The Complete (so far) Soul Nanners Collection

Flower Bitch

That little bitch steals my flowers,
the ones last fall for hours and hours
I planted down on aching knee.
God knows they did not come for free.

While she's walking home from school,
She thinks it keen, she thinks it cool
To pluck my pansies and some others,
To take them home for her bitch mother.

I wish she'd die at some near hour,
So from her grave I could steal HER flowers
And send her mom anonymous letters
About how she should have raised her better.



Jonesing To Mow

I cut my grass; I mow it well.
The neighbor's yard sure looks like hell.
I bag the leaves; I pick up sticks.
I spray for fleas; I spray for ticks.

I slay the dandelion root.
I feed the birds; I feed the cute
squirrel as he swish his tail.
It never ends. I never fail

To find a spot for fertilizing,
another one for herbiciding.
I cut the grass; I mow it well.
The neighbor's lawn can go to hell.



The Market Is Super

My shopping cart, it has a squeak.
I have to push it every week.
I push it up and down the aisles,
And thus I push for miles and miles.

I buy some chips; I buy some dip.
I buy juleps for me to sip.
So much to buy, so much to do,
like playing cards and super glue.

The lights are bright; the floors are shiny.
The cashier chick is nice but whiny.
It has a squeak, my shopping cart.
I hope it does not fall apart.

Ginsu knives and turkey jerky,
Impulse buys because they're quirky,
Stand beside the checkout aisle.
Tabloid tales of Eric and Lyle

Menendez stare up from their pages,
Horoscopes and words from sages.
The cart's squeak is now a squawl;
Apart I hope it does not fall.


Living Dog Turd On Parade

The slug along my sidewalk slithered,
Past waving wisps of willows withered,
Past ferny fronds and grassy greens,
And wondered what "I wonder" means.

It slid along a string of slime,
Considered space, considered time,
And theories of the superstrings,
Considered oh so many things.

Relativity and loss,
Heartache and the smell of moss;
These things it thought of as it dithered.
The slug along my sidewalk slithered.



Glorious History and Cultural
(words of wisdom from the packaging of a pair of chopsticks at a Korean restaurant.)

Welcome to
Chinese Restaurant.
Please try your
Nice Chinese
Food With Chopsticks
the traditional
and typical
of Chinese
glorious history
and cultural.




Almost A Shame
They were very pretty,
Those three rows of blue sleeping pills
And the two of pink painkillers.

Just like tiny baby boys and girls
Sleeping on the tabletop
Next to the mother-hen bourbon bottle.

He wondered why he didn't hate anymore,
Or cry, or feel anything but numb.
He vaguely realized the stereo was

playing.

He thought it was Bach,
Or maybe Pink Floyd,
And turned up the volume

Before he lit his Swisher Sweet cigar,
Opened the bourbon,
And swallowed the first handful of pills.

He opened ROMEO & JULIET
And counted the pages.
He reached 21

Before Lady Darkness embraced him
And they danced.
They were so beautiful
It was almost a shame.




Horse

I've left you twice already, darling,
Hoping that when I returned you'd be gone.
Catching you twice in your lovers embrace
With the needle and spoon.

You don't want to live
And you want to take me with you
In a moment of ecstacy
Written in the needle tracks on your arm.

I'm sorry, my darling,
but I want to live
so I won't be there to save you
the next time your heroin lover smacks you around.



Off-White

Lonely men in black cars
consume unleavened bread.
This is the fire of delight.
Drink some wine.



Untitled

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who carried his soul in a bucket.
It tasted of wine.
You don't get a last line.


ENCOUNTER

A little GOD came up to me.
"FRA! FRA!" it said.
"Don't 'FRA' at me, you little bastard,"
I replied.
So "KRAB! KRAB!" it KRABBED.
"I'll call the GOD Catcher!"
I threatened.
The little GOD ran away on its four little GELs.
I later found it had EEPed on my tires.


A Feast for His Flatulency

My bowl is filled with chili soup.
I eat as I sit on my stoop.
I watch the world go passing by.
I lift my fist and raise a cry

"This chili soup belongs to me!
Women weep and children flee
From my fierce and mighty wrath!
A greater soup no mortal hath!"

Soldiers shake and horsemen quiver;
Maidens swoon and clergy shiver
at my booming proclamations,
my chili soup elucidations.

The thunder claps, the swallows dart.
The raven calls, the waters part.
The rainbow shines and gives man heart
At the ravings of this one old fart.


Untitled

In the mystic mists of Phallos Isle
Where heroes stand and nymphs beguile,
An ancient city by the sea
rests in silent reverie.

Priapos is the city's name.
Centuries of the sea's untamed
waves and wind have left no mark
On granite walls and towers stark.

Penos rules with iron hand
This magical mystical land.
And rule he will for all to see
'Till Phallos slips beneath the sea.


Morning Shower

Water heater oh so fine,
Heat that damn water of mine
'Til my throneroom fills with fog
And all around me stand agog.

Cover me with a burning rain
And wash away the years of pain.

Untitled

Little black dog
With ears so pointy,
Little black dog
With powers anointy.

Little dog can read your mind.
Little dog can hop.
Little dog can rob you blind.
Little dog can shop.

Doggie in the garbage can.
Doggie in the trash.
Doggie does what doggie can.
Doggie's very brash.

Bite the doggie on the leg.
Bite him on the tail.
Bite the doggie on the ears.
Life is a giant whack-a-mole game;
Sometimes you're the whacker.
Sometimes you're the mole.

Mosquito Bite

On my leg I have an itch,
All because some little bitch
With wings did feast upon my body.
Bloodborne ills from airborne naughties

May be coursing through my veins.
Itches may give way to pains
And hives and fevers and the heaves.
Bury me among the leaves

Should illness make me expire.
Or burn me on a smoking pyre.
On my leg's a maddening itch.
Damn that little winged bitch.


Jipijapa

I grab my towel; the shower end.
Out jump a brown and jumpy friend.

Each leg he twitches as he kick it,
This hopping mad and creepy cricket.

At last he land up in the sink.
Before he get a chance to think

And hop up to some other spot,
I wash him down with water hot.

The cricket spiral down the drain.
I don't resist a last refrain.

"In rusty pipes and sewers stormy,
Say hello to shit for me!"


Clot

I must not eat the foods that clot.
Gelatins and puddings not

Co-agulated are too runny
On stormy nights and mornings sunny.

And once they clot are grosser more,
For what you eat is a scabbing sore.

Made from hooves and things congealed
And things best left quite unrevealed,

These are the nasty foods that clot.
You can eat them; I must not.



Decision

Noon has come. Arise from bed.
Brush my teeth and brush my head.
Seasons change, but nothing's clearer
Than etchings on a darkened mirror.

The stark futility of it all
Greets me. Written on the wall
Is this warning from the jeerer,
"Etchings on a darkened mirror

Hold no answers for you, son.
Finish what you have begun.
Powder burns are far superior
Than etchings on a darkened mirror."

Turn off the light. Climb back in bed.
Another day of the life I've led.
Existence still is nothing clearer
Than etchings on a shattered mirror.



Pocket Man

If he sees it, he will mock it
(the little man inside my pocket)
And stab it with a safety pin
And drown it in a sea of gin.

He'll rip the veins out of your throat
From the pocket of my coat
And watch you bleed with twisted glee,
This little man I have with me.

The little man is armed with knives
To poke the skin of nubile wives.
I wish the man would go away
But in my pocket he will stay.

I hope to someday understand
What drives this angry little man,
To find the secret and unlock it
And help this man inside my pocket.

You don't believe my little rhyme?
I must ask you how much time
You've devoted on your docket
To checking out what's in YOUR pocket?


Bloodpuppet

Little puppet soaked in blood
Lying in the freezing mud.
Little puppet's questioning eyes
Staring up at winter skies.

What have those puppet eyes witnessed?
I would not venture any guesses.
But what in God's big wondrous world
Has happened to this puppet's girl?

Bloody puppet in the rain,
Did you hear her screams of pain?
Puppet with your gaze ungiving,
I doubt she's still among the living.


Swirl

The ceiling fan goes round and round
As it thrums its thrumming sound.
It stirs the air so cool and breezy.
If you watch it, you'll get queasy.

Around it whirls its clockwise dance
Or sometimes counter-. There's a chance
That it will whirl 'long as it can,
My faithful little ceiling fan.


Untitled

A puppy has a purple tongue.
Surprise kisses he has sprung
On faces of some laughing boys
Scattered among scattered toys.

A puppy's tongue is warm and wet.
On Girlish cheeks his slobbers get,
As she sits among the flowers
Brushing him for hours and hours.

A puppy's tongue is wet and purple,
Just right to give a kissy slurple.


Happyman dancing

murdermurder
on the road.
rainyrainy
water flowed
to the river
deep and wide.
murder on the
otherside.

Beast

Godzilla-like, the kitten
rises to a stand.
His ears are flattened,
his wide eyes wild.

The growl is fierce
As he pounces,
grasping with his front paws,
kicking and scratching with the back.

Observe the tail
As it twitches,
And the expression he gives you
That can mean nothing other than,

"Got Your TOES!"



I Did Not Have Inhalations With That Doobage!

The horny young heathen from Hope
Has not inhaled one joint of dope.
Your pain he is feeling
But now he needs kneeling
Interns to help this man cope.





Mistress Is A Slot

Twenty-one dollars;
That's what I won
Before I fed each quarter
Back into the machine.

The credit card's now maxed
And the slots have stopped spinning.
It is three hours later
And I do not have enough money to get home.


Untitled

A moment this lonely
Has one reason only.
But of it he is unaware.

His visage is gruesome,
So threesomes and twosomes
Point at him, gaping, and stare

Or hushedly rush by.
Or brusquely they brush by.
And whisper in each other's hair.

His scars and their burning
And countenance churning
Are all of him that they're aware.


Music Is The Code Of The Slimy Taste

Slip by unnoticed, little one.
Gather your dolls and their dresses.
For your father's night is a drunken one,
And you've seen his rage at your messes.

I'll run interference as long as I can.
But they say that time will not wait,
And certainly it will not wait for this man
Who has flooded his veins with a hate.

Maybe he won't notice you if you lie
Still as a corpse 'neath your covers.
Pray that this might be the night that he dies,
Slain by his alcohol lover.


This Insidious Floor

The world has shed its purposelessness
On this cheery Thursday afternoon
As the clouds pour in with their recklessness
And downpours fall this seventh of June.

As oak trees fall in winds that twist,
On the rug lies Johnny Cooper.
What a storm this man has missed,
Lost in his drunken stupor.


Desertion To Destiny

We are attractive in our easy pain,
And that is the reason I'm leaving,
Never to look on your body again.
Don't stand there so unbelieving.

You had to see this coming, my love.
Enabling if codependent,
The arc has burned itself out of our love.
My exit has become transcendent.

My motives are many; explanations are few,
But I see that I am on the right track.
For one simple sentence sums up all of you:
You're constantly holding me back.



Broken Threads

There is a hole in my underwear
And anyone can see it there
If I'm in an accident
And to the ER I am sent.

It would seem like such a shame
To throw my shorts away and blame
One little rip along the seam
But how on earth can I redeem

The little flaw that I just found
In the laundry? As I frowned,
I wondered, should I try to mend it?
Or in a fit of rage to rend it

Into little tiny pieces
Along all the threadbare creases?
Is sewn truly better than torn?
I toss it in the trash with scorn.

A little thought begins its calling,
"Maybe I should start freeballing."
And with that thought the problem's gone.
I throw all shorts out on the lawn.


Wet, Pink

My washcloth there is wet and pink
Lying by the bathroom sink.
I use it when I wash my face
Then lay it back into its place.
My washcloth there is pink and wet.
Has the time come to wash it yet?


Bad Doggie

The neighbor's dog has constant barks
Each night after the sky is dark.
It keeps on barking until the dawn.
How I wish that it was gone.

Or dead or mute or too fatigued
To do its nightly barking deed.
On nights the barking never ceases,
I claw my pillow into pieces.

At 4 AM I call my neighbor
Who answers with a sleepy labor,
And bark into the phone quite loudly
Hang up, and then can sleep quite soundly.


NICOTINE FIT AND THE SULPHUR ADDICTION

Shaking hands,
It demands
One last cigarette.
The pack I drop.
I should stop
But I haven't yet.
I grasp the last one
And brace for the run
Of nicotine into my head.
But I can't find the Bic
And it's making me sick
So I reach for the matchbook instead.

But a plot cruel fate hatches
As I open the matches,
The baby has eaten their heads.


NEEDY

Watch me as I dig my hole.
I dig quite well, as these things go.
Roots and rocks get in the way,
But from my task I do not stray.

See how well I dig my hole?
I dig as if my very soul
Depends upon this hole I dig,
How deep it is, how wide and big.

Don't you see my digging value?
How good you are depends on how you
Split the soil with your shovel.
Holes won't last, but how my love'll.

Hear my shovel's scraping sound?
That's the gravel in the ground
Making digging harder still.
The hole is deep; I labor still

To dig the world's finest hole.
To dig the best one is my goal.
Of my hole you MUST approve;
See the dirt that I've removed?

As I dig this perfect pit
And think of praises I will get
When the digging's finally done,
I see you in this morning sun.

No compliment from you at all.
Your face is cold and blank as walls.
I lay your corpse down in the grave
And cover you with soil I've saved

From my little digging spree.
Won't you please come back to me?
Why'd you trip upon the stairs
And crack your head there where the hairs

Of your eyebrows make their lines?
Did you give me any signs
Of life there lying on the landing
As from the stairtop I was standing?

Goodnight, my pretty little wife
Who lost her pretty little life.
I hope you like this hole I've dug,
But if you don't, I only shrug.

Mommy Killed Christmas

The Christmas tree was live and potted,
A Norfolk Island Pine I spotted
At the store as she was shopping
For some pudding and whipped topping.

The kitchen drain had such a leak
We drained the bucket every week.
Then one day the sink drain clogged
And became almost waterlogged.

I fixed the problem with some Drano
So Mommy surely had to pay no
Attention to it like she oughta.
That night my mother drained the water

Into my lovely Christmas tree,
Which was of course picked out by me.
Christmas died by the next morning,
Turning brown without a warning.


Thrifty

Ramen Noodles
That taste so good
Are very cheap
As well they should

Be. You heat them
In microwaves
Or on the stove.
They help me save

My cash for beer
And cigarettes
And porno mags
And making bets.

Of all the foods
That I could eat,
These cheap noodles
Can not be beat.


Sessile Wife

Bathed in refrigerator light,
She rummages,
Thinking she is alone.



Untitled

The alarm clock is beeping.
I don't have the will to end it.
The day is coming. I can't fend it
Off. What's it that's keeping

Me here in this cold bedding?
To get up now is to decide
The day's worth starting. I'd rather hide
In this direction I am heading.

Alone here in my darkened room,
I stay atop my cold, safe bed.
Comfort in this pressing gloom
May trap me here until I'm dead.



Kitchen

As I sit here eating pottage,
I discover wasted wattage
From my incandescent lights.
I'll unscrew them this very night,
And eat here in my darkened cottage.

Tomorrow I will buy flourescent
Replacements for incandescent
Wasters of my energy,
Ending fiscal lethargy.
This plan of mine I find most pleasant.


Kitty

The kitty growls;
The kitty bites.
The kitty scratches
In the night.

The kitty purrs;
The kitty plays.
The kitty behaves
In the day.

But twice each day, at dusk and dawn,
The kitty's just a mindless pawn
To schizophrenic forces when
She's bad, then good, then bad again.
In lunar nights and mornings solar,
My kitty seems to be bipolar.


Root of the Beer

My root beer is so goddamn fizzy;
Gets in my nose and makes me dizzy.
Makes me get all teary-eyed
And takes me on a fizzy ride.

To cut the goddamn fizzy out
I'll add some bourbon, make it stout.
Now it's not so goddamn fizzy
But still, it seems, it makes me dizzy.



The Station Wagon Days

We were invincible then, weren't we?
You in your Thunderbird
And I in my Escort wagon
Raising Hell and taking chances.

The beer, the music,
The vitality of the moment.
Now we are grown
And too important to have fun.


Never Call Me Gifted

Never call me gifted
Or talented or bright
And never say it's not my fault
When I get in a fight.

You see, I might believe your
Empty words. I've done so
Before. Tell me that I'm average
Or I'm a normal Joe

Stalin. Yes, call me normal
Like everybody else
And his brother. I'm not gifted
But what you say pulls

Me in that thinking direction
So I think I am the greatest
When in truth I'm very little
More than a boy who can ace tests

In the third grade,
But what about the eighth or ninth?
Will I still answer the right numbers
When I am in the tenth?

Never call me gifted
And never call me bright.
Never call me prodigy
When I get the answers right.

For when I've gone to high school
And when I go beyond,
I'll hate you with all my heart
When I find out you're wrong.

Behold The Fish

Behold the fish
Dead two days;
Is it good or bad?
If hidden
In the cushions of your couch?
If buried
Under your tomato plants?


Poetry - Snorted, Not Eaten

Ink? What ink? It's pixels, I think.
The high is better when you snort it
Word by word, though I've never heard
Any literati report it.

A bit of lube and a crystal tube
'Cause needles just aren't any fun.
Cure my wrath with a line of Plath
And a snort of some Dickenson.

LEAVES OF GRASS, this too shall pass
Up through my nasal flap . . .
Aw, shit! Some little punkass dealer
Cut it with that Cummings crap.


The World

How much worse
Can it get?
I peek through my fingers.
Is it over yet?


Untitled

A dark place,
A cold place,
A bad place,
Unkind.

That's what it
Looks like
Inside of
My mind.

It's dreary,
Depressing.
It's scary.
It's wrong.

And ever
So often
It bursts
Into song.


Life, As Seen By Me

Silly puppy,
Don't you see
I'm not a hydrant
Or a tree?


I Burned

I burned my clippings in the rain
And stood there in my silent pain
With rake in hand with which to rake
And solace in my raking take.
Thinking as I stood there swirling
Burning embers in the whirling
Winds as they wound their winding way
Through my ashes on this day.
Rain dripped down my smoky face.
The smouldering fire could not replace
The soul I'd lost that afternoon
Mowing there among the ruins.
The embers still were glowing when
I closed my eyes and jumped right in.


Circular

The mower blade spins round and round.
Just listen to the engine's sound
As the blade dances its dance.
It lulls us to a rhythmic trance.
Throttle up and throttle down;
Hear that pulsing, primal sound.
This is the rhythm of destruction,
The lyric of divine conjunction
Of blade, of man, of fuel, and grass.
Of life, of death, of faith and gas.
Good and evil's mystic tension,
Cynicism and suspension
Of my pesky disbelief,
Wrapped up in my grass and leaf
Shreddings left here on my lawn.
The mystic battle rages on.


The Phalange Diet

A finger is a glorious thing
To give the bird or hold your ring.
I use mine to aid my diet
In the head, alone and quiet.
I jam my finger down my throat
And purge the food as if by rote.
I run the water to mask the sounds
And flush the calories all down.
Wipe my mouth and gargle. Then
I'm ready to begin again.


In a Huff

Rubber cement is made for sniffing
And white-out is just right for whiffing.
These are things that can make you smile
And keep you happy for a while.
Polish remover in your nose,
Gasoline fumes. And who knows
What else can lift you with its vapor
And make you smile and off then taper?


Untitled

I stick the needle in my skin
And use it to put colors in.
The pleasure pain rush to my brain
Makes me poke my skin again.
I draw tattooed shapes in there.
I stick as deeply as I dare.
This ink's the thing that gives me meaning.
I see the symbols as I'm preening
There before the bathroom mirror.
My purpose doesn't get much clearer.


Shake, Baby, Shake

There is a tremor in my hands
I found this morning as I planned
To eat out at the restaurant.
Why must my hands begin this taunt?

Is it withdrawal? Is it the start
Of some disorder of nerves or heart?
God help me; I cannot remember
What it was that caused this tremor.


Untitled

I dyed a fly herd, then I buzzed.
That's when I think I got confuzzed.
Eye tricks of the bawdy elecsing.
And then I found my body a-flexing.

Untitled


I dropped my dolly in the dirt.
I asked my dolly if it hurt.
Before my dolly could object,
I snapped my dolly's little neck.


Don't You Smell My Burning Fingers?

Don't you smell my burning fingers
As my hand a moment lingers
On the burner on the grill?
I hold it there by force of will.

I smell the acrid jolt of pain,
Endorphins flowing to my brain,
And keep it there yet longer still.
I hold it there by force of will.

The moment dances in the flame,
throes of pleasure with no name.
Where there is pain, there is life still.
I hold it there by force of will.


I Hear


I hear the whispers on the street,
the silent threats from those I meet,
The vile insults, the mocking taunts,
telepathy and evil wants

Seeking to control my mind
And unwing thoughts I want to wind.
And spy on me in my abode.
These are the monsters in the road.


Untitled

I have to lie here in my bed
And close my eyes and sleep like dead.
This darkened room with curtains closed
Is sanctuary in my repose.

Forty days here in this bed
Except, of course, when in the head.
I have no reason to arise
And greet the world with all its lies.

There's nothing I can do but sleep
Or lie here and my vigil keep.
Perhaps I'll be here 'til I die.
Nothing left to do but lie.


You Know,

You know, there's nothing else I think
To do on days like this but drink.
When catfish bite and skies are blue,
Surely chores can wait to do.
So into the stream go drop your line
Under the elm. Go drink your wine.


Rhythm

The scab will come off if I pull
exposing muscle to to world.
The blood will run again and pool
In my new socks as yet unsurled.

This is the rhythm of the peel.
This is the playing of the game.
To prove to myself I still feel.
The emptiness remains the same.


OCD

I dry and wash and dry my hands
On every quarter hour.
Trapped in this room here I stand
Imprisoned by the power

Of the viruses on the knob
And those upon the door.
I must not touch their teeming mob,
Or those there on the floor.

They live solely to infect
Me and then ruin my health.
Even gloves cannot protect
Me from their wicked stealth.

So in my bathroom I am trapped,
Standing, held by fear.
I'm held here with attention rapt;
I feel them edging near.




Miss Hateful

You were more than happy to dance this dance
When the insults were coming from you.
You now see you're over your head,
So your tears begin falling anew.

Now don't you see that you can't fuck with me,
That your words are as weak as your life?
I know all the buttons to push
To cut you as if with a knife.

Which one shall I push first, abortion or weight?
Or the one about growing up poor?
How does it feel to be pelted with hate
Like you've flung at me always before?

I can now shut you up with just one word,
Miss Hateful, so you'd best take care,
Or you'll stand there and fume at the words you just heard,
So insult me, you bitch, if you dare.


Untitled

Her pretty little purple pills
help her heal her horrid hurts
and somewhat showcase social skills
in sky-blue silken skirts.

Didactic's how you deem her dance
between the twisted and the true,
Proudly in her underpants
On Vineview Avenue.

Without her pretty purple pills,
her smile turns to surly.
Today she frolics in her frills,
my pretty purple girly.



Electric Fence

Joy comes in jolts along the wire
As my nerves are filled with fire
When grabbing fence out in the rain.
It shocks. Then stops. Then shocks again.

The muscles ache as they contract;
The joints now throb as they're attacked.
Endorphins rush in the betweens.
Now I know what pleasure means.

Pleasure happens when it stops,
When wattage ends and voltage drops.
This I've learned here in the rain --
Joy is the lessening of pain.



To The Welfare Queen At The Market

Must you wander through this store
When it's clear your brat has crapped his drawers?
And can't you shut the other up
As it shrieks it wants it's sippy cup?

If you can't control the wretched thing,
then why do you insist on bring-
ing them here for all to see?
I'd leave them home if it was me.

I'd wash their nasty little faces
And make them mind when we go places.
Now get your brats out of my way.
I cannot wait to get away

From your Deliverance rejects
Who my day now have surely wrecked.
I have to pay for goodness sakes
For your food-stamp T-bone steaks.


Surprise

Beautiful Flower
Springing up from the green,
blissfully unaware that
any minute now
you will be crushed
by a body falling from the sky.


Soul

My soul is 50.1% light.
49.9% darkness.
Unfortunately
I am not a democracy.
I am a dartboard.

Tonight I Bleed

Tonight, I Bleed
The Outer Vein
is throbbing again,
swelling first
and wanting to burst

into a crimson rivulet
down my leftward arm
to drip on the carpet
without any alarm.



Undulate

See the growing admiration
At her twitching undulations
In the middle of the street.
Traffic goes into retreat

As she holds her CAUTION sign
yearning for the lost benign
days before the illness came;
SCHIZO was it's given name.

Now she hears the growing voices
Choosing her for chosen choices.
One day soon she'll heed their call
On the day when children fall.