Waltz of the Meatballs

How lucky this life
of blood and sinew
while the meat machine
still functions.

Let us move!
Let us dance!
Let us be
one with nature
in a world
filled with other
meat machines!

So what if we have
an expiration date,
and flies are gathering
at the window.
Let us dance!
Let us dance!
Let us dance!
Until we are meat
no more.

The Meat Jewel

the human face
is a meat jewel
glowing with
internal brilliance.

but, oh,
watch out for the flies
that are bound to gather.

think your meat thoughts.
dream your meat dreams.
smell your meat stench

before the rot sets in.

That Healthy Meat Glow

glowing faces
of eternal meat
end in the bellies
of flies and fish.
only their radiance,
and soon forgotten
continues through space,
reaching the dark heated edge
of eternity,
before curling in
the dimple of
a flat universe
and rebounding back,
or falling off the map.

A Not So Brave And Not So New World

the song of genes
is erratic and impure
producing demigods
who walk among us,
and those born wounded
who can barely crawl
to the place of sacrifice.

all may rage
against a non-existent fate,
and yet these genes
go off one by one,
tiny time capsules,
telling us to grow,
to love, to fight,
to sicken and die.

the alphas laugh at the table.
the betas seek to climb,
and rest grind their teeth,
toughening the gristle
that they are,
while sizzling,
ever sizzling
in one frying pan
or another.

In the butcher section

meat hung upon a spine
waiting, waiting
for the life gravity cleaver.

oh, so much packaging,
foam and plastic,
in life’s supermarket.

the meat, the meat
rots slowly inside us,

turns the stars

Standing at the Red Sea

Blood drips from my wrists.
I can not stop it.
I can not stop
puddles from forming
on the floor.

I can not stop
the red sea growing
across white tiles.

I cannot see the other side.
I hear Pharaoh's trumpets
blasting in the distance,
the sound of wheels and hoof beats
growing closer.

Where is the pillar of fire?
Where is the whirlwind?
Where is Moses to lead me
to a safer shore?


The fire rained down
From the sky
And landed on our heads.
Flames danced
Above our brows,
And we spoke in many tongues
As our flesh melted
And our only words
Became thoughts.

We glided holy wounded
Among twisted beams of steel
And the powdered rubble
Of our cities.
In this end we are all one,
Joined by the light
And the pain of atoms,
Right down to
Our particle being.

in this age of cannibalism

the cannibals
can’t swallow pearls
locked inside this meat,
spit our precious souls
into mire and mud
where they lie
amongst our bones.
there they sprout
longing hands
reaching for the stars

Leaves of Ass

I'll put your ass in the meat slicer,
or you can put mine,
or we can do ourselves.
We' ll cut off a few pages
bloodied with poems,
then maybe make a sandwich
on rye with swiss cheese,
tomatoes and onions.
All poets need to gnaw and chew
on themselves and others around
then spit out the truth they find.

Thoughts About The Afterlife

Me and the worms, the worms, the worms.
Me and the worms, the worms, the worms.
Me and the worms, the worms, the worms,
the worms, the worms, the worms, the worms.


we seek nourishment from where we can obtain it,
living or dead is of no matter,
we must sustain ourselves by feeding on legends,
myths, faiths grown old and stale,
keeping eyes fixed not on the hereafter
but on “anyplace but here.”


my arms and legs have become
a banquet for mosquitoes.
red welts rise all over my skin.
only in this way can I play christ,
distributing manna to the insects
by letting them eat of my flesh.

Viral Poem

These words are a virus
that enters your body
through your eyes and ears
or by lolling on your tongue.

These words flow
through your arteries,
penetrate your heart,
affect your liver and kidneys,
find a home in your brain.

There they will dwell
and divide and multiply,
merging with memories
of childhood illnesses
and poems your were forced
to memorize in grade school.

These words will make you
burn with fever, shake in bed.
These words will make you
break out in hives.

These words will live
as long as you do,
become part of
your body chemistry,
chains of amino acid
and bio-electric impulses
in the neurons of
your cerebral cortex
and may even live on
in your children
if you infect them
in the womb,

and when you die,
as we all must,
these words will mourn for you
quietly in the corner
by your bed,
mumbling in the dust.


You only see the light
bouncing off me.
I only see the light
bouncing off you.
It is all we will ever see.

We try to understand
the true being
that flashes so bright
in our eyes,
but it is buried
under bone and skin and eyeballs.

We must deal with
the reflections,
the colored light,
spectral patterns,
digitalized chemically
and reassembled
by firing neurons
in the occipital lobe.

The false you,
appearance only,
being light,
will live forever,
at impossible speeds
through the vast
emptiness of space
to the furthest end
of the universe,
bent by gravitation
from black holes
and shot past heaven’s
outstretched glove.

The real you,
the you that only you know,
shall go out,
a snuffed candle,
a broken bulb.

It will never be replaced.
It will never be missed
having never been known.

How lonely this life
of light eternal.
How lonely this life
of meat.

Can you wonder why
some men choose
to become flames
and join their bodies
to the glow
that will outlast
us all?