Obsessed Teen 'Zine

Waves
nauesious plaids
not the simple cute ones
the gaudy ass
make no sense plaids
that hurt someones eyes
melt their mind
and tear their souls
but what do I know about fashion
I am not Joan Rivers
or maybe I should be
lips all crazy
barely holding in those teeth
waiting to gallop away
with her daughter's teeth as well
back to the horses' that bred them
that is a horse back mission
that I would love to take

I may not know alot about fashion
but I know more about comedy than
Joan knows of style,
House that is,

Cindy Crawford in the House

Hinduism

Look on over here
closer
closer, closer, closer
not that close
I know the song is all about me
Five dollar bill
and
an overcoat too
uh huh!
Well then the people gather round
two step shuffle
three card monty
not me
I'll pass
this chance
and I know that myabe it won't be my last
chance

21st Century Proverb

Ok where is it that we really all go to?
Where?
Come on tell us ...
Fill us in,
come on man,
please,
please ... please ... please
Where do we go now?
Where?
Do we go?
Now?
Where do we go now?
Axel says the Jungle.

And that's alright by me.

retarded fairy tale

tobacco weaved curtains
of nicotine lace
and lungs so cluttered
left piqued was the face
wrinkles and etchings and ages of life
found mapped in the countenance
of long wanton whores
dance away from such
tyrants
dictators
and more
go now to the place
where succinct are the visions
coated in wonder
bathed long in lust
lay down your head in
honey reflections
where dream dancers dance
in the shadows of night

Zo

the buzzing never stops
it's like a military barber's
charade
pout and pucker such perfection
but buzz about it does
the bees to a bonnet
done smoothed
out and stream lined
give those lips a kiss
salute
stand tall
and do not smile
buzz buzz buzz
kiss kiss kiss
and a couple of
tra la la's
...

Ettiquette

rubber hand
and
granual soul
never a clock will make
never cast a line
spit casually
or piss in spite
into an oncoming wind

It makes for a poor impression at funerals of men who have nicer slacks.

addictions

Ok
never again
once more
again
and never to be
seen or heard
again, again, again
They stood, they spoke,
they said
never plant a plaintaff foot
before the food is fed
never to be seen or heard
again, again, again

never to be seen or heard
again, again, again

crew cut

Stand tall
thump your chest hard
harder as the
ribs crack and try to escape
the fracture of your
breath of depth
Shake your head as if
sweat drops were
on rides from a carnival of countenance
flying this way and that
know who you are
and push it hard
into all of you
and your reality
live it
but always know when to cry
as you roll up the things you hoist
cry,
then cry even harder

hello 24-7

Is it too fast for you?
Shall we slow it down?
Make it easy to see
much more clearly.
Able to listen without
metalic glisten
of angry angels
broken wings of
which the solder grinds.
To a halt of where it once could be
and only little men running around
in between their exotic dancing
all the while screming,
"You Can't Bring Me Down"
...
the glitter came in 50 gallon drums

Sometime far Away

Burlesque sideshows
twenty five and one dollar sir
and maybe the man
with the T.V. head
will talk to you
near Mann's Chinese
Maybe not
the lights will fade into
that soapy array of ashtray
strays of stop
and go
in merry go round
candy cane
barber shop splendor
directing it all
There is no more Audience Participation

note packed in my lunch

silver concrete
wet metal
men who cry
but can't
anger of one million men
in every one of them
and I only anticipate
my silence
my redemption
of times to come
of being able to
have a coffee
and laugh about
it all
and know
that all is good
and good is all right by me

Falcon's Frown

fleeting fury
found forlornely
fornicating fondly
for furious
fundamental fervor
from forboding
fermentations
of finitely fractured
facilitation
for fun
fun

Saxophone

wave that banner high
wide and proud
and yell
loud
louder than any Mother
giving birth
to children led
astray by
thoughts
of yesterday
and what once
could be
all wrapped slim
in what once was
simple enough to yell
louder than any
time that could
have inhaled that deep
descent
and done
exhale

Salutations

Smoke filled rooms
of splendor and sacrimonious
addiction
all are fine in there own rights
the girls so slim
sing their crooners demands
with such subtelty
only found in the soft horns
and pillow plumping drum beats
only the eye glazed wonders
of men who will leave alone know what
they mean
they feel like
as our worlds turn
and the rampant rejection of too many
form who we all are
and how we simply say
hello

Society

Create what can not be
tackle the world
sing high the notes you can not
only light a cigarette when you need to
cast all those who can not get it aside
unless what they have
is something good to say
hold tight your sisters
protect your brothers
then know in a flight to las vegas
you can change that
speak in french when it is trivial
do not speak when it is important
cry when it does not matter that you are crying
drink when it hurts
smoke when things are ok
twidle your thumbs when you are bored
instead of the other avocations
know that the beatles did do something
know that zappa did that and a little more
breathe
smile
and know that children WILL smile with you
speak japanese when you are serious
and when you don't want to be
dance to their music
never under estimate the force of a whisper
for they are whispering all around you
and they always will

Dance Party

It is funny how we all dance
to tunes no one hears
as if what we hear is different than what they hear
wrap me up in ribbons
and all sorts of colored wrap
dropped in a pool of colored prisms
make me smile
toss me aside
make me grimace
hit the high hat
and for once make me dance like everyone else
statues will smile
bobs and marys will
shutter at the thought
of finger snapping splendor
watch it work me
for I know no better
lock me up
and only take me out at parties
that make girls cry
'cause Johnny is not there
and I will wear my party mask proud
as I cut a rug
and light up the floor
with my egnimatic splendor
HOT CHA
toss away that key God damn you
toss it away

Dreams

Screaming in Japanese
are men who interrupt the ones in pleasure
screaming and cackling
in the act of lust
found with no rhyme or reason
but rather the sense of pride
in a hot wet sweaty
'screw found
in dandelion's breath
and without the
lilly's breast
yellow fear of white dancing splendor
wrapped in a candy wrapper of
never knowing
anyone's name
for they only offer the existance
they wish to persue

Lunch

Cigars lit
and burn
to the eyes
of those
who see light
and those
who do not
see only
the ash
that falls
so sad and a pity is found on those that wait the tables of our lives

Secrets

Speak to me in tongues
as if love was forever lost
never to be found
in the dusts of earth
never to be uncovered by
men in funny hats
by women who dig to make up
for the men who don't
the children dig deep
I am a Matador
swing it to and fro
I bring up from
the graves of both
Hemmingway and Gardner
dance in a tango
found to hold beat on a
cobblestone street
where children run across to door ways
and hit each other with sticks
where does that leave me
alone in a room
calous of existence
and all the rhymes it plays on life
and the life found between
the meter

Miracle

Toss me aside
in my undewear
left out on the street screaming
yelling at buildings that can not answer
tossing my anger at the clouds
not ever knowing if
letting me back in would ever be an option
And that is ok by me
pissing in the street
crapping in a can
farting for the warmth of my brethren
holding strong for all of those
who cry into
black pillows in the nights
that are blacker than any sack of feathers
holding strong for those who shun me
toss me aside into the depths
of rudimentary functions
all contained within existance past
I cry because
I do not have a black pillow
and no one holds
strong for me
except me
and the woman I hold tight at night against
pillows so white they would make a blind man see

Maxi Pad

Take it strand by strand
like sand or hair
caught between the fingers
of hot damn
and saliva runs thick
like syrup in the jaws of death
Why?
Why?
Why?
I ask that of grey haired pontiffs pontificating on reefs
found only out there by surf tamers rides
not knowing when the drums stop
harrassing the brain
beating their pulse into my cortex
telling me what is wrong or right
should I march to a different message
or let little strands of hair refract the light
letting me in on a secret only to be known
by men who walk away
and women who rub their shoulders
and let them both know that
all is ok
always

Group

Five billion fingers
looking for fun
and all the while the palm sits morose
under the shade of turkish bars
of candy cars
driving in circles in Italy's past
mmmmmm
one can only wonder why and where
the bum bum bum bum's
come into play
in their playful way
with candy coated
"it's ok" 's
all of those little fingers wiggle and waggle
about the frame of reference not
seen in certain circles
of men and women
caught up in back room
avocations of identity crisis
smiling as they leave the room
not knowing what the fingers will do next

Mourning Preperation

Brush your hair hard like mother would
while looking for biscuits with tea
fine bone china and silver the same
whincing while the tears bevel one's eyelid
will she ever stop to drink
maybe and
just maybe you can hold back the tears
but all is lost in five brush strokes
much like the painter
taking on canvass
not knowing where the brush will
lead him
into oblivion in a day of too much certainty
and mother laughs
as the tears flow
the brush drags
and all the while
a stroke is wished for in the most evil of ways
no brush needed there

Suffocation

Breathe deep
sigh
and inhale
one more time
for the boy
for the girl
who awaits the over reaching entanglements
nothing else in the air
razor cutting quiet
in
and
out
breathe
with sultry fervor
and lustfull heaving
hurt no one
but those
smelling the breath
of someone in the dark
breathing too hard to
breath yourself

Confessions Point

do not ask little boys questions as they weep from malnutritioned existance in a cage of emotionally wrapped fervor that can only escalate in the grips of ones own reality
damn them
damn them all to hell
and smile while you do so

McGruff

Cut your teeth
hard
with the facts
that sting one's eyes
do maracas really
shake shake shimmy
along the edge
like you once did
do city streets bother
you as much as you gripe
or do the grapes do that better for you
I guess they probably do
or don't
but we will never know
as you sit and cry
with chipped teeth
from taking a bite out of crime
was it worth it
I didn't think so

Confessions of a Redundant Man

Sycophant rumblings on the vibro phone
and women dance
to the beats of vibrant jiggling
as buzzes hum and
wiggles win all in the name of
SEXUALITY
dance bitch
dance you sexy bastard
let it all hang out
like Mr. Rogers in a world
where there is no video
but only reality
intertwined with the impulse
of music under the shadow
of a willow that has never weeped
for the man typing these pieces
with the visage of a lonely man
and the guise of one far less lonely

Beautifull Arches

waves so intense
they make Elephant ears
sway back and forth
moving blood
making chills run
up and down
the spines of little men
with spears
who know not
of the Pizzicato Five yet
I dance and cleopatra
doesn't know either
only I do
behind the curtains
of silken grace
hung to sheild me from
the ramblings of madmen in the alleys of my demise

masks courtesy of Fellini and Dali's child

take my hand
I'll take yours
and make it rough
so rough you'll cry out through the dip
the dance floor will pucker
it's parquet parlance
will falter beneath our footwork
the hem of your dress
winking at boy's envy
as my torn shredded shroud
skates behind
oh behind
so sweet and nice
with grins that break faces
snickers that chatter about
and make fault lines blush
the keys rapidly pounded
white and black
like sophisticated expression
of something that the sophisticates
will never know
except in the parlours
of lust's edge
thin and sharp in order to cut
but wide enough to dance upon
as the betrayed ploy and plot about
with whispers intended for no one's ears
and messengers knee high to nothing
carry them about
as baggage from curtained
study larks
singing in the night
to kings and queens
who sit there wondering who
the hell takes up their floor
and the night shimmies on
as if to say
"sexy mother fucker shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass, shakin' that ass"
the lark flies deep into the fields
the youthful mouths sewed shut
and the needles pressed to mouths of babes
makes the wardrobe sparkle more
God the ball was good
God the ball was good

growing up

I have gazed into the eyes of angels
Svengali love of a child
wanting candy
testing waters
wrong or right
wanting everything on their plate
not knowing when to stop
gluttony of existance's
boundaries
with peripheral
hula hoops
of the imagery and splendor
found in the child's
creative
world
one that can only find peace
at that age
that time
before we get too caught up in
do's and don'ts
before all the dr. l's
and all the dr p's
before progression
before judgement
when all we have
is the addiction to the
peptides
swaying in and out to
the moons beck and call
dressed in top hats and tails
white glove caresses
across the brow
laying one into a slumber
envied by lonely women
and men who sleep alone

where is the nut?

one word titles never tasted so good
so good the sugar makes you seize
minds travel back and forth across the pond
to gypsy rythems only seen not heard
and something is growing from your gut
what could it be unsure as it's head is seen
nothing
more
than
what
you
want
it
to
be
and boy this poem did suck
the jokes on you my friend

tuition

grab 'em by the balls
sweet miss
you tell 'em where to go
and maybe just maybe
they might
your dirty dress
does not make you smile
nor do thoughts of where you've been
nor do the buzzings
of queen bees
as she kills off the hive's
young men
with drool flung high
and spittle drops
to concrete pleasures
that never once were
inside your dirty dress
with flowers
grown up from dirt
to bloom in lustfull suns
with rain kissing tongues
of little boys with pocket change
and full of brass
and poignant revelry
about battlefields
and battleships
that never once will cross thier minds
as they pull up
down comforters inside
a reality not afforded
to their violations
good night

Lincoln

marble eye madmen
cast down their holy stares
from granite windows no one cares
to even glance at
papers blow down streets somewhere
far away out of the
stares
of the marble eyes
empty bottles clink in sorrow
in alleys where the paper blows
like metropolitan
tumble weeds in a wind of
prarie lack luster
that never will be again
they courtsey
and dosi do
to songs in the heads
the minds of men
stollen by the grape
and still their eyes
are not marble
but the madmen
toss down dimes
spit and laugh
not knowing who has won the dance
with cardboard dancers
in a night filled with stares

tunnel vision

oboes sound out
like battle cries bellows
from wounded men
who long for wives
never again to be touched
the smiles of blond
children looking up in awe
wishing that the things
they do not know of
never spread out their crimson
picnic blankets
to feast on humble pies
and pigs eyes
and the horns of
something no one
had ever seen before
battles smeared in grey
bathed in the wine
of prophets they never will be
as the fallen men cry
like terse sticatto
fading the oboes to bathe
in pools of picnic blankets
underneath the sun
that no one sees
above the battlefields

pie's for Jack

ten black birds
seizure in flight
above my head
in day
becoming night
convulse
and
gyrate
I know of luck
and
need none of theirs