Goin Totalled

honk if u want me to bak into u
smash this trash n take my bangaroo
alwz sumthin, we’ll be missin everywer we turn.

knowin wer yr from’s just a fite u can’t see,
look wer yr goin is so this century,
most ppl luv cuz they fear gettin disinterred.

leave ur hands to luv ur hands
find yr face up in the stands
former/future lives r future forming lies
all yr wins r also-rans

i can’t recall the make
that led me to this crash
but if i can free my head
i’m swappin that heap for a lack a cash.

all summer, girl, we’ll be lost out west,
cruisin round in our tortuga nest
nothin on but the flag of crepuscula

maybe we’ll spot a wolf on the lam
take him out to a property slam
n he can howl til the ranchers go belly up

The Glow Around

u used to luv my teens.
u used to luv my butter-fried beans.
u used to look for me
wen i got lost in the ravine
of our…

sit there
like u’ll fit there
once u get there
so u can quit there
like i’m yr armchair
n u won’t split it
til i admit it
but it’s all a front
for being good at putting
up a front that’s a front
for not putting up a front
but of course
if u wanna change
someone u gotta buy em
for more than thr worth
then sit around waiting
for them to give u the change.

o, my dolly llama, won’t u keep it comin,
like we mite be broke but u alws luvd slummin,
but if u wana quit yr job as a frame for a bruise,
then i’ll drop my non-gig as sumthin no one can use,
n we’ll go runnin for the hills like a river trippin out
n if the drags come by we’ll fuckin lock the fuckers out
as we pull ourselves up by wut brot us down
makin luv like it wuz before the go-around.

luv may be born of lies
but it’s true becuz our lives
refuse to go our way
til our luv’s more than we say.

remember wen we wur fallin
u called to me n u took me all in,
n we staged our demonstration
agenst the rest.

if we can luv, all can luv.
if we can luv, all can luv.
so as u wait for me in bed,
glow, for every nite we shall be wed.

Snugger Bush

she sed her mother wuz a photo bomb
on wer the water used to run.

her pussy quivered like a roll of sod
just waitin on a greener thumb.

we bilt our snugger in the old rose bush
n the thorns chewed us all to shit.

u’ll taste our blood if u go suckin much
on the ‘cicles that the hot months spit.

Elevate the Lap

someone did sumthin t’u or sorta like u
now u all futw too
n i don’t noe wut jesus dahmer wd do
b’y jump the fence to have yr run of the zoo?

mayb’u don’t ‘member wer yr velveteen’s at;
try lookin neath yr touchy shit for shat.
then take the gracious to the water gap
wer we be singin “elevate the lap.”

there is no bathroom in hate
there is no manly in rape
there is no backwards in ass
there is no godly in wrath

ain’t nuthin real in the bounce house social
cept the posh chuckin mob at the gauchal
so get out wile ya still got yr we shawl
n come covey in the cis-interspecial
all the mamas got the plums that r plumbtious,
n the daddies packin umbles that replush us
if havin all is yr thrall it’s enuf just
to sit n breathe free of seethe in the lush must.

i cd not roam
(sumthins movin in yr gun)
death had been sewn
(from yrself u better run)
over my home
so i grabd the first freaky funky man i found
n i cried, o brother, plz help me shout…

elevate the lap
til the broken clap
to the sad in rap
til our teeth r flat
to a greener map

O o o
keep it slow
yes or no?
here we go

Wut Wd I Not Do?

wut wd i not give
to eat all the yung,
to lik the nubile fruit
with my evil tung,
wud wd i not give
to beat myself alive?

i can’t close my mouth,
everything’s vanilla,
el dorado shiggers
out her pink chinchilla,
wut wd i not give
to pupe another hive?

she’s like a river
no one’s ever ran.
i’m a chinese cowboy
luvn all i dam.
i’d luv to dream of u
but u won’t let me sleep.
i hate to bunraku
wen i cd spirochete.
wut wd i not do?

wut wd i not give
to pump on the pure,
to scrub the sweet pristine
genst my dirty fur,
wud wd i not give
to hear my baby cry?

i can’t stop the salmon
spawnin in my soul,
silk n money dribl
out her hushy hole,
wud wd i not give
to suck that ruddy fry?

she’s like a proverb
no one’s ever sed,
i’m the rhizome jesus,
buried in my hed,
i’d luv to pay for u
but u won’t let me count,
i hate to kinkajou
wen i can catamount,
wut wd i not do?

wut wd i not give
to nook on pshaw,
to root for yr curd
with my clumzy paw,
wut wd i not give
to fuk myself at five?

i can’t lak the longin
to blame with my bliss,
i grope at the mirror
but i run from a kiss,
wut wd i not give
to blow this paradise?

she’s like a statue
no one’s ever carved,
i’m a handless sculptor
proud cuz i starv,
i’d luv to fite for u
but u cut off my hands,
i hate to cpu
wen i can lollygags,
wut wd i not do?

she’s like a munky
no one’s ever found,
i’m a manchu trapper
on her mating ground,
i’d luv to let u go
but u don’t want me to,
y merely incommode
wen u can .22?
wut wd i not do?

The Sex Party Got Cancelled For Untold Reasons

can’t find my man today
guess it’s a holiday
maybe he’s in the pound
maybe he’s gettin crowned
it’s like u say

all he duz lately
is bitch about the big o’ tree.

i’m dreamin of a lover
who puts it in another way
n fills me forever
with nothin i cd ever name

mr. color
mr. demanding
mr. number
mr. unmanning

u can’t have me
til u blow away

Ravishing

shall we sleep on the roof tonite,
make our luv from a distant lite,
til we feel it’s ravishing to be old.

i met u wen u wur one,
n i wuz too, but i liked em yung,
but i’s a fool, cuz yr mor ravishing now yr old.

O the rain will cum
n tell us wen we’re dun,
but for now the sun
is handing out free gum.
let’s go get us sum.

creeps r watching us
cups-n-balls our genes,
from the underbrush
they moan in harmony,
we’re thr go-between
to deth’s cupidity.

in my body
they will bury u,
they’ll cremate me
with yr zippo,
we’ll go floating
into thr root beer,
then they’ll piss us
into a souvenir.

til then we gona give em our kid show,
Bundles n the Burrowing Birthstone,
smear the nite sky starrier than van gogh,
more unshy than can fit thru an eyehole,
a wetter mix never squisht up the boreal, a better
dish petri than the tropical, makin tryst
with the mist of the euphorial goin
dbl down the slide into the slush of the cryptical.

if they call the cops,
we’ll fly to a cooler flock
in nuthin but our socks
cuz wen yr old yr non-stop hot.

youth will never noe
the grass over the hill
wer we daily go
to roll in daffodils
with all our special skills
for fleshin out big thrills.

tho we run on the gland that time forgot
we’re still officially uncontrolled.
tho we forget our manners a lot,
we can laff away the scold.
tho we look like last year’s tater tots,
we’re so ravishing to behold.

Up Turner Peak

ambles down, a one-woman crowd, to the timberline
every mid-day she the hawks call feathers,
in her mouth, just a-playin house, an ancient dragonfly
sings with his wings the secret to bellwethers.
ther she waits, at an easy pace, for the mystified
with current compensable endeavors
to rub the luv from her jaunts abuv in thr burnin thighs
til they feel thr pains repaid in heather.

come n melt into my face
n i will take u to a place

wer the wind is like a child
reachin out for u
wer the ripple in the grass
runs yr troubles thru
wer nuthin’s ever changed
yet it’s all so new

it is here that u wur born
in the calm inside the swarm

u can feed on the need that u cast away
or u can go to her today

into my arms
run the rattled wrappt in scissors
none come to harm
for we conflue as do two rivers

she’s been round since clouds cd cry
yet with every death she dies

u can pray in her shade as u pass away
or u can go to her today

plz come for me
plz come for me

free shall u roam
sumthin tells me yr the one
up to her home
come n fill me with the sun

Don’t Take My Luv

evryone luvd
the incredible fume ox
which wuzn’t really
an ox at all;
it wuz a mucific gallery space
werin sticky brown particulate matter
was swabbed into
the master gland
of the by then extinct
unpedigreed primordial nuisance
to enculturate a
highly charming,
if overplotted,
strain of this talkative
rare slash everywhere
bucolic death rattle.

get in early n we’ll sell u
this obscure orifice, securely.

power to the people
from the sperm of the keno eagle.

don’t talk to history.
she failed anarchy.

holding yr own hand
n at least stylistically believing
u were still gripping tight
to the part of u that had been
downpaid wen u leased yr first
grope with the pollenating insect mascot
had long since replaced dry humping
yr auto-generated best actor award
to the popular tune of

“O, cum on, my kiddies,
n butt them heads
til yr eyes shoot movies
into the fissipeds
n they kawasaki
with ya, kiddies,
down the littershed.”

deth row
don’t know
like escargot
the pain inside
my pianissimo.

it was de rigeuer
to give blood to the aperture
of the all-discompassing miniature
whose piratical medium
wuz a critical drip extravagance.

and in the middle of the road
and there wuz only one road
n it wuz calld this ain’t the middle of the road
there wuz a road
that everybody rode
toward that unreachable road
in the middle of the road.

wer, running out of friable air,
u set off yr final banksy flair,
n tho i smoked my face to cut the glare,
yr mis-spellt yelp
scented yr delf to my elk
n so another boorish beginning
ended in a boor’s unpenning,

as yr lost soul led me
to a break wence i cd see
none of this has to be.

s’obambulated by the undescried,
too interjambed to ever collide,
our bodies won’t be identified
til mimesis rise demystified
by the little collapse that lurks in the smutch
that nobody noes cuz it noes too much
save those who fly a deposed aliferous rush
to the overgrown handiwork at the dawn of touch
that tenders us porous, the air our bed,
our dreams a dash thru the overhead,
n the more we metaplast the ostent unforesaid
closer lobes our luv to trilling reeds relinquished.

be the vast includer,
free of the master user,
feel all yr thrills abrood her,
she who fulfills who loose her.

so shall we lay amidst the leaves
that are the tears of chattelled trees
til sighs seize us
cuz the breeze believes us

n rising free to raise the built
off our siblings in the silt
our every move
is an underling in luv.

wer’d the baby mooses go?
who gave the supermodel who ate the rockstar idaho?
wut duz la intimidada noe that we won’t noe?
will the feminization of the male gaze merely surrealize the bordello?
y won’t the god-damnd monarchs mate on solidago?
is that disjunct btwn tonality and attitude something you’ll outgrow?
is this song more maudlin than yellow?
will the desert be saved from destinesia if i hug a saguaro?
how soon til it’s bad to swallow?
who told u it wuz ok to play ball in that meadow?
do we really need two words for ego and echo?
wen will shit stop snowing?

how i luv to spoon,
especially wen we’re fallin,
into yr coo cocoon
til ya let my server crawl in,
“mommy, may i plant my spinach in yr oily ribs?” (in Arabic)

O drear bored, u deserve this
cuz u preserve us
as a disservice
to the nervous
succulent.

gonna unsour
i’m gonna unsour my heart today
gonna pass out
gonna pass out sum stars today
we got a wile to take too long
let’s down a litl smile n sing a sloppy song
bout the time we’d like to see
bein wut will never be
n how that sets us fuckin free,
cuz i’m sick a itchn to get rich off bitchin.

i wanna regift my mother her only child
run the water on rage
that i gathered in tinajas of reconciled,
for wut the world needs now
is for us to need the world
like the be needs the guiled
to re the wild.

it is imperative
to the natural narrative
that we understand
how our firebrand
converts in envy
the joys of generosity
to that torching ochlocrat:
where’s my habit at?

don’t take my luv.