tan?!

She's transformed! She is the Gingerbread Man!

“You can’t catch me!” she cackles, and I gasp

She kicks me, takes the sweater in her grasp

Still in shock, I watch her run for two more blocks

Running after her are bankers, maids, a fox…

Pretty soon half of New York is on the chase
They're obsessed; they want to eat her cookie face

“You can’t catch me!” she exclaims, “It’s all in vain!”

Then the gray Manhattan sky begins to rain

She turns soggy and she stumbles; she is weak

Her cookie flesh is melting-- "Help!" she shrieks

The mob attacks her; fox and maids are crushed

The bankers stuff their mouths with bready mush
The world is sick with mindless greed, I fear.

I take the sweater as a souvenir.

Water

Water—when I climbed to the top of the tall tower, gasping

I looked everywhere for you, but oh, you sneak!

The only moistness was on the back of a slick toad

I grasped at it once and once again; it leapt from my hands like soap!

And so, Water, I ran down the staircase to the underground

Searching the crypt to see if I would find you there

And oh, you sneak! I found your dewdrops on the rattiest shrouds

And from my candlelight, you winked at me, so cheeky!

I would lick you from a toad, but from a shroud?

….

Yes, as it turns out.

But don’t let it go to your head.