a thing of Hollywood

 

i stopped wearing

deodorant.

stopped

shaving my pits,

my crotch,

my legs.

hoping to fall

on brad pitt`s lap.

a free

& unconventional

thing

of macabre

beauty.

1 Poem – 21Diabla

Posted: January 30, 2020 in Musing, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tags:

dizzying in her daylight

 

the girlfriend left me ’round noon
packed her tampons, her Sex Pistols
and her Jimmy Choos ’cause she couldn’t choose between
me & her narcissistic cat;

I was glad she was gone      got tired of her hairballs

on to week 2 of being single and sexless in a city
populated by pussies & strays;
can’t hold a steady job
but I’m workin’ at a truck stop
binging on porn mags & 5¢ bubble gum
my subscription to YouTube is gettin’ ready to expire

met this lot lizard named something something
she said I was better than the scum prowling for prowl
said she wanted to become a nun
and start a coalition of ‘nuns with benefits’
for the priests the pope and the bishops
but she shunned on the idea when she realized
that she probably couldn’t wear lipstick

said she was a woman
who didn’t like working hard for her money
said that Donna Summer could kiss her ass
and wondered if she was still alive?

I thought the lizard lived in a trailer park
but she just wanted to swing by
and listen to the Gibbs with the squatters; she thought
Travolta was a Bee Gee & the dance floor an alien ship

she was such a fucking ditz, I was missing my ex
and her head trips

but she spun me dizzy, stuck a joint in my mouth
while she chewed birth control pills and spilled
every detail of her life on my lap – I had to tap out at 10
lights out at 12 but she started cleaning my house;
she was a trainwreck in a beehive hairdo
and I wondered if she was a product of a B52;
a love child from the love shack?

then we had sex, rug burn across the kitchen floor
her cunt felt like a good catch on a sunny day …

subscription renewed


Postscript

It was Marty McBride. However, this was no ordinary Marty. This was non-representational, abstract Marty and he began with his expressionism. He turned blue and, as Yves Klein, dove upon Akimbo. Akimbo, flustered, admired the monochrome; he was a fan of Klein.

Pity he died so young!” Akimbo yelled as he dropped the ax. Akimbo threw the blue imitation Klein-creature off. Marty as Klein and blue was getting his chance. He’d stop the big murderous opinionated poseur bastard Akimbo. He’d do it to save the combination color scheme challenged and color-blind in the Culvert of Altaloona. No longer would Akimbo and his compatriots those minions of the Artistic Standards Board wreak havoc on artistic invention. Let freedom ring!

Creature Marty Klein morphed. Marty remained determined to stop Akimbo but now he wore a Jimi Hendrix face. What’s more, from somewhere, somehow, he’d acquired a large potato and was using it as his body. He was propelling this potato body with uncooked spaghetti stick legs stuck into manzanilla pimiento stuffed “feet.” Indeed, this Marty potato spaghetti leg olive foot creature wore a golden silver dollar pancake head. Emblazoned and mugging upon one side of this golden pancake was the animated likeness of Jimi Hendrix!

Akimbo, seeing Jimi Hendrix’ pancake head, clutched his chest. He tried to grab the frisky potato and came away with potato Marty’s Hendrix pancake head! Immediately, Akimbo stuffed Marty’s Hendrix head into his mouth and swallowed. Marty was trapped. His head was gone. He was a potato with hard Durham egg spaghetti legs and green red pimiento stuffed olive feet. Cooked he’d be a tasty. But raw he was nothing. Headlessness made matters worse.


because queens

 

i blamed myself

for your indiscretions for the longest time,

but i came to realize i was not

responsible

for your betrayal;

you were a devil pretending to be a saint—

just another snake

trying to steal away another eden,

but i am the queen here;

so i exiled you from the garden

and i am not sorry—

my entire life i have heard of adam and eve,

how it’s not adam and steve but perhaps

there’s something beyond your comprehension;

maybe it was lilith & eve because queens

tend to be stronger without kings

demanding their heads.

1 Poem – 21Diabla

Posted: January 20, 2020 in Musing, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
Tags:

a momentary re`lapse of poetic insanity


I don’t ask for much
just a casual walk on these padded streets
in search of that
Great American Poem
at the bottom of a gutter
saturated with trash
that at one time used to be
someone else’s treasure
til they got evicted from their lives

you want to hold hands, you say
you said your palms
feel empty of weight and sweat
with those lifelines
posing like ulterior roads, and your soul
gridlocked on its highway –
I tell her to stop hitchhiking

I think my brain
is suffering from a 3rd degree burn
the lake looks unsavory
pleasant though as I contemplate suicide
with a drowning duck
but I’m too busy reading She Poems
wondering if I would find true love
at the end of a burning kitchen?

she wants to go home, and I don’t
care to walk her back – she gets up
from the bench and flips me the birdie
and I spit sunflower seeds at her hair
wondering if the sun will ever forgive me
for growing a garden on her head?

I feel an anxiety attack building
at the intersection of my conscience and poetry
because the pigeons have come by
for their tweakly visit
and just for a moment I actually contemplate on
tossing ’em crumbs of crystal rock
instead of my week old bread
because I, too, tend to forget that I’m starving

I mean, flying around the city
and splatting pigeon shit all over the place
isn’t exactly
creating masterpieces of art
worthy of someone’s hard earned bread
you still have to clean that crap up, and
I don’t see pigeons tossing me a crumb
for the effort

I starve the pigeons, take my bread home
and make me a bologna sandwich


I may have a unique perspective. Maybe not, but it’s an idea. The idea is that we are it. More precisely, I am. But you are too.  All of you. You’re it. When you go it’s gone. It was all in your head. You were right. It ended with you and now you’re on to something else. See how easy it all was?

 

Don’t believe me? Nothing is real. There is no settled science. History is an agreed upon lie. Much is false, sometimes all. True is a relative term. Real truth is always looking to be falsified. Consensus changes, the temporary nature of what is considered true, or known, should not. This sets us up nicely for life in the next world.

“True And You” by Randall Rogers  Copyright © 2019.

1 Poem – 21Diabla

Posted: January 16, 2020 in Musing, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tags:

I don`t

want to hear

excuses

about why

you forgot

my roses, how you

missed

that last exit

to placebo`ville

or how your hand

accidentally rode up

your therapists skirt

I just

want to

mesh my mouth

against yours, and hit

rock bottom

with your teeth