Dinner Music (with new, sicker ending!)

{If you were to make me angry,
I would not simply rip your head off…}

“hi there, yes, thank you, I’d love one.”

{…I would slice it off gently
being sure to not lose any of
those precious spinal fluids…}

“Gin and Tonic please.”

{…for they are the base for
the most sublime cream sauce…}

“Oh, Bombay Sapphire, lovely. Thank you.”

{…I would start first with the softest bits–
those velvety cheeks…}

“Why, yes, it IS a smashing party.”

{…the lobes of the ears and those lips…}

“No, I’m here alone.”

{…yes, those full, luscious lips
like the ripest of berries…}

“Oh, yes, I always meet the most INteresting people at these little soirees.”

{…sautéed in a little butter–
perhaps a bit of thyme,
salt, pepper– nothing else–
one must taste the lips
just as they are…}

“The band really is quite good.”

{…and oh, yes, the rest of
the ears and the nose—
not many people know what amazing
things pickling can do to cartilage–
it takes on the most tantalizing,
toothsome texture…}

“Ah, you like the afro-cuban stuff.”

{…and those college-bred brains,
the sweetest of sweetbreads…}

“Yes, I like it as well, though
I’m more of a Be-bop man myself.”

{…definitely breakfast,
with a bit of delicately
braised pork belly
and toast points
to sop up that sauce…}

“Pardon me if I sound a bit forward
but, you have the most aMAzing eyes.”

{…yes, those eyes, I would freeze
and save them for last, savour them,
cook them sou vide of course,
sixteen, seventeen hours, ever
so gently…}

“Well, listen, I have quite a collection
on vinyl, if you’d care to…”

{…so please

“Sure, sure, just let me get my car.”

{…because I will savor
every last morsel
of your skull
for weeks
as I defecate
down your

Something a little different...and a little dark.
Just goes to show you, you never know what to expect around here.

Slugs for Panda

(…they make the same sound as turds when they hit the pavement…and I think they have the same kind of sex as snails…)

First they like to start with a bit of sleazy funk music, perhaps a little

Los Amigos Invisibles

You know, something to get the juices flowing…


and then….


…they bounce down

stretching languourously

on their mutually constrained strand of mucus


blue things come out of the sides of their respective heads

co-mingling so….



as they entwine gracefully tangling

and dangling

in mid-air




eh-eh-eeeever so slowly dropping onto

the ground

under the airy bed

of their copulation….


then “she”

(or at least my wife insists it’s a “she” even though they’re hermaphroditic

because “she’s” the one left in the wet spot while “he” has kissed and ran

            ….well, sort of just slurped off)

snips off that string–the last severing act of their



drop of lust.



Yeah, I was too.

But you couldn’t stop watching either, could you?

It all takes about 18 minutes or so.

I have 67 glossy, digital, time-stamped images to prove it.

I keep them with my etchings.

Would you care to come up and see them some time?


(...not that I would know any better than you...opinions are like assholes...
...everybody's got one...here's mine)

Morbidity requires a mind,
someone to mind
or not mind
         what is said                                             
           or not said.

There is no thing 
to be                             
morbid about                                
an actor to do                              
the being of morbidity,
a mind that can’t bring  
itself to say
“I don’t mind if I don’t,”
a mind that insists
there always be 
to mind.
I mean,
if I were to say

“Love eats truth for breakfast
and shits
the blood of the beloved
sweetly into your mouth,”

…in the forest…
			…with no one around…

would you
—could you, really—

when love 
and truth
are the only realities

and only 
the trees
are listening?