Sanity

Knife plunges into flesh.

A red hot blood spritz, yes!

And then an ebullition.

No more suppositions.

Flesh hacked into fifty pieces.

He finds beauty in the egregious

Acts of his pack committee

That is as silent as the boy in Sin City.

“Sin City!” he thinks. “Now there’s a thought.”

The war within him, watches each peace rot

On the cold constitutional floor.

He smiles, looks around, then makes his escape,

Off to seek his sanity, to give thanks and praise.

The Puppy Song

Ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Said, ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Soon as he makes a mess, uh-oh-oh-oh-oh!

Soon as he makes a mess, gotta tell’em no-oh!

Pup has no episodic memory

So tell him no right when he pee-pees. 

Train’em in a crate or use the pads.

Be patient, though, even if it’s bad!

Ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Said, ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Soon as he makes a mess, uh-oh-oh-oh-oh!

Soon as he makes a mess, gotta tell’em no-oh!

Pups like to bite, be cute, and playful,

But a biting pup equals a dog with no home.

So train’em early to bite only pup toys,

Before he bites something you really enjoy.

Ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Said, ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Soon as he makes a mess, uh-oh-oh-oh-oh!

Soon as he makes a mess, gotta tell’em no-oh!

Get your pup at a shelter, or a good breeder

Because puppy mills are bottom feeders.

Don’t believe me, just do your research.

‘Cause mean pups weren’t properly nurtured.

Ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Said, ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

Soon as he makes a mess, uh-oh-oh-oh-oh!

Soon as he makes a mess, gotta tell’em no-oh!

Ain’t no need to hit your puppy.

The Truth

What can I do to uncover the truth?

Shall I sit and meditate in a booth

As I sip grand ale and eat sweet beef stew?

Outside my door there lies political floors:

Politicians making decisions or

Thugs that enjoy the kill forevermore.

The Truth! The Truth! Yes, we all want the Truth,

But the Truth makes us ill or does it soothe? 

Never Change

            I’m a million dollars in debt.

            Still, people ask me to change.

            I’ve tried, without success.

            I guess I should try again.

            So I sit and contemplate.
            I think up many ideas,
            But nothing populates
            My brain region's

           Plagued with too many fears.

           

            I’ve seen many silver faces,

            But that’s all I ever see.

            I’ve searched in many places

            For the sick ones whose skin is green.

            Every day I awaken,

            Knowing my palms are empty.

            I wish my spirit would be taken,

            And then set free ever so gently.

            But this will never happen—

            At least not anytime soon.

            So all I can do is imagine

          What it’s like to be rich like you. 

The Quitter

I am a quitter.

I quit everything:

My jobs, my goals, my dreams.

I am a quitter,

And I hold my head up with pride.

I am a quitter.

Now, if only I could quit these lies.

The truth is, I’d rather be a failure.

At least a failure can say he tried.

But I am a quitter.

That is all I will ever be.

A quitter.

Too bad I can’t quit being me.