It's better to be a turkey today,
than yesterday.
These are the thoughts,
running randomly through my head,
as I snap on the rubber gloves,
preparing to go deep,
got a sixty-nine pound-er this year at Costco,
perfect holy cavity cathedral of god,
it's too bad, we don't get to see the o-face,
this birds gonna love this Crisco slinging'
swashbucklin', leather strappin' bronco of gay man.
This year, I had a different plan.
Out with the bread crumbs, the pastry flakes,
the carrots, the mushrooms, the olives,
the celery stalks, the I shouldn't have paired
the cranberries with pine nuts and squash surprise,
the,
Oh SNAP!
Dyno-mite, baby- is GLUTEN-FREE!
This will be the practical, penultimate, poignant moment,
of instant perfection, the oh-my-god,
of turkey day pent-up temper-tantrics.
This is my ode,
to a bird that refuses to masticate and moisturize,
requiring a dearth of chemicals, fats,
cologne, and pretty dresses to at least
get it to prom night,
before basting the hell out of it,
promising, promising,
heaven is only a few hours away,
just save those drippings honey,
cause you're gonna need them,
when you get to those pearly porcelain white platter,
splattering on the smock gates,
you think Peter likes his Turkey dry?
he too serves his guests with a wham-bam-thank-you-mam,
brown, crispy, and rosemary babi-fied slam
while choking the beast,
in it's own butter,
keep it moist,
cackles the screaming,
pornographic crazy driven devil of a man,
that is NOT going to be me.
Not me this year, not me.
Not taking part in that fetish-filled festivity of flesh.
Nothings gonna be crazy about this idea.
Today, the bird of all birds, the divine mother of feathers,
finds glory, hallelujah,
in a resounding chorus of YES!
this is the A-men, to end your Gloria's, your Excelsious Deo's,
your Hit-This-Baby-One-More-Time with your Jiggling-Cocoa-Puffs-Get-Me-To-The-Church-On-Time-Pop-Over's!
Today, I take back the table for my own!
Today, I cry,
This is the salt of my earth,
This is the rise of my bread,
This is the day I ripens my peach blossoming panty preserves,
This is the day.
I will not go quietly into this night,
I will not surrender these oven mitts without a fight,
I will not...
now it says here to tie the strings in a criss-cross pattern,
so the legs are perpendicular pointing to the ceiling, begin,
by rolling the turkey over, and placing him gently on his back...
who wrote this shit,
f- this, six hour love-fest,
I got a buck-o-five of freedom
that says, this one's gonna be a quickie,
now where did I put that gallon sized potato gun,
it's time to Katy Perry this bird into the sky.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
11-27 Curl Into Me
curl into me sweetie,
the night is cold,
we tried,
but it's you and I,
it seems,
tonight,
best gift ever,
damn your frat,
cupcakin' sweet-ass soul,
does everything in my life have to
smell like,
sigh,
both of us are,
pillow lovers, cuddlers,
furry, long-time into the night,
candle readin', belly rubbers,
what a pair,
luv- ya,
curl into me.
the night is cold,
we tried,
but it's you and I,
it seems,
tonight,
best gift ever,
damn your frat,
cupcakin' sweet-ass soul,
does everything in my life have to
smell like,
sigh,
both of us are,
pillow lovers, cuddlers,
furry, long-time into the night,
candle readin', belly rubbers,
what a pair,
luv- ya,
curl into me.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
11-26 Bird's Nest
Bird's nest,
sparrows fly,
sing.
feather, straw,
smoke, and hair,
bird's nest,
sparrows fly,
sing.
out of the chimney,
into the night,
away from the light,
hidden in sight,
feather, straw,
smoke, and hair,
bird's nest,
sparrow's fly,
sing.
take these wings,
fragile things,
out of the chimney,
into the night,
away from the light,
hidden in sight,
feather, straw,
smoke, and hair,
bird's nest,
sparrow's fly,
you and I.
Sing.
sparrows fly,
sing.
feather, straw,
smoke, and hair,
bird's nest,
sparrows fly,
sing.
out of the chimney,
into the night,
away from the light,
hidden in sight,
feather, straw,
smoke, and hair,
bird's nest,
sparrow's fly,
sing.
take these wings,
fragile things,
out of the chimney,
into the night,
away from the light,
hidden in sight,
feather, straw,
smoke, and hair,
bird's nest,
sparrow's fly,
you and I.
Sing.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
11-25 A Wenzlless Thanksgiving (a funeral dirge)
It was the night before midnight,
when from under my bed,
I heard a plunky rustling,
as if something had woken the dead.
I looked for my Tater,
who should be all snuggled and snore,
but all I could find,
was a slobbery receipt,
from the nearby hemp-it-up music store.
The plunky turned funky,
at first with a laugh,
then a whiffling waffle,
like old men passing stale gas.
Horrified but intrigued,
I hid in my sheets,
fetal-ed into a ball,
cursing my unwashed flip-flopped cold feet.
The wheezing and whining got louder and brass,
and as crass as this sounds,
it was either face that, or my garlic-pizza eating...
So I poked my head out, who's there?
whimpering a try of a shout,
but only the moon, bloated, and bleary,
cast me a wild eye of indignant, incredulous, doubt.
Tater, I clucked, quietly to myself,
Tater... listening for the clink,
of her collar and tags,
but only the wind,
scratched and schreeched, out-of-sync,
a croak, caught in my throat,
I fell silent, insert a joke here about wanting a goat,
cause I have and it rhymes, with throat and with float, but,
The silence was brief, about a waist thirty two,
seconds, then blaring, a fog-raging barge from out of the blue-
there rose a great beast,
one, or perhaps, two,
bulges were bouncing, blasting their booms,
but my eyes and my brain couldn't, didn't want to in general assume,
So I yawned, closed my eyes, and said screw-all, gave up,
when the beast snorted, a familiar sort of sea-lion,
plush, toasted, and fried, gentle up-chuck-
Get Up!
Tater! I cried flipping on the light,
immediately the words, oh-so-not-right,
fright, sight, oh-my-god, why, shite,
came to my fragile, muddled, midnight-mash
of a mind,
Tied to her back and floating in the air,
were bevy of squeak-inducing balloons,
pinks, reds, yellows, and blues,
small dogs, large dogs, one zebra, and a prancing moose.
But that I could handle, sort of,
my dog is unique,
but it was the bagpipes she clutched,
that turned my knees weak.
Licking her chops, as if spying a bird,
she raised one of her eyebrows, and started playing a dirge.
I cringed, and clawed my way further under the sheets
watching the show, not knowing what to think.
She paraded around the room, with a definitive air,
Turkey in the Straw, some Bach, and I thought I heard,
some off-color Santa Claus tune,
that had her dancing and jiggling,
in a zoo-ish strip-tease parade of balloons.
I blushed, when she stopped,
and proceed to point,
to the ceiling,
wagging her tail,
glorious saliva, dripping, grinning,
looking up slowly,
unsure what I would see,
she had taken her dog food,
and written,
I love you, (sometimes)
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
when from under my bed,
I heard a plunky rustling,
as if something had woken the dead.
I looked for my Tater,
who should be all snuggled and snore,
but all I could find,
was a slobbery receipt,
from the nearby hemp-it-up music store.
The plunky turned funky,
at first with a laugh,
then a whiffling waffle,
like old men passing stale gas.
Horrified but intrigued,
I hid in my sheets,
fetal-ed into a ball,
cursing my unwashed flip-flopped cold feet.
The wheezing and whining got louder and brass,
and as crass as this sounds,
it was either face that, or my garlic-pizza eating...
So I poked my head out, who's there?
whimpering a try of a shout,
but only the moon, bloated, and bleary,
cast me a wild eye of indignant, incredulous, doubt.
Tater, I clucked, quietly to myself,
Tater... listening for the clink,
of her collar and tags,
but only the wind,
scratched and schreeched, out-of-sync,
a croak, caught in my throat,
I fell silent, insert a joke here about wanting a goat,
cause I have and it rhymes, with throat and with float, but,
The silence was brief, about a waist thirty two,
seconds, then blaring, a fog-raging barge from out of the blue-
there rose a great beast,
one, or perhaps, two,
bulges were bouncing, blasting their booms,
but my eyes and my brain couldn't, didn't want to in general assume,
So I yawned, closed my eyes, and said screw-all, gave up,
when the beast snorted, a familiar sort of sea-lion,
plush, toasted, and fried, gentle up-chuck-
Get Up!
Tater! I cried flipping on the light,
immediately the words, oh-so-not-right,
fright, sight, oh-my-god, why, shite,
came to my fragile, muddled, midnight-mash
of a mind,
Tied to her back and floating in the air,
were bevy of squeak-inducing balloons,
pinks, reds, yellows, and blues,
small dogs, large dogs, one zebra, and a prancing moose.
But that I could handle, sort of,
my dog is unique,
but it was the bagpipes she clutched,
that turned my knees weak.
Licking her chops, as if spying a bird,
she raised one of her eyebrows, and started playing a dirge.
I cringed, and clawed my way further under the sheets
watching the show, not knowing what to think.
She paraded around the room, with a definitive air,
Turkey in the Straw, some Bach, and I thought I heard,
some off-color Santa Claus tune,
that had her dancing and jiggling,
in a zoo-ish strip-tease parade of balloons.
I blushed, when she stopped,
and proceed to point,
to the ceiling,
wagging her tail,
glorious saliva, dripping, grinning,
looking up slowly,
unsure what I would see,
she had taken her dog food,
and written,
I love you, (sometimes)
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
Monday, November 25, 2013
11-24 Pub Crawl
If I should rise, and you should fall...
I have to remind myself,
these are boys,
singing a men's hymn,
when I watch their shadows,
form shoulders and shapes familiar,
on the wall, practicing,
to be men singing-
was this tune meant for
such clean-shaven fools as us?
or have we become too serious,
in our attempts to stand in the pub?
when did the song wear a silver tie,
without a slur in the words,
to spill on the counter?
I am not ready to be old.
I am not ready.
I have to remind myself,
these are boys,
singing a men's hymn,
when I watch their shadows,
form shoulders and shapes familiar,
on the wall, practicing,
to be men singing-
was this tune meant for
such clean-shaven fools as us?
or have we become too serious,
in our attempts to stand in the pub?
when did the song wear a silver tie,
without a slur in the words,
to spill on the counter?
I am not ready to be old.
I am not ready.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
11-23 Off The Printed Page
Snow.
When I asked for you to fall,
you brought me blue skies,
clear as day, filled with an over
abundance of,
Sunshine.
When I welcomed you in,
you brought me a storm,
a weather of hurricanes,
as rage and intensity,
scared I hid,
in a den with a
Behr.
when I woke up next to you,
and roared frightened,
you roared frightened too,
neither of us prepared,
neither of us knowing what to do,
and so I left,
when Autumn came,
whispering to me of Winter,
and
Song.
but I stumbled in the sudden,
blinding sunshine bright, snowstorm,
that roared in my ears, outside in the woods,
so brambled, I
turned around to see who dared to follow,
but there were only my footprints,
in the Autumn leaves.
I was alone. Again.
but I haven't forgotten you.
I know you read these words,
I haven't forgotten you.
This is about you too.
Valentine.
when I asked you brought me dance and candlelight,
and you
Adorable.
before I could ask you brought me dance and candlelight,
and
You.
for a brief moment of yesterday, You shall remain unnamed,
but on the keys, so lightly playing, I thought I heard You,
lightly playing a song of dance and candlelight,
You.
but, as they say, ever popular, ever wise,
Winter is coming, and I am looking for Song,
off the printed page...
and I must go,
where the snow falls for me,
the sunshine warms me,
the behr's hold me,
but you, until that winter day comes,
keep lightly playing,
a song of dance and candlelight,
while I wait for the snow to fall,
somewhere, softly,
in my heart, a prayer for Song.
When I asked for you to fall,
you brought me blue skies,
clear as day, filled with an over
abundance of,
Sunshine.
When I welcomed you in,
you brought me a storm,
a weather of hurricanes,
as rage and intensity,
scared I hid,
in a den with a
Behr.
when I woke up next to you,
and roared frightened,
you roared frightened too,
neither of us prepared,
neither of us knowing what to do,
and so I left,
when Autumn came,
whispering to me of Winter,
and
Song.
but I stumbled in the sudden,
blinding sunshine bright, snowstorm,
that roared in my ears, outside in the woods,
so brambled, I
turned around to see who dared to follow,
but there were only my footprints,
in the Autumn leaves.
I was alone. Again.
but I haven't forgotten you.
I know you read these words,
I haven't forgotten you.
This is about you too.
Valentine.
when I asked you brought me dance and candlelight,
and you
Adorable.
before I could ask you brought me dance and candlelight,
and
You.
for a brief moment of yesterday, You shall remain unnamed,
but on the keys, so lightly playing, I thought I heard You,
lightly playing a song of dance and candlelight,
You.
but, as they say, ever popular, ever wise,
Winter is coming, and I am looking for Song,
off the printed page...
and I must go,
where the snow falls for me,
the sunshine warms me,
the behr's hold me,
but you, until that winter day comes,
keep lightly playing,
a song of dance and candlelight,
while I wait for the snow to fall,
somewhere, softly,
in my heart, a prayer for Song.
11-22 The Day I Tried To
wake up,
but instead watched the spiders crawl,
slowly across my ceiling,
spinning blue threads into gray,
into gold, into gray, into rose,
blooming all the while,
their nest, forming
and hatching,
tiny insecurities, thirsty
scratching, caught in their
mother's web, spinning into blue,
into gray, into gold, into rose,
sewing my eyes, thirsty,
spinning into blue,
into gray,
into gold,
into rose,
spinning.
but instead watched the spiders crawl,
slowly across my ceiling,
spinning blue threads into gray,
into gold, into gray, into rose,
blooming all the while,
their nest, forming
and hatching,
tiny insecurities, thirsty
scratching, caught in their
mother's web, spinning into blue,
into gray, into gold, into rose,
sewing my eyes, thirsty,
spinning into blue,
into gray,
into gold,
into rose,
spinning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)