ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
A budding blossom of irony and stenchful smockery from Berkeley a stalwart new beam of ethereal aura from a blumbering generation of wannabe perverts. [December 2001]
Here’s a wake up call Bernie. You’re dead
And you didn’t even get to go to Paris
So that in a flash you and I may perish into green dust
Dear Osama can you not dream outside the box
Love thy wretched neighbor
Who perched here in uncertain anonymity
lives a moderately piquant existence
Oh aren’t we all reluctant well-doers
I may buy this, I may sin that
And yet binny baby, you hold the
Fearful timer to my instant judgement
in your trembling fingers.
Comprehend it in that snugly turban of yours.
Oh chocolatey dark angel, have mercy if it be what
You can feel. I have squandered, and
Spoiled my body with raunchy mirth and gut-wrenching wants
Idle thoughts mostly, and dreamizms
Its just now sweet Laden, that I’m just getting out
onto this wide prairie plain of life,
good fellow, don’t be so hasty to kill off the buffalo
This is my homeland, your tantrumous bitterness
Leaves me suffering, rather disquieted
This is the joy of free heritage and inheritance
You beleive in inheritance, don’t you?
.Hey, I’d get you some of my meat,
if it weren’t for the CIA.
The kitchen’s alive, behind that curtain
Can’t you smell, Big nose Binny?,
Be it dust, be it flowers, be it buffalo chips,
smelling is living
Live love eat existence at the olive garden with your big funny haired family
If only you could know what I mean
Canya just put the horror-show off for one life,
If I’m gonna rot in hell for having a LA residing mom,
lecher voting city state
who elects a happy pimp who appoints
an evil owly witch woman who kills
exotic Iraqi babies, than so be it.
I don’t smell it Bin, where’s the primordial rot?
Ose, in honesty we are all little subway riding drunken children,
a taciturn breed, not knowing what our crazy governments have in store for us.
Bin Baby I may not be Islamic, but I am an Iraqi infant
and if you pull that ballistic trigger than its just another baby dead
too early , too soon, and such an abortion.
Let me savor the inebriated smiles, the cheery useless bass beats, and the mental and physical blasphemy of my generation. We are the pulsing youth
and we are going to weld your rectitude with our sticky complacence,
Drink, Dance, and Be merry,
HEY, Christmas is coming, and it’s not from the old book
God damn it. Hey its not fundamental statement, as snow tries to fall on Tuscon,
Save the thousands of men who know better. Who go shopping.
And drape their wives behind face altering makeup
Save me now, I am in your sinewy sandy thin brown arms.
For my sake, would you please grow up, Cuz I need some milk.
Some good clean milk vitamin D fortified milk.
Clear away that suspicious powder and that fairy dust, and
let me drink hard and drink long
and daddy? could you sing me that bitter sweet tune, you know the one,
that twinkly lullaby of Brahm’s. That’s it. Nice and slow. Slow and soft.
Submit Your Review for The Thirst
Required fields are marked with (*). Your e-mail address will not be displayed.