Ever Ugly

In the clock, the clock with many gears,
the clock that is dependent on gravity and a zit
covered boy, is an owl.
Clearly, this clock is large.
Slow, silent, bug-eyed, and hungry
would describe both the owl and the boy.

And mercy, was that boy
ever ugly. The teeth of the gears
were better looking than his. And they, too, were hungry.
The ugly boy ran the clock tower, other than being a zit
on clean, dead society. His influence was not large,
not nearly as vital as the owl,

even. It's day two and the boy is tired of the owl
already. Or maybe it's the gears' turning. The boy
doesn't know why there is an owl in his large
clock. He doesn't know why the large gears
are designed to accommodate the owl either. His biggest zit
begins to hurt. There is a hunger

in there somewhere. In the clock, a different hunger
is in the bent girders, bent around the bug-eyed owl.
It's lonely for everyone in there. A hurting zit
is a companion. The owl is a boy,
a man, rather. He turns his wide eyes like gears
and affixes them on the only thing to see. Large

people use the clock every day. They drive large,
clean, dead cars and have large, clean, dead hungers.
--A start. A pipe has broken; steam fills the girder cage and gears
surrounding the boy. All he can see are the eyes of the owl.
All the eyes can see are the boy.
At that moment, the zit

pops. And this is it,
they are alone. The little pocked boy, and the two large
eyes. The boy
heard nothing, there was no sound but the slinking hunger,
moving below the steam. Nothing was done about the broken pipe. An owl,
a boy, a killer, and some steam, all contained in a cage of gears.

A dirty, lively society had a hunger
for what it needed most: a broken pipe. A boy
didn't fix it, and two large eyes watched him get clean.

 

My Naughty Planet

If I threw a pail
of water into deep space,
this water would become a circle
            in 2D,
                        a sphere
            in 3D,
                        and a planet
            in 4D.

And inside my wicked planet
            would be a gold fish.
And this gold fish
            would be motionless, but alive.

Yet surely my fish would eventually swim
to the crust of its planet
and swim out into space,
thus dying.

And then what of my naughty planet?

It would look like this

O
Entering the Basilica,
I shouldn't be thinking
that this would make one hell
of a pool hall.

Thinking, this could hold
hundreds, thousands of tables
and sinners.

I shouldn't be thinking
of "Rape Me" by
Nirvana either, but I am.

I shouldn't be thinking
Of so much goddamned
Geometrics, and should
Focus on how the
Basilica reminds me of a ziggurat.

A ziggurat with pool tables.

 

Salty God

That little girl is wearing a bra.
The straps are showing on her shoulders,
they are intentional.

Driving through the mall parking lot is heavenly.
Gliding over the painted lines, knowing no-one
can stop me, is like gliding
over the Grand Canyon
in an Imax theater.

Her little comrades look so good.
You can see all the little bras
and all the sexual dominance in the boys.

I'm growing salt crystals now.
It's day two and they're doing fine.
The crystals grow together, but there are
little gaps, the surrounding liquid is caught
in these gaps. The liquid is preserved because
salt it a preservative.
Two-hundred-fifty-some million years ago,
six-thousand year-old God started growing
salt crystals, too.

Somehow it's a competition.