The Womp

The abominable man
Is to snowball
As kitten is to serval

In spring of summer’s fall
Little Johnny ate a tarantula
To turn blue as an Eskimo

He wakes in ICU
Slaps the nurse
In her pinup

Before screaming
For Ice Cream
For pancakes

Ice Cream saves

The day the day the day
Until it melts the world
Away Jesus Christ!

I can hear my mother scream
From a Galaxy far far away
My Father is outside, on the roof

Of our one-story home
With a wind blower
Of zephyr, cleansing

The gutters
Neighbors walk by
Scratching their heads

As to Y he is wearing
My harness
Tied to my rope

He wants to be me
But will have to climb higher
Than the rungs of a stepladder

II

I step on the top tit of Mount Everest
And udder ‘NOT ENOUGH’
As with Sisyphus the joy’s in the journey

And so unlike Doge to the moon
Not the wolf not the lion but The

UniScorpion

III

To be in two places at once
Without being cloned
The Mona Lisa moans

For labor of thy thought
My mind turns to Donne
What Would Donne Do

A question
They’ll never
Ask–ask Eminem

But he’s in the shade
Sinking a shit–
A little poop hits

The rim of Detroit
At 6 Mile
My Uncle is driving

Through a red light
Like me for thrill
Baiting cops

To the point of when
They pull him over
He hands them his 00

Black Card Licence
The officer shakes
His hand, asks for

The Big Picture
But Icarus
Isn’t flying

To the sun
Icarus says
FU Once

FU Twice FU Thrice

IV

As Ashbery says
‘There is […]
Terrible breath’

In wake of all of this

V

The cuckoo flies off
The wall clock’s spring
Hark Hark the Angel sings

There is no turning back
There is no dial to rewind
For the dumb smoke glass

Of Day Light Savings

VI

Darkness pouts in its North Pole hole
Waterboarded by all their treasures
All their masses and masses and masses

Of fool’s gold now beginning to spill
And spill and spill as sand out of rattle
Due to the miracle the miracle the mirage

Of fracking

Thank you Exxon Thank you British Petroleum Thank you Shell Thank you Mobile and the long
List of your nom de plumes: PRELUDE, for Las

Vegas start packing
Yes This is Report

To Shareholders:

If one transforms sacred ground
Into fields of waste, well what do
You think as you sit or stand singing

Out of key
Hallelujahs

On stolen lands of the Navajo
The Cherokee, itching to read
The balls of your Steve Jobs Report

“whose hiring?”

Yes. You’re on dark web now
To send me punting
Back to the giddy-up

Of my next trail of tears

Notwithstanding how by scratch
Of last lottery ticket
You have already vanished

VII

THOTH is here