Wednesday, September 30, 2009


I feel like a chicken, desperate to fly,
Furiously flapping wings while waiting
To feel the kiss of the air under my
Feet. I spend every second hating
The trap that is what I am, and the form
That keeps me forever tethered to dirt
And rock and grass, unable to transform
Into the beautiful creatures that flirt
With the clouds overhead. So I'll just crane
My neck and cast my eyes up to the sky
To watch your brilliant colors entertain
The sun, so far away from me, so high.
     I know what I am. I know how I seem.
     Just know that I fly with you when I dream.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Revolt of the Plastic People

The plastic people are in revolt. They're
Fed up with your sanctimonious shit.
Now they're pulling back their fabulous hair
And marching in their platform boots to get
Back at every single normal fuck
That maligns and mocks the great glitter urge
And the disco drive. They will run amok!
Fake-nail fingers squeezing triggers to purge
The streets of all the false sincerity
Authentic brands will burn up in the rage.
Plastic peoples' purpose has clarity
And there's just one way to stop their rampage:
     Even though they're plastic, their hearts still feel,
     They'll stop in awe and bow before the real.

Monday, September 21, 2009

The Hanging Dagger

The ornate dagger hangs in the great hall
And over the years it has been witness
To beauty and wonders both large and small--
The humor of the jesters, the fitness
Of the acrobats, the power of the
Royalty that gather these things to them.
Countless gazes have been fixed when they see
The dagger's splendor, hypnotized by stem
And blade, the life's work of its creator.
On its plaque, the dagger has one question
In a tongue for which there's no translator:
"So I, the most beautiful possession,
     Will never know what it feels like to cut
     Or pierce or slice, so I exist for what?"

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Becoming We

I want to mature in your aperture
Like light landing lovingly on your eye
Becoming, in your mind, a sight so pure
The whole world fades away in one deep sigh.
Then all that there will be is you and me
Exchanging energy, inventing our
Private paradise for pleasuring the
Mind and body, heart and soul. We devour
The sweet sunlight reflecting on our skin
And sleep when we are sated, holding on
To each other until we wake up in
Reality again, to smile and yawn.
     I will learn your smile like a holy song
     Sung in each other's arms, where we belong.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Franco Don't Surf

On my return, they'll throw a grand parade,
A celebration of my victories
Like the triumphs of old Rome. My crusade
Of purity will excise the disease
That has for too long eater at our core.
To save my people, I must make them bleed.
Oh, I will do things that they will abhor,
But they will know that it is what they need
And after each campaign I can be sure
That I'll return to another parade
From my subjects, so frightened yet so pure.
I won't care that it's become a charade
     For my hears is small, and my sins are vast
     And when I die, they will all say "At last."