Authority

I tried to be an author once.

I chain- smoked cigarettes and didn’t pay my gambling debts

I Nursed a drinking problem, watched it blossom by the bottle.

I wrote a bad novella in which everybody dies

I pretended not to care about award and praise and prize.

I cut back on exposition, wrote about a magic kitten.

But the bastards wouldn’t buy the book; they called it overwritten.

Now, in the red and all unread I have to earn to make the rent

There’s little that I’m trained to do… except teach writing tricks to you.

The Fuck

Who fucked it?
My generation?
Your generation?
The Who’s generation?
The ones who want salvation?
Who cares, really, who?
Michael Jackson & McDonald’s
And your goddamn stupid wedding
Fucked it.
Shit.
Every soul who didn’t stroll,
Got in a car or a plane instead of a train
FUCKED IT.
The barrista fucked it too,
Serving you.
Me and my booze fucked it.
Existentialist fucking analysts fucked it.
Fuck it.
I’m writing fuckalot.
Fuck that too.
FUCK ME
FUCK THEM
FUCK THE WHO
FUCK THE LIES
FUCK WHATS TRUE
FUCK LIFE
FUCK SUPERGLUE
No, really, we love superglue.
It binds shit together,
Just like it was new.
And sitcoms and sometimes
A trip to the zoo;
And movies and art,
That sometimes get through
To the part that thinks FUCK
And says “Hey, fuck you too.”

The Shit

Most that you write
It’s gonna be shit.
There’s a start & an end
& a SHITE! middle bit…
Most that you write
It’s gonna be shit.
But, that doesn’t mean
There won’t be a bit
Out of what you might write
That might just be THE SHIT!

Bad Meat Blues

Bad Meat Blues

Cheap meat chunks hurl down dark drains

Cramping on ceramic swearing never again

If it walks like a duck and if it smells like a fish

If it costs half a fuck magic bean dream wish

This is no bargain peppersteak dish

It’s the Bad Meat Blues

It’s the Bad Meat Blues

It’s the Bad Fuckin’ Meat Blues for who’s

Ever stupid enough to swallow the crap

That The Cat that launched a thousand plate raids

Loves a bad Chinese meal bin invade

Now can’t find the inclination to air a nose near

Full on tail flick feline disdain steer clear

Of the Bad Meat Blues

It’s the Bad Meat Blues

It’s the Bad Fuckin’ Meat Blues it brews

Nasty gastrointestinal drive-thru spews

Crusting to the innards of the bowl

So crawl & mince & bone & roll

Retch retch against the dying of the light

Bad Meat Blues uptight gut night

Ripe?

The symbols of majority fall behind
the changes in the nature of maturity.
So, securing a secured loan
is seen as a sign that you are grown,
In an age when letting is utterly logical.

Morning, all.

Wake up.
Resent waking up- check time to see if there’s any chance of sleeping a little more.
Get up. Get dressed. Put kettle on.
Talk to cat. Pet cat. Feed cat if necessary (cat always thinks it’s necessary).
Brush teeth.
Make tea.
Roll cigarette.
Drink tea. Smoke cigarette. Scan news without taking it in.
Feel terror. Horrible fucking awful tight chested panicky terror.
Sweat alcohol.
Go to the toilet. Wash hair.
Tell mirror that this is the absolute worst feeling lowest part of the week-
it can only get better from here.
Try to believe that.
Check eyes for bloodshottery.
Finish tea. Put kettle on again, if there’s time.
Take sandwich out of fridge or make a sandwich or fuck the damn sandwich.
Put coat on.
Turn radio on. Insert headphones.
Say goodbye.
Go.

Employee Blues Haiku

Micro manager-

Stop micro managing us.

Go do your own work.

My Cat Is In Heat

My cat is in heat.

MY! CAT! IS! IN! HEAT!

The whole place reeks and I haven’t a wink for weeks.

She’s not my furry friend right now; she’s just a seedy creep.

Oh Christ! Where’d she go this time?

Shagging my shoes probably, or screaming off the balcony.

Quick! Close that door- she’s headed for the laundry!

She won’t shut up! Is there any more wine?

Maybe we could make some sort of gag from a ball of twine?

Damn! She tried to wake me up by pissing on my head.

If I weren’t such a pussy, little Bastet would be dead.

My cat is in heat, but then it’s through no fault of hers.

If she were her she’d rather hop up here and have a purr.

When will this be over? Where the hell’s my pet?

Indoor cat or not, she’s going out to meet the V.E.T.

Delphinus

Did dolphins dream up origin myths

of fluid deities who proclaimed through

whistles, burst-pulsed sounds and clicks?

Did dolphins recite epic tales

of ancient heroes so severe

that, hearing, little whales might feel a little bit afraid?

Or, buoyed up by legend, did they ever get it wrong?

“Porpoise pogrom  ’43. Son, I hope you’ll never see

sight nor likes of that. Please god those days are gone.”

Did dolphins dream up origin myths

Vague enough, though much believed?

Don’t dolphins deal in Trojan Fish?

Revolting Peasant Blues

The peasants are revolting!

The bosses are corrupt!

My WiFi might be watching me!

By Jove! I think we’re F****d!