POUMZ

Fun-eral:

No priests.
Or monks.
Or imams or whatever.
A Unitarian would be okay.
No one in black.
Scatter the ashes on the faces of my enemies.

Invite everyone I've known to a potluck,

And

Make them talk about how awesome I was. Or like,

Have you seen Batman two?
Near the end when the penguin dies (spoiler warning),
Near the end when the penguin dies,
His mournful namesakes gather,
Honking sorrowfully.
And, downcast yellow beaks clenched upon black fabric,
Waddle his bloated, pin-striped corpse,
To the icy depths.

You know what?
Just do that.

***

Here's Dani with the weather:

I'm not reaching towards the sexual when I say, "you could charm the pants off me."
Like a micro burst deals with ill-parked convertibles shaded by top-heavy trees,
You send the rigid frame of my better judgment onto uninsured violence.

***

Glug glug:

I can find your name in conversation-- an excuse or inhibition.
I can find lust in kneading hands on the jeans of your peers.
I can find sincerity underneath your whiskey-dusted breath.

***

4am in the parking lot at work:

The blizzard is back lit thermonuclear orange by still active street lights.
Flakes mass and stagger towards contact.

A winter-soft bomb aftermath.
A radioactive snow globe.

***

That's actually the name of my metal side project:

You had the gall to drink at the wedding reception.
And It was offensive.

Like,
If you'd arrived hours late,
With "faggot-nigger abortion"
Tattooed on your forehead,
And proceeded to cup the groom,

It was like that.

***

Those lithium ones:

I found him motionless;
Disproportionately room temperature within the broiling minivan interior.

RadioShack was having a sale on batteries.

When you lose a child, a part of you,
Does it rule you out for 'parent of the year?'

***

The Unauthorized Biography of Allison Smith:

You will be the same at 30.
Your waxy Adrian-Brody-features,
Like six pack rings half-buried in sand,
Shaming the concept of decay.

You will be the same at 40.
Because shifting your opinions induces pain--
Harsh-physical-actual-pain.

Excepting the divorce,
You will be the same at 50.
All darkened missionary sex,
Seething judgment,
And giggles tailing speech.

You are the five; you are the mean of our species.

***

She has big juggs too:

She is pandemic
Draping in friendly pinks and speaking in absolutes.

She is plastic flowers and clove cigarettes.
Indifference on a pedestal.

***

This was in what? Jr. High?:

Walking home
I encountered a Doberman,
Alert behind stained wooden planks;
Barking like I was a rapist.

I set my books against the sidewalk

And,

Through high-pitched imitation,
Matched its guttural aggression,

Then spent the next week pondering his owners expression.

***

And the "bapjism":

I loathed the hours.
Waking near the edge of twilight
To the pull of my mother's leather-clad hands,
Then huddling naked in that snowy forest clearing. But,

The worst part of satanic mass
Was the placental cakes frosted in menstrual blood.