And Then I Asked For Disentary

[izeveryboyin]

I wanna write a love poem, with poisoned veins that spit out LOVE words because it’s just so damned sick.
Tooty fruity in your pants after hours blah blah blah April and May showers poem.
I wanna write a hate poem where I sacrifice a man-verse instead of a man-child because babies cry too much.
F-U-C-K on the walls in red paint that stains my hand so that you know it was me!
It’s gonna haunt you in your sleep while your lullaby song skips and the dangling cigarette butt burns your lips, while your bulging panty-line rips it ships out at noon back round 12 to take you to hell cuz you’ve been a bad boy.
“I’ve died and gone to prison” He said, behind the bars. “They cheated me out of 25 percent”.
I wanna write a sex poem sticking things between my ears because I always forget where my womanhood is
While my consonants get nookie my constants keep changing their minds and I realize now maybe it is just typing and not writing and after that I was continually hounded by bastards in cheap thongs who kept telling me to fill in the blanks.
I will go to bed and sleep for nights and days to finally awake one night, old, bent, and withered... spreading my seed across desolate plains, and feeding the VOID,
Then I’ll write a quite poem, where the pages go to sleep on beds of deadened roses, where even cars speed up to go nowhere fast, where even you and I remain silent in a field of burning political confusion,
Struggling over whether or not it’s just proximity infatuation, left with nothing but the noise.
I wanna write a poem man, so will you please…
...Open a window
...Light a candle
...Blow a whistle
...Sing a perverted song
...Bust my chops so I don't get fired
...Comb my hair cuz it's nappy now
...Devirginize my ears (they're too sensitive today)
...Feed me lines
...Breathe me breath
...Comprehend my sheer insanity
...Enlighten my eyes
...Flip me off
...Put me in jail
...Rip me to shreds
...Fix me a drink
...Relight my goddamn cigarette thank you!
...Order my public execution
...Come to watch
...Kick over the stool
...Hear me squeal
...Name the color my face turns as I choke
...Record the time and date at the exact moment I give the fuck up and stop breathing
...Shed a hypocritical tear in lament for my passing
...Clean the ropes for sinner #2
...Dump my body in a ditch
...Walk away, and stop reading this miserable shit."

[judih]

pretty good one, K
damn good
spoken word effective
(no visual effects required)

and hold the stool

judih

[Lightning Rod]

great piece, kayla

the sounds and the images are alive and visceral

I would love to hear you doing this piece. Any chance of recording it?

[izeveryboyin]

Judih, LRod, thanks a million! I'm always glad to hear people appreciate my work. As for the request, LRod, I tell you what... I'll try and see about recording it, and in the meantime, you or Doreen (or both) should give it a whirl and let's see what we all come up with, eh? Cheers guys!
--K

[billectric]

O, man... This one grabbed me good. I would love to hear a spoken word version of it.

[izeveryboyin]

everyone seems to want to hear this one out loud. Sorry guys... I'm a student... I can't afford microphones and crap, nor can I afford recordable CDs and crap, nor can afford to be in close proximty to any of you by plane, train or automobile. (don't have car, airport on strike from me, train frightens me). At any rate... I'll do my best to get it spoken... I dunno. LOL. I think I'm wired now.
--K

[stilltrucking]

I wanna write a hate poem where I sacrifice a man-verse instead of a man-child because babies cry too much.

I wanna write a sex poem sticking things between my ears because I always forget where my womanhood is

...Comb my hair cuz it's nappy now
...Devirginize my ears (they're too sensitive today)

I been thinking about getting my beard trimmed, because it is looking kind of nappy, then I thought " for god sakes don’t say that to the barber", she might think I am a racist,

Sacrificing children-- Who is this president of good and evil. Why is he so worried that twenty year old people won’t have social security when the retire in forty years, but has no problem about twenty year old people getting killed in a war.

just a jam, thinking about what it is to be a man,


I carry my manhood between my ears, in my re-vergified mind, on a genderless plane where a still quiet voice speaks, a muse? A feminine voice? Psyche the soul was a goddess I think,
but our dear leader talks to god, I sure hope it is not the voice of god I hear,

Ramble ramble don’t mean nothing
everything is coming out jam,
blueberry today

Sacrifice poems not children,

Nice work compadre

[izeveryboyin]

my sincerest thanks to you my friend... undeniablly glad you enjoyed the piece.
---K
P.S don't trim the beard... I adore facial hair!