doggerel

holy mackerel smacking lips over cannibal
cravings of lady hands and toes
sandwiches? what the hell are those?
felt a bit of a breeze, the whole planet's blowing
me but i don't kiss and tell. wish me well,
i'm shopping out a tell all missive
that'll ring in pennies for the wishing well
more than sister helen, i smack dunces with the yardstick
i mean a three foot ruler, not a metaphor for hard dick
i've never been that egotistical
and that's what makes me so fucking awesome and downright mystical
speaking of measure i lost the meter a day ago
and seem to catch it at all. wait, no
i think i. fuck. fuck.

honestly, i don't know what passes for terrible
so much floats by on irony
put whatever on the page
and get fellated as if i were byron
i'm a product of environment -- coffee shops and bars
liquor and sticks of biscotti, licorice whips and sharts
um. shots. no skids, i drive right
never mind the spinout i wrote about around the ninth
alright, alright, no end in sight
of this insightful blind folly
of the darkest enlightenment
the harshest invite into
the mind of a steel bear
whose trap isn't biting
unless that thing about finger foods got you
in which case, get on my plate
i said i'd take you for dinner, didn't mean a date

oh god, this is awful
mush rushed, stream of conscience
muddied by drugs stuck in the tapwater