Titty Time Twist

Elephants walking in the vein of a plant.

A Tomahawk powwow

at a gas station.

The Grand Prix

charging through a prairie during the Ice Age.

A balloon

floating above the head of a T-Rex.

Anne Frank

sleeping on Cleopatra’s bed.

A hog-beaked peach.

A brain cooking in boiled water.

A wild Stallion galloping

on the rails of trolley tracks

four stories above the asphalt.

A jet airplane

flying over Genghis Kahn

and his army.

A submarine rising

in the Pacific

as Neanderthal men

grunt and wail

while watching

from the shore.

Auchwitz smoking the burned flesh

of Jews

under a sea

thriving with squid

the size of blue whales.

A plastic Santa Claus on the roof

of an African hut

surrounded by miles of dirt

and grass.

Roller skates left on the doorstep

of Caesar.

A little German girl

in pigtails

walking through a voo doo village.

A punker with a Mohawk

and leather jacket

driving a black convertible

and blasting Danzig

past a Puritan congregation.

A drag queen

handing a brick

to an Asian man helping build

the great wall of China.

Napolean listening to an I-Pod.

King George III

swimming in a pool

on a space shuttle

circling the globe.

George Washington putting Tupperware

into a microwave.

A metro train

charging past an Old West train

being robbed by gunslingers

in the middle of a Mexican desert.

Shakespeare boarding an airplane.

Walt Disney as a baby

being held by a woman

in line for the Matterhorn.

Einstein writing his theory of relativity

on the bark of a tree.

A witch-doctor operating

on a surgeon.

A holiday card

left in the cave of a Saber Tooth Tiger.

A toxic dump

near a tribe of Mohicans.

An Apache staring into a car mirror.

A Black Foot Indian tripping on peyote

while sitting on the edge of the Empire State Building.

An apple on the edge

of a steaming volcano.

A giant breast

large as a mountain

blending into the smooth body

of the earth.

Human teeth

in the mouth

of a frog head.

A ballet dancer

   pirouetting on the moon.

A spider

resting on an eyeball the size of an apple.

A butterfly flying into a cocoon.

An alligator

singing karaoke in a dive bar.

An army of ants marching

with machine guns.

A machine gun

with the face

of an infant.

A bullet

    shot out of a gun

exploding into rose petals.

Panties the size of Russia.

Part man

part woman

part giraffe

part lamp

part insect

part orange

part bird

part letters on this page.

Touch screen

           fingers.

The smile of Dracula

       in a comedy

       starring a man who drinks blood

in his real life and masturbates

to blood-stained band-aides.

A long distance runner

    racing through a galaxy of stars.

A radio broadcasting

your life’s moves to aliens laughing

from a petri dish.

A weather channel

    on a battered T.V.

    in the twist of a tornado.

A clown

          juggling

                  grenades.

A fly swatter

flattening

the tiny body of a man

on the body

of a giant fly.

An ogre eating your leg.

Frankenstein licking the monster’s fingers

like a lover. 

A man with the body

of a paper clip.

A bookshelf big enough

to carry every book

ever published in the world.

A madman

looking through a window

from the stomach

of himself.

A computer

walking away from a desk

and flying like a hornet

that explodes

into glittery tears.

A mistress in leather

    walking Saint Nick around

    with a leash around his neck.

A pussy as the mouth

of a woman.

A dick as the nose of a man.

Glasses that can see matter.

Matter that disintegrates

into nothing, which is God,

which is nothing.

A desert wind

that turns the world

into a desert.

A clock floating toward a black hole.

Squirming maggots

in the mouth

of a demon-crazed midget.

Slime oozing out of an ATM machine.

Jellyfish floating in a sunny, cloudless sky

while a jogger

runs down a suburban road.

Every horse in the United States

running at the same time

from a sound

coming from an unidentified object

hovering over the hills.

The earth shattering like glass.

Smoke inhaled

by a wizard

on a Harley.

A red stapler laying eggs.

A hole in the air.

A doorway in your house

leading to a wormhole

leading to your smelly socks.

A job

requiring you to sign a death contract

on your life.

A line of generals saluting the ass of a King.

Wallpaper worship.

Glue injected under a fingernail.

Skin wrapped around a crystal ball.

A cactus growing on the peak of Mount Everest.

A flea

sucking the blood

of a flea.

A cockroach

the size of a city.

The head of a grandmother

twisted around

a thousand times

and looking at you

with a smirk.

The ghost of a ghost.

A chair slithering

across a room.

A serial-killer snowman.

Boewulf a lonely jockey

sitting in a hallway

with acne

and a limp dick.

A stamp that yells and screams.

Students in a classroom bursting into fire.

Bug spray cologne.

Loose change

in the pocket

of Mussolini.

Bubbles floating

over a Roman crowd

watching a lion
rip the flesh from a man’s bones

in the middle of the colosseum.

Computer simulation battles

in the Petagon

during the Civil War. 

Horse-buggy demolition.

Robot rats.

Cyborg Presidents.

A march for retards to commit suicide.

Thought Sirens.

A fifth gender.

Razor blades that melt into paint.

A dog heart

in the body of a sea lion.

A tsunami wiping out the entire state of California.

A meteor

collapsing the Grand Canyon.

A stain

on your dead father’s shirt.

Repetition

squirming

like a fish in the mouth of a shark.

Rows of Piranha teeth

in the jaw

of a moose.

Hitler falling asleep

during a speech.

A burp

from an 1500 pound female Siamese twin.

A memory of Valentine’s Day

when fellow classmates

in Kindergarden

gave you candy hearts

then spit blood in your face.

Rain that never stops.

A sun and galaxy born in seconds,

which calculates to a million years on earth.

Another line that just doesn’t cut it.

Another line that neighs like a horse.

And the last line, this line,

written by this poet

who just blushed

and laughed

after reading your thoughts

and knowing your darkest perversion

and how much and how little it matters

when it comes

to the watermelon

in your mind.  

The Scream Of Humanity

A stray cat in a cage at Petco

is the silent scream of the 21^st century.

It is the scream of humanity.

You can hear this scream

from a cricket

stuck between a rock

and the glass surface of an aquarium

just beside a miniature, plastic log

where a lizards sits and waits.

The scream of humanity

is screaming from the fish

swimming in all those shit-filled aquariums.

The scream of humanity is in the parakeet cage.

The scream of humanity

is smothered by a pink ribbon

and a yellow sweater worn

by a full grown German Shepard.

The scream of humanity is so loud

and so impossible to ignore

that ignoring it

becomes the norm.

The scream of humanity

is the assorted flavors of dog food,

in liver snacks, from the dead skin

in a snake tank

to the pink eyes of the mouse

before the swallow.

The scream of humanity is the 300 pound

dog trainer unable to train her stomach

from shoving food into her mouth.

The scream of humanity is in the bright lights

above the flea medicine aisle.

The scream of humanity is in the ink of this pen

scribbled on a wrinkled receipt

next to a beat up lap top and a camera

loaned to me

by a company hiring my services

to take pictures of customers’ pets.

It’s in the cars racing by the glass windows

in front of me

and the beeping noises of cash registers

and the scowl

of a black manager who just walked by,

and a woman

who has big tits

and eyes that have given up

on the chance of a man.

The scream of humanity

is screaming this Sunday afternoon

while my girlfriend waits at home,

lonely and fed up.

The scream of humanity

is in the eyes of my diseased

father dying of Parkenson’s;

it’s in my bank account

with one dollar to my name.

The scream of humanity

is in presidents

hand picked

by the Vatican.

The scream of humanity

is in toxic water

and hormoned meat

and polluted air

and in the acne faced teenager

ready to shoot himself

and everyone at school

and anyone he feels that suits

the corpse in his eyes. 

The scream of humanity

is kindergarders

telling parents

what gender they’d like to be

and the parents and the councilors

going along with the idea

and prescribing man-made hormones

so these confused little souls grow up

without having

the chance to face what everyone

has to face when it comes to the challenge

of adulthood.

The scream of humanity 

is in councilors suggesting meds

to fourth grade students

and calling it therapeutic care.

The scream of humanity is in a gangsta’s bullet

shooting into the head of someone you love.

The scream of humanity is in the rise of autism

from polluted drinking water and toxins

in the air.

It’s in the classrooms filled with mentally retarded children.

This scream is silenced behind the curtain

that hides the Jack Rippers

of Wall Street

cutting into the insides

of innocent kids

forcing them to consume and salute a flag

before they know

what that flag even means.

The scream of humanity

can be heard in the squealing of a puppy on a leash,

the squealing of the masses

forced into a future labyrinth

of trick mirrors and cameras.

It can be heard on blocked internet sites

and news stations censored to lock away the lies.

It can be heard in laboratories

that torture animals

for the color quality

of make up.

It can be heard from third world countries

suffering genocides

for the profit

of shoe companies and sports celebrities.

It can be heard from private armies

contracted by government officials.

It can be heard from Iraqi women

and little girls being whored out

to soldiers by company-owned armies. 

The scream of humanity

can be heard from Nazi vaults,

from Arnold Swartzneggar’s Austrian father

who served in the SS.

The scream of humanity

is right here, at all times,

wailing

into your ears.

It’s in the clock that drains your blood

and ticks

with the scraping of knives

across your back,

spelling out the word,

                     S

                     L

                     A

                     V

                     E.

It’s in the ruin of artists, this scream.

It’s in the madhouses

filled with beautiful, diseased souls.

The scream of humanity

is the scream we all want to scream.

It’s a cat fight,

a dog growling behind a fence,

a sea bass grappling on a hook.

The scream of humanity is why

I have the nervous system

of a veteran of war.

The scream of humanity

sits at this little desk

beside the window

of dog grooming, realizing

    this world

  of opressive murder

must

   eventually

      come

           to

               an

                   end.  

Vader’s Lure

I was having lunch with my father

at a restaurant

on a Saturday; he had Parkenson’s by now,

old, wrinkled, gray hair—slouched over.

I was telling him about my job situation,

how the holidays were a bitch,

sometimes having to go on unemployment,

or getting odd jobs

like working a Christmas Tree lot,

since I was a substitute teacher

and didn’t get paid for Christmas break

and those three months off

during summer. 

“If you just conformed,” he mumbled

with a frustrated and depressive sigh,

tired of hearing my suffering over the years,

knowing I’ve kept away from going full time

because of writing aspirations. 

“Dad,” I said with a scowl.

“I’m 37 now. Don’t you know

that’s not going to happen?”

He just sat there and shook his head

and didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

The Bitch of Creation

The Statue of Liberty

in New York harbor

was presented in 1884

as a gift from the French Masons

to the Masons of America

in celebration of the first Masonic Republic.

It was designed by Bartholdi

and built by Gustave Eiffel,

both well known Freemasons.

Bartholdi came up with the statue

from the goddess Isis,

known also as the Roman Goddess Juno,

wife of Zeus.

None of this means much

unless you understand the power of the masons

and how much they play a part

in the history of the United States.  

It’s supposed to be a kind of hidden secret,

not that masons built the statue,

but that the statue

was built

and given as a gift from the bowels

of pagan mythology.

This is a pretty good trick the elite

have been playing

to keep the masses in check:  

one god, one bible,

and by all means, make sure

mythology is obsolete.

By doing this, they take away

the spiritual strength

of a people; they take away

the heroics of the soul,

knowing full well

the power of mythology

while using it every chance they get.

The irony of the torch

on the Statue of Liberty

is clear: . . .

Meant to represent an illuminated people,

a free people,

what’s really being illuminated

is the sick joke the high-powered-masons

and the wealthy

and the crooked congressman

and senators and presidents

and CEO’s are playing on us all.

Little do employees at Taco Bell

and Ford and Hewlitt Packard and members

of the Dodgers baseball team realize:

inside the feminine head of the Statue of Liberty

are goblins laughing and talking on cell phones

and buying and selling this country

bit by bit, piece by piece

until we’re controlled like hamsters

in a cage, if we’re not already.

I’m not trying to be a pessimistic ass****.

I’m just seeing things beyond what’s been presented by the puppeteers.

I salute you way up there, Lady Liberty,

even though you’re not a lady at all,

even though you’re flesh is made of rock,

even though you’re heart is mechanically driven

by aliens speaking some kind of leech-language with skin that glows

from the sucking of blood.

I salute you like a clown saluting a missile.

I salute you with the vengeance

of a thousand gods. 

I salute you

with the wisdom

of a million years

in the future.

The torch you carry

is now being raised by the bitch of creation.

She’s come alive through your own dirty digging.

She’s back to her original self,

her metaphorical self.

And she’s here to remind you

to bow

at her tree-

            rooted

                     feet.

My Sense of Humor

I was sitting at my backyard table

with my girlfriend,

just home from work,

drinking a shake she liked to make

from frozen blueberries

and strawberries and bananas.

“I almost got you a stuffed animal

at the post office,” I said,

referring to my last stop before

I’d headed home from work,

as I had to mail a package of short

stories to a publisher in England.

 “Oh yeah?” she blushed.

            “Yeah, for helping me find my car today

at the school. But it was two bears with a heart

in the middle, so . . . it was pretty lame.

There weren’t any ducks.”

She smiled.

“I would’ve liked a duck.”

“Yeah, I know you like ducks.

Actually,” I said, hesitating a moment.

“I got you a giant spider, a real one that I caught

in the school gutter system.”

            “Really,” she said sarcastically.

“Yeah, I brought it back to my truck;

its spider legs were wrapped around my chest

and I held its bulbous abdomen like a baby.

I kept looking into its spidery eyes, and saying, ‘coochy koo.’”

She chuckled and said with a coy-like

flutter, “Yeah, those spider eyes

with spider pinchers, so warm and . . .”

“Uh huh.”

I raised my shoulders like a little girl

in front of a puppy and said, “He was so cute.”

            She laughed.

“But what could I do?

I gave the spider to that high school security guard,

you know, the one who rode me around in his little golf cart, trying to help me find my truck.”

     “Yeah,” she said with a grin, glancing at her cup.

“Good thing I drove up and saved your ass.”

     “You did. I totally blanked out on where I parked like some Alzheimer’s patient.
I owe you one.” I took a drink of my fruity shake.

“Next time, though, let me make the shakes.

I’ll throw in a few spiders to spice it up.

That big fuc**r had babies.”

            “Eew. Gross.”

I faced her with a grin and squinted
in the October sun.