Appears on Greg Reinfeld & the Opinionettes
I been crackin’ like a bell
put me in a padded cell
I don’t need to hurt myself anymore
I’m convulsing on the floor
rotting inside to the core
chemicals have hijacked my brain
once I had plans for the future
at 18 this town seemed so small
don’t let me sit near a window
I might be tempted to fall
went to Tightrope Walker’s Square
saw the homeless people there
crammed together balancing in the sky
dodging coins from passersby
distant voices shriek and cry
“get a job you freeloaders”
crowded as birds on a powerline
stagnant as bumps on a log
if one of them drops then they all will
tumbling down through the fog
I’m bound for an early grave
a chain is pullin’ me
and here’s why I won’t seek help
I’d wear my diagnosis like a badge
Appears on The Balladeer
before we met I was a literary goon
treading water
fighting quicksand
bookshelves filled my room
I was dwelling in a world of thoughts and ideas, at least I thought so
and then you showed up and it threw me for a loop
Crime and Punishment is six parts with 46 chapters and a tome of an epilogue long
a library card was my good best friend
the twin false gods of Once Upon a Time and The End
I had only the vaguest sense that other people existed
nose glued to a paperback ever since I was a kid
shall I abandon this fortress?
have I walled myself in?
and what will become of Ulysses
I quit reading ’cause of you
I can feel my IQ dropping
there’s a bookshop on the corner where I spend my time no more
I quit reading ’cause of you
I’m quakin’ at the knees
Odysseus the King won’t miss me
I heard of a ship that launched a thousand faces
I heard of a gift wrapped in the finest laces
as big of a plot twist as there ever was
so help me, I’m falling in love
I read Camus’ notebooks cover to cover and Kafka’s diary straight through
but every line of text I suffered not a single one rang true
was I in an existential crisis?
a surrealistic mess?
yes
which 20th century scholar’s ghost was I trying to impress?
this exi-dread might have left me for dead
you’d think that I was cramming for a test
I quit reading ’cause of you
stuck on the same paragraph for ages
skimming the page clockwise top to bottom like a hawk with its prey
I quit reading ’cause of you
not even Aesop could have warned me
oh, how the tables have turned
Appears on Poorest Almanac That Ever Lived
I saw a booty the size of Mount Rushmore
I saw a booty ask what a dick for
I saw a booty descending a stair
I saw a booty with a ribbon in its hair
I saw a booty that just won’t quit
I saw a booty as a Möbius strip
I saw two cheeks of a Panama Canal and two cheeks brand new on a long-lost pal
there was booty graffiti spray-painted white
I count booty for sheep when I can’t sleep at night
I saw a booty write a pop song
I smoke my hashish from a booty bong
I saw a booty write a song about a booty written by a booty in the form of a song
I saw a obstacle illusion three cheeks thick
I saw a booty starring in a buddy flick
I saw a booty make the honor roll
I saw a booty on a stripper pole
I met a booty at the meth lab
I saw a booty walking like a crab
I saw the word booty in my alphabet soup
then I saw a booty in my alphabet soup
I asked the waiter what’s it doing there
then the waiter turned into a booty
I saw a redneck booty call its grandmother mee-maw
I saw a booty arrested for breaking the law
I saw a booty on two sides of a seesaw
I saw a booty wearin’ a bra
I suck lemon-lime soda through a booty-shaped straw
I saw a baby booty go goo goo gah gah
I asked a booty out on a date
the booty said yes but then showed up late
I saw a booty geodesic dome
I saw two rabid booties less flesh than foam
I saw a booty make a booty call
I saw a booty at the Taj Mahal
you can’t teach a old booty new tricks
but once I saw a booty play Chopsticks
I saw a narcissistic booty in love with itself
I saw a ninja booty expert at stealth
look look look there’s a booty in my sideview mirror
it’s twice as big as it ought to appear
you can’t charge a booty with a capital crime
but you can fine a beatnik booty for a slant rhyme
I saw a booty the size of Mount Rushmore
I saw a moody teenage booty slam a door
I saw a booty just won’t quit
I saw a booty as a Möbius strip
I saw a booty write a pop song
a hundred thousand booties can’t be wrong
I saw a booty dodecahedron
I saw a booty think tank backtrack and spin
I saw a booty go under the knife
I saw a booty get a lease on life
I saw a booty
I saw a booty
Appears on The Balladeer
I had my first attempt at romance and fell flat on my face
she’s not a fish to be caught
there is no chase
like a child eating paste, oh how I adore her
ancient history now but my heart’s still sore
she’s not a serpent, she’s a saint
how dare you
she’s not a B-I-T-C-H
you’ve got your alphabet confused
she’s an angel
imagine just for a minute if you were in my shoes
lousy movie dialogue at the malt shop with milkshakes
I tried to connect on some level but all I got was a spittake
I glanced at the couple at the booth by the window and bit my lip
they were splittin’ a root beer float and a banana split
I was whipped with Cupid’s bow
I wasn’t even worth an arrow
fighting tears I threw cash on the table and got up and left
I meant no offense to the pastry chef
in the gumball machine’s reflection she was laughing softly
but on the plus side they were givin’ away toothpicks for free
my car was a lemon
an electric green lime
if I cared as much about its engine as about making the exterior shine there’s a small chance I might have prevented what happened next
clipped by a hot rod when I stalled on the offramp
that girl dodged a bullet by not going with me
in the malt shop there was no A.C.
only heat, humidity, rejection and ice cream
my first attempt at romance was also my last
distracted by thoughts of how bad I was laughed at I crashed
they said I was driving too fast which is why I’m wrapped in a cast like a prisoner
captured my sadness in plaster
can’t leave the past in the past
I’ll get over her but it’ll happen slow
she’s a character in my TV show
Appears on Album, Overrated
inveterate shaker of hot butt
a benefit taker of costs cut
Confederate banker of jobs shut
an accurate faker of lost what
I met a rugmaker and got stuck
a better muckraker of tossed smut
a go-getter anchor of hostage slut
I’ll trade you a tray for a foxtrot fuck
a letter sent paid for by boss in a rut
Babe the Blue Ox stays in a jock’s hut
electorate waits for a flossed strut
belligerent neighbor but not drunk
deliberate danger of cross flunk
triumvirate manger of moss trunk
the illiterate stranger who caught junk
a delicate steak for a showoff monk
advocates shake for a cough drop cup
caught in the act with an all-purpose pup
soviet tanker in a mosque the size of a walnut
a litter of dogs from a robot mutt
you get what you pay for more often than not
twenty six acres twenty six papers Quakers shakers shakers shakers
Appears on Album, Overrated
this ain’t a democracy
it’s a democratic republic
you ain’t a superhero
you’re a sidekick
knock knock
knock knock who
who’s there?
God
God who?
God fucking dammit open the door
what?
God fucking dammit open the door
what?
God fucking dammit open the door
oh my God, what’s that?
it’s a dump truck
oh my gosh, what’s that?
it’s a truck stop
oh my land, what’s that?
it’s a stopwatch
what a relief
it’s a bean sprout
here’s a mother dog golden retriever
why am I in the shower with my professor’s dog?
clearly I’m a prisoner of my own free will
choosing electives from the catalog
if it was Adam’s job to name the animals
was it the animals’ job to name God?
ghosts, ghouls and other ghosts and ghouls
cut the squawking, Canada geese
i don’t think you really want a piece
[of my bread]
of my bread
[of my head]
of my head
you’ve already been fed
that’s what i said
were cavemen cavemen?
they didn’t live in caves
were they ever clean shaven
without razor blades?
were cavemen ever women playing charades?
judging the men’s beards in New Year’s parades
what’s a trick question?
what did you say?
I said what’s a trick question?
that is, right?
no, that was a Zen koan
Zen who?
Zen fucking dammit shut the front
shut the door you’re letting the cold air in
gracious me, what’s that?
it’s a warthog
call 9-11, what’s that?
it’s hogwash
oh my land, what’s that?
it’s a washroom
what a relief
it’s a roommate
Lucifer Franklin had three guarantees
bad breath, taxes and fire brigades
Mount Vesuvius erupted and people fled Pompeii
the whole Roman Empire playing charades
the whole Roman Empire playing charades
one word, one syllable, dead
an old beagle was falling asleep
sucking on an onion with a straw
congeals through our memory and out through our mouths
onion syringes
onions like putty
putty in my hands
putty in my fingers
putty in my concept of what putty is
Anita Franklin is early to rise
before she goes jogging she stretches her thighs
stretches her thighs like a bean sprout
her thighs are a bean sprout bean sprout