Sunday, June 13, 2010

From "Hey Diddle Diddle"

We stop for food at a diner near Sheboygan. Our waitress sports K-mart rhinestone studded glasses and a pink uniform that clings too tightly to her thighs and breasts.She has spatters of unrecognizable food on her apron. She heaves her heavy body to our booth with coffee and omelets.

From the kitchen drifts the bittersweet yearnings and adolescence angst of Gene Pitney on this autumnal morning. We watch the lascivious flirting between our large pink watiress and the tattooed ex-con that made our omlettes.

I point to the ample pink buttocks and whisper to Cow, "Do you think he plays these songs as a hint to her?"

Cow turns her head excitedly to peer into the kitchen., "Oh. You know what? I think so."
I raise my eyebrows and grin at her, "When songs like 'That Girl Belongs To Yesterday' and 'Half Heaven Half Heartache' play he looks at her so longingly. I wonder what is going on? Do you think they've ever done it?"

Cow bites her bottom lip, her eyes flash with fervor; "That's a fantasticly seductive idea. Can you image them in the walk in freezer! Her pink uniform pulled up over her huge hips, her red lips smugged against his neck and her dishwasher hair falling around her face. Sweat dripping down their bodies into the open containers on the shelfs."

Her stocking ripped and him pushed up behind her with his stubby fingers covered in grease gripping her buxom bosom. Pants around his ankles and their faces contorted in a hot moment of ugly lust."

Cow licks her lips and continues. I look at her in a pale blue wonder, "I can imagine it now. His low grunt as he pushes into her as far as their jiggling fat can go. He ejaculates and her large bosom shakes as she cums. I bet their after sex stink reeks like rotten eggs."

I shake my head and laugh. Cow takes a sip of her coffee, "That is disgusting."

Back in the car flying south toward the backward part of town. It’s twilight when we reach the neighborhood that Moon has taken hostage. I stop at a red light and Cow is gone. At home I fall asleep as the rain stops and dream of waitress with Maxwell House eyes, marmalade thighs and scrambled yellow hair.

-----



Thursday, May 27, 2010

Riot on 1st and Marks/ Underwater Ceramics Sanitation Technicians

Cyrus and I are making a EP this weekend for my class about my time in New York. We are recording under the name REO Sleezewagon. This is the lyrics to Riot on 1st and Marks. It is a kinda heavy metal song. I'll post the actual song tomorrow after we finish polishing it.


Searching through raindrops and neon lights.

Watching the trail of taillights

A riot to know where you start

A still night and a change of heart

Taxis honk and swear and swerve

Alcohol drugs and shaken nerves

Collided strangers and worn out hope

All for the ability just to cope


(chorus)

I’ve seen it in your eyes again

The lost feeling of a downcast friend

Survive the winter for another spring


Stumble home to empty arms

Bruised and worn, lost my charm

Chronic smoke stain fingertips

Flipping through old manuscripts

Old coffee and half eaten bread

Knotted wood and a lumpy bed

Eyes filled with the lies I told

All I can see is everything I ever sold


(chorus)

I’ve seen it in your eyes again

The lost feeling of a downcast friend

Survive the winter for another spring

---


I also have another song called "Sitting in a bar in SoHo in a cowboy hat drinking alone". It is a country song. It makes me happy.


--


Here is a newish poem. It is kinda silly. I'm not sure I like it too much. Still -- I feel like dishwashers have been overlooked.


Ode to the Underwater Ceramics Sanitation Technician.


Between ice cubes and liquids

catching glances

of red buds of cigarettes

howling at the moon


looking up

god couldn't

have created a better sight.


doorways change daily chores into occupations


my hands are permantely puckered

marinara chips under fingernails

grease soaks into canvas shoes


I divulge in palm-olive

yellow gloves and grey water

the official sponsors

of underwater

ceramics sanitation technicians.


--


Doesn't quite do it justice. Se la vie.