AN UNTITLED SOMETHIN' OR OTHER ABOUT NOT WANTIN' TO

i don't wanna do this
i don't wanna do that
i don't wanna pay for insurance
i don't wanna drive a car
i don't wanna watch the news
i don't wanna wash the dishes
i don't wanna be a "target audience"
i don't wanna eat broccoli
i don't wanna supersize that
i don't wanna go to the doctor
i don't wanna vote
i don't wanna work a full time job
i don't wanna listen to the radio
i don't wanna walk around with you
i don't wanna go down to the basement
i don't wanna do this
i don't wanna do that

a stoopy shits

see, when you

hate

the truth is realized

in accurate measurements,

dissected in fine lines,

indubitably.

I liked that

then,

no errors

but now i like it kinda blurry.

if there were thirteen more syllables,

all this crap could be four haiku.

and the last line would be this.

exactly one untitled haiku & a photograph.

BIF BAM POW BITCHES
ALL UP IN YR GRILL & SHIT
HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW?

2 haiku for vic.

DARLING I LOVE YOU
BUT GIVE ME PARK AVENUE
I'M ZSA ZSA GABOR

***

NEW YORK IS WHERE I'D
RATHER STAY, GET ALLERGIC
SMELLING HAY - zsa zsa

***

[remember when i went & pulled the punchline to a joke off of my book shelf?.....well.....vic does]

a short one from ze fake dada.

it took about
30 seconds
for my eyes
to adjust
to the darkness

but when they did

man, it was
worth it

untitled short piece.

that shit
was so bad,
that the protesters
had protesters

BRAIN DAMAGED HAIKU.

i drank the kool aid
either trippin' or dyin'
jim jones acid test

another untitled nothin'.

i laid down
in the shower
like a murder victim
with john coltrane's
"sun ship"
acting as my
soundtrack

Yup

takin' me a trip

tomorry 'bout 6 o'clock

see you sumbitches...

don't pay to get 'em on the same haiku..

female underwear-
fantastical umbrella...

makes fer a nice hat.

Workin'

Another day is come
like yesterday and yesterday and yesterday
last week, last month
year upon slow year.
Long seamless days
constant peristalsis with no release.

I used to hope for a better future.
Now I just hope to get done early.

This slow dying isn't killing me fast enough.
Thirty more years of this
and I can shuffle
meekly off to the grave
my bastard life done
the fruits of my labors
safely tucked away
in another man's bank account.

1 haiku.

waiting for ze day
we can say what we need to
without consequence.

dos [equis] haiku.

ima kill the cold
with a heat knife in my hand
disney on ice....gone.

***

pluto can suck it
like there is no tomorrow
just ask mickey mouse.

***

photographicals of batman.

we were in 5th grade, the little boy was younger.

just seen a scene from
an episode of "our gang"

[aka - little rascals]

had a little boy
standing in front of
the classroom &
he's singing a song

[& honestly, it's
very very strange]

but

this scene made me
think of another scene

one where this kid
named donny bayless
that i went to school with
stood up in front of our class &
proceeded to tell "nigger" jokes
as his project for the part of
our music class that covered
performin' in front of folks

donny bayless also once
broke into my house
& stole a decent sized chunk
of me & my dad's
baseball card collection

i still hate donny bayless.

the clam just said this, so i did this here tardo haiku with it.

i am borderline
should i put myself on some
fuckin' lithium.

haiku just for yoo hoo.

pretentious assholes
are something we hate alot
so shut the fuck up.

haiku broadcast from the pawn shoppe.

we are the center
of the fucking universe
long live everyone.

el stupido haiku.

my name is simon
& i like to do drawings
because i can't read.

homerun

I crunched across the white gravels to the old house. It was green-yellow shadow dusk. It was warm enough for crickets.

I stood at the kitchen screen door, slick with honeysuckle & sassafras & grass & cotton sheets floating on the clothesline.

I looked in. Ceiling lamp incandescence coated the room with that marvelous warmish amber that I can never steal with camera, but say sometimes. There was no vodka or screaming or pistol shot-bloody tears here.

I squeaked the door open and stepped in. The floor flickered from another room. She was to my left, finishing the supper dishes.

She was not startled. She knew who I was. She dried her hands and glided to me. “Why are you here? You don’t belong here.”

I looked down into her face. She was so beautiful. Her hair was swept red flame. Her Celt-green eyes had no dread or loathing or jade.

“I had to come here, mama. It’s all dead there. Nobody thinks about anything but nothing. So everybody moves real fast to try to prove something. And it ain’t even there to prove.”

She put fingers on my lips. She knew.

“Shush. They might hear you.” She pointed at the flickering floor. I followed.

There was a man in an easy chair. There were children scattered about the furniture and floor over bowls of ice cream. They giggled in time from something coming from the flickering B&W TV.

I smiled. I turned back to her. I whispered.

“I wish I’d brought my camera.”

She touched my arm.

“You have to go now. You don’t belong here.”

“Yes’m.”

I crunched on the gravels. “Mama...” I turned back to the screen door. She wasn’t there. I talked to the house.

“I was just gonna say, ‘Don’t drink vodka, if you can help it...’”