i am always full of tripe
the sandstorm always at my back
and i am here to rob the bank
but always shooting blanks in my poems.

let me end from the beginning….

“a t-rex steps out of a time-machine” but 
i know you’ve already heard that one.

it’s a plagiarism. it’s a hieroglyph and
a bubblegum wrapper. found them both 
stuck to my shoe. and that’s a half-truth:

for who still chews bubblegum? anyway,
i hate it when i wake up humming… 

the sonogram sung in my sleep;
i smell like a fresh river reef…. no. wait.
something is amiff. allergies?!?
this early in the summer!?!

or a milf? …no, something’s amiss!
but you effin’ knew what i meant tho.
daddy said you come from good people

but when not full of tripe, i’m fulla shit.
my hand in your ass-pocket for your wallet;
and not even discrete, my hand lingering too 
long in your wife’s hand every time we meet. 

tripe. and shit. and the blues… 
my top lip swelters with a patriotism
that my tongue is forbidden to taste

but miss me with your political quandaries,
your highbrow questions, your social quagmires,
your lowbrow misstatements…. i’m only here 
to whistle at the white women
at the black lives matter rally… 

you can honestly keep your can of worms, 
your hornet’s nest, and your snake pits 
to yourself – because i’m not the progenitor 
of this united snafu… 

and i’ll only help you fix it once 
i’m granted full access. otherwise, 
i don’t know what else to tell ya… ¯|_(ツ)_/¯

shit. pee. or get off the pot.

and speaking of Einstein, 
this morning’s coffee has given me
such a jolt that i am now the God of Volts!
me equals PC ‘round midnight:
and i command ye to build me 
a bourbon altar!

too late. you’re already smited. 
i smoted you. …(smooted?)
in the very least, i done already pooted 
in your general direction.

and has anybody seen my race car?
driving thru a wendy’s in a formula 1
will get you some good looks!

and, goddammit, who wants 
to publish my chapbooks?!? 
a rhyme a dozen.

hallelujah, allahu akbar,
jumpin jehosaphat, nam-myoho-renge-kyo
a pocket full of poseys, ashes, ashes,
and all that jazz….

i think i left the water running.
but somewhere there is always
a water running. 

and if this don’t beat all, i think
my wail done run’t dry.