Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

It's hard to tell
where the sun
rises.

It's hard to tell
the exact time.

It's hard to tell
which way
my life
is heading.

It's the greatest
mystery.

Might as well
turn up the radio
and laugh at those
picking their nose
and eating it.

Choosing Better

The blessings of life
are easy
to see.

A can opener.

The difficulty
of trying
to open a can
without one
is unreal.

Regrets.

Without them,
you'd be
in a big
fucking mess.

Private bathrooms.

Try taking a shit
in the men's restroom
during a Dodger game
at the 7th inning stretch.

Most
let these
blessings
slip by.

I prefer
to count them.

Each
and everyday,
in each
and every way.

The Man Who Ruined Lunch

There is no history

of them.

They’ve slipped by,

unnoticed.

Society was always

too preoccupied

with progression.

They were pleased

with this

invisibility.

They could even

carry out

their morbid fantasies

in broad daylight.

Mutilating stray animals,

stabbing unattended children,

hacking fingers

from the homeless.

Parents would tell

their children

not to play

so rough.

People wandering by

would look away

in disgust,

wishing someone

would do something

with these drunk bums.

Nobody even bothered

with the animals.

They were left there

to rot

with the filth

left in the back alleys.

Nobody even summoned

the authorities.

Nobody ever

did much

of anything.

So they kept

slipping by.

One afternoon,

I was having lunch,

when I noticed

a peculiar fellow.

He had on

a nice suit,

tall hat,

a monocle,

and a profound mustache.

A knife

was in his hand.

He walked behind me.

I could hear

his footsteps

stop.

A burning sensation

crept up

my back.

More and more,

the pain

flourished.

I turned around.

It appears as though

you’ve had

an accident.

The fuck I have.

You stabbed me.

Before he could answer,

I took out

my hatchet

and hacked through

his monocle.

People stopped

and stared.

He tried to take out

his knife once more.

Fingers began

to fall out.

Such an unfamiliar sight

to see them

unattached.

Different sizes,

shapes,

colors,

rolling around.

I hacked him,

once more,

on the back

of his neck

before he

slipped away.

Leaving his souvenirs

behind.

I stood there

for a moment,

wiping off

my hatchet.

Everybody went back

to their business.

I tried to too.

My lunch

was not as

enjoyable.

The bastard

ruined it.

The Curse

I am cursed.

So very cursed.

Everywhere I go,
everything I do,
every sight I see,
every scent I smell,
everything I touch,
is blessed.

I don't know which
evil witch
put this spell on me,
but I want to
thank her.

I want to
worship
the ground she
hovers
over.

I want to
kiss
the warts
all over her body.

I want to
live
in her saggy breasts
and squirt
all those
who cross
her wicked
path.

Everyone
deserves
to be this
cursed.

All they have to do
is
be open
to recieve
a lil bit
of sour
milk.

The Horny One

I've seen a man's
butthole.

It was gross
and brown.

He sent me
a picture
of it.

He wanted
to meet me.

Perhaps,
at a park
bathroom
around midnight.

I'm not sure.

I didn't read
the rest
of the email.

I was in shock.

I began
to cry.

Tears of laughter
rolled down
my face.

It was
the best joke
anyone
has ever
played
on me.

I left my computer
unattended.

My cousin took advantage.

He posted an ad
on craigslist.

Men seeking men.

I
was the horny one.

And they all
wanted
a piece.

They never got it.

Except for maybe,
my sight.

Of which,
can never unsee
the darkest depths
of man.

The Drain

He's a piece of shit.

Or is he?

He's never really
worked
a day
in his life.

He has a
bunch
of bastard children
running around
all over the county.

Confused and unloved.

He's done damage
here and there
and is not liked
by many.

Yet,
he's always
happy.

Could be the weed
or something else.

Either way,
it's a hard feat
to accomplish.

I wish to be
as happy
as him.

I, too,
have made many
mistakes.

Some days,
I can't get
past them.

I wish to have
his same smile
day
after
day.

Glowing
when facing
the burning sun.

Those horrible memories.

Everyone else
melting away
down
the drain
into an ocean
of misery.

Forgetting our
one true purpose
in life:
forgiveness.

Shooting the Shit

Here we go.

The same old response.

Again.

First,
they say,
I'd grab
the nearest
hottest
piece of ass
and fuck her brains
out.

Then,
I'd take
all
the liquor
and drink it
all at once.

I'd might even
kill someone.

Just to do it.

Just to see what it felt like.

The same,
the same.

Yes,
the plane
would go down
in flames
and everyone would die
and he'd have
the hugest erection ever.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Just once,
I'd love it
if someone
actually surprised me.

Say,
instead of a woman,
they would
suck on some
balls,
sober,
and then,
took a dump
on all
the liquor.

So if anybody wanted to
get drunk,
they'd have to
shoot shit.

Then,
say,
nobody dies
and there's one guy,
who has shit
on his mouth,
and it was the guy
telling you
he'd die
with the hugest erection.

That.

Now that,
is what
I call original.

Not the same old
predictable shit
these men
try
and pull off.

Again and again.

I'm Going

All of my heroes
took a chance
where there was
none.

All of my heroes
left
what they called
home.

To become
themselves.

To become
heroes.

All of them
didn't listen to
those voices
that told them
no.

You can't do this.

What if you die?

Some did.

Some survived.

Some
were never heard from
again.

They all
are inspiring me.

They all
are calling me.

Out
onto
the road
of the unknown.

A New Belief

I can't wait
to see
their faces.

Crying
and in
shock.

I'll be there
at
my own funeral.

Laughing
and thrusting
all those tears
right off
all their cheeks.

To me,
it will all be
one big joke.

Again.

Just as life was.

Not so much
for them.

They believe in
the devil.

They believe in
hell.

They must
want
people to suffer.

As far as
I'm concerned,
everyone
will be set
free
from all
of their beliefs.

All they have to do is
die.

All that will be left
is freedom.

Freedom
to roam
and go to
your own funeral.

If you wish.

We can both
fuck with all these
devil worshipers.

Then move on
into
another dimension.

Where there are no
jail cells
or
cops
or
bills
or
dirty dishes.

Just everlasting jokes.

A Pimp and His Lady

Is that
really him?

I wasn't sure.

You never can tell.

Some people
go out of their way
to be
someone else.

But,
there he was,
Carlos Santana.

At a bar,
with a Santana cover band.

He wasn't playing.

He wasn't drunk,

He was picking up
our empty beer bottles
and taking them
to the bartender.

He was a good busser.

We watched him
for awhile.

After a couple more beers,
we asked him.

I don't remember his reply.

I don't think he
really responded.

I didn't care.

I just wanted him
to dance
with my woman.

I was a pimp.

Carlos was a trick.

He paid me
with a smile.

My lady and I
went on
to the next bar.

Hoping for
a lil bit
more than he was
offering.

Where Did it All Go?

Your whole life's
ruined.

Your home's falling
apart.

Your love's
dead.

Your inside's
rotting.

Dying of old age
way too young.

Barely getting up
and when you do,
there's the bottle,
pills,
shitty food,
and an obscene amount
of tv.

This is
the life
of someone
who does not
love
themselves.

This is
the root
of all evil.

This is
the way
you live
your life
everyday.

Expecting miracles.

They'll never come.

Not
for
you.

A Threat

It was in
a black box.

Shinning
in the sun,
minding its own
business.

Someone noticed it.

They immediately
called the cops.

You see,
this is the
happiest place
in America
and we can't have
any
sort of suspicious activity.

The cops put down
their donuts
and raced over.

Sirens warning the whole city.

They said,
it's a bomb.

Swat came next.

Millions of dollars
spent
to protect
our lovely lil city.

They got the box,
prepared to diffuse.

That's when
they heard,
not a ticking,
but a hard
thump.

The cops, the swat,
and all of San Luis
watched
as they opened
the box.

Expecting
the
worse.

To our surprise,
there was no
explosion.

A sigh of relief.

It was just
a dildo.

The happiest place
in America
still safe.

For now.