Held within the abyss of his own imaginative processes
With fixed gaze staring at a broadened sky
Staring at the cosmos of these complimentary gasses
With open jaw gaping at an illuminated sky
Subjected to a certain inkling
Like cirrhosis of the liver or
Hemorrhaging of the mind
Trace eyeball over the cover
To photograph what I will find
You’ve got to understand me
I think it was Karl Marx who said:
“I don’t want to be in a club
that would have people like me
as a member”
But I could be wrong
You’ve got to take me seriously
When I say, with the utmost sincerity
That I sincerely don’t care for a pig-tailed curtsey
Held within the classroom of Rodney King’s ass kicking
With bloodied cocaine nose, we saw the photos
Lurid behavior behind the scenes of Hogan’s Heroes
Staying up all night on cough syrup and glucose
Subjected to a curtain call
Like piercing the skin with a ball point pen
Or counting sheep till five ten
Glancing at a page behind the cover
To partake but mainly to discover
Oh 2001 let me have some fun
with the Dewey Decimal System
You’ve got to gratify me
My ego needs his weekly groceries
You’ve got to stupefy me
My senses needs a shot of lead pencil
My conscience is built on a graphite temple
You’ve got to correct-fy me
I’m gargling my own moldy stupidity
Held within the seldom-ness of his own rudimentary experiences
With 25 dollars in his hand, staring into Tarrantino’s suitcase
Neck bent towards the sky in its customary place
Eyeballs dripping across Jackson Pollack’s canvas
Dripping like motor oil from the sump
Oozy blackness covers where I am standing
Throw the hood down with a graceful madness
You’ve got to get going
You’ve got to get through this
I want to subsist in the Himalayas
To go camping with the Dharma Bums
To run Wall Street and practice the words of Sun Tzu
To go play tennis in the afternoon
To eat the cereal on the end of my spoon
To redistribute everyone’s wealth
To arm the homeless before I arm myself
To wrap my fingers in a spring roll
To bludgeon the fuck out of my soul
—Take me seriously; I’m doing what I’m told
Nosebag of Hackneyed Nonsense.
Smells like a custard apple.
Nicole Ryan, 3 months ago
aaagh !!
brilliant .. just brilliant .. such wicked flow, beautiful writing.
Yasemin Sumner, 3 months ago
custard apples smell fucking great. you make titles that make me jealous. and smile.
Sebastian Pearce, 3 months ago
fuck i’ve drooled all over the keyboard.
Miri, 3 months ago
now that is great work, i did laugh, so many good lines!....btw i don’t get custard apples – they’re new to me & they’re just plain weird
Ryan J. Douglas in reply to Miri’s comment, 3 months ago
to tell you the absolute truth i’ve never tried one so your guess is as good as mine :)