Untitled

I want to be curb stomped into the pavement
Of literary history so the teeth in my head
Scatter across the world, tongue embedded in soil;
I will become the down power lines of life agitating,
Electrifying the very air we breathe. The engines are igniting
Headlights are flickering and we’ve been driving SUVs in the rain

Inspiration is lost like down the gutter rain;
One’s whole year can be thrown off by vomit on the pavement.
Splashing a stranger’s urine on one’s ass is nothing short of the soul igniting,
Sending smoke signals from within to the words inside our head.
I was never the one in elementary school, who found spelling agitating,
I was in the outfield, sitting in the grass, picking at the soil.

My dog Sebastian once ate Christmas kisses and in the yard left his soil.
I never quite enjoyed but never really hated the rain,
But if you asked me to puddle stomp then I would have asked you to quit agitating
Like wool underpants or Carlos Mencia or choppy pavement
When you’re riding your skateboard, with nothing but X in your head,
Like an idiot which I found to be intellectually demeaning; try soul igniting

Fool! I had less cash that was never being spent always igniting
In my hands like the un-cigarettes that I smoked and jabbed out in the soil.
The tongue had trouble worming it’s way to the earth it was used the climate of the head,
Dry and hot. It was foreign to the concept of a plentiful harvest or a season of rain,
It had never heard of agriculture it grew through pavement
Plucked by an obese child, with snot in his nose, who thought t-shirts were agitating.

Well the farm went bankrupt and all Jim could say was “damn, ain’t that agitating”,
His whole life was spent pulling weeds, his hands igniting
The land. His tongue checked out and made the jump to the pavement
When the papers got a hold of the scene they said he was aiming for the soil.
He died that night and in the morning was lost amongst the shriveled worms from rain
That fell on everyone’s downcast head.

The tongue is nothing but a worm in the head
Searching for the proper climate, the least agitating.
When the season comes of rain,
Of wind and terrific nature where nothing is everything igniting,
The obese children leaving soil,
Here grows even pavement.

The pavement, solid foundation of the head
Blooming out of the soil a most earth agitating,
Igniting, the very crops that now fall in the rain.

Ode to Cumby’s

The first man stands
With a head full of dreads which pour over his
Sour cream & onion (Utz) potato chips, like vines, precariously clutched
In his dirty, left hand.
A chocolate chip cookie lies in his right, riddled with rainbows.

It is the second man,
Mounted six feet and one half-
Myself aloof at the rear-
Darkly arching over his Dr. Pepper soda bottle,
Pack of Newports;
The one with the belly laugh.

The one who was last now becomes first,
One woman remaining behind with a stale coffee
From the beans grown this morning
On the RoLlInG HiLlS and
ValleyS of Western New England.
Where everyone still wears knickers, perhaps.
The label makes me feel like young Huckleberry Finn.
Are you Tom Sawyer?
Would you like to whitewash the fence?
I prom-

My seltzer and cranberry sums to a total of four dollars and fifty cents,
“Five dollar bill should do it”,
I blurt,
Handing him Lincoln in my
Checkered red pajamas,
Stained Chuck Norris T-shirt,
The musty flannel I picked up of the street.

Some nights I feel like a real ass,
At least I can make a good strong Cape Cod.

Dear Mr. Prez

Thanks kindly for so many gracious words. The California Raisins are going to have to make a special appearance at your grave. Yes sir, I think we may have to tap the spirit of life back in to your soul. I bet you were hip to the jive in your day. Fred Astaire was nothing compared to you, I know. If you were wondering about the our appearance on TV we would have booked a show on the Ed Sullivan program years ago but I hate to tell you its been canceled for a few decades now. Thanks for all the love!
-Johnny B. Raisin
The California Raisins

P.S. I won't tell a soul where I bought my wing tips, that I take to the grave!

I think I may have stumbled into the right place to post online entries, perhaps...