Reno, Tahoe, Vegas

Reno, Tahoe, Vegas
Buddha, Mohammed, Jesus
from the streets to the sheets
on my heels in my wheels
Reno, Tahoe, Vegas
black sheep to London, New York, and Paris

I went looking for America
but alas, she didn’t want me
no drugs in my jeans for her, you see
she was an opioid whore
gone to seed
sluttony, gluttony and selfish greed

Scarsdale to Scottsdale
Austin to Boston
give me your tired
give me your poor
so I can throw them in prison
that’ll teach them for sure

America cares
like a bandage at a beheading
the lizard eternally shedding
itself from the rest of the world
like a spoiled teenage girl

How can you call this
the land of the free
get me some drunks to spell “liberty”
line my jails with hobos and whores
white people lynching
round the Christmas tree

Dreams That Money Can Buy

Dreams That Money Can Buy - Andy Seven Ltd

Thin emaciated petite
and pale blonde
she had the gift of grift
deaf mute picking pockets

Shoplift shuffles
watched by 69 eyes
circuito cerrado
like an electric fly
like a hydra
the larcenous Medusa
weaving through aisles at all the busy shop floors
drifting and floating her way out revolving doors

Hitting up subway trains
a restless madame
shifting fingers
which never linger
restless grabbing claws
without a pause

Jamming the aisles
are oceans of crowded men
she’s sacrificing herself
for a fondle or ten
as she grabs wallets and watches
and scattered foreign swatches

Handbags with trapdoors
passageways in her purse
the take on her bed
the harpy’s nest
Irish coffee and a smoke
as she kicks off
her high heels
she flies again in the urban dawn

Copyright 2020, Scuzzbuster Music (BMI). All rights reserved. From the album Minstrels Anonymous, available on Bandcamp.

Power Trio

Power Trio

Three guys walk into a bank
wearing cheap plastic rock star masks
there was Elvis, Gene Simmons and Ringo Starr
customers stood in line and
laughed at them

It was the day after Halloween
month end deposits
rent payments
welfare checks

Elvis swiveled his hips and flashed
white hot lead
shot the underpaid security guard dead

Well the laughter all stopped
and everybody dropped
Elvis covered the tellers
Gene Simmons swagged the merchants on the floor
while Ringo watched the door

Elvis shucked “thankyouvurrymuch”
Gene told everyone they should be honored he’s robbing them
and Ringo nervously tapped his feet

A few beats later you could hear a siren wailing
backbeat later a tear gas canister came crashing and sailing
Elvis moaned, “We’re caught in a trap,
we can’t walk out”

Shot Gene Simmons in the face and
his tongue flew off
then he shot Ringo in the neck
ever run riverrrun jugular fountain
then he put the gun in his mouth pulled the trigger
and went down to the edge of Lonely Street

Copyright 2020, Scuzzbuster Music (BMI). All rights reserved.

From the album Minstrels Anonymous, now available on Bandcamp

A Boy And His Lute

Since my birthday falls this Saturday (the 31st) I decided to treat myself to a cool birthday present, namely a video of my recent poem The Scenester. Because I accoimpany myself on mandolin I used a lot of photos of myself playing the instrument at home and at play. I edited most of it on an ancient Corel movie software. I encourage all writers out there to record themselves and film themselves as often as possible. Anyway, enjoy at your own peril :)

Return of the Son of Poetry Corner

The Expanding Eye

Tuesday night at the bohemian club
I came in wearing a raincoat
A snarky hipster sneered, “Is it raining outside?”
“Yeah”, I replied, “Meteor shower”
Snarky guy sneered down his sleeve, petted the club cat
Then he rubbed his eye
He rubbed it some more
And rubbed it like a magic lamp with no magic
Some cat fur got in his eye
And then his eye swelled, and Swelled, and SWELLED
It looked like he got punched real hard in the eye
Which would have been nice
But instead it looked like a gaping vag with a BB gun bullet inside
His eye looked like blinking pocket
A tobacco pouch that blinked
The cat didn’t want him to pet his ass anymore
Now the hipster looked like Quasimodo
And scared the cat
That goes to show you what a meteor shower can do
Meteor shower at the boho club.

Answering Machine Message From An Asshole

Hey pick up
C’mon pick up
I’ve got a great story to tell you
If you call me back I’ll tell you this great story
It’s really important
When you hear this story you’ll really laugh
Call me back
Are you there
So anyway I was thinking
Are you there
This is the greatest story
I was thinking of you when I heard it
Call me back it’s really important
Where could you be
Come on pick up
It’s a really great story
And! hey!
It’s really funny


The Groovy Show

When I was a little kid
KHJ-TV Channel 9 Los Angeles
Had a TV show called The Groovy Show
Taped on Santa Monica Beach
I stood around watching it groove
Kids in bathing suits dancing to The Castaways
“Liar Liar”
The host was Michael Blodgett blonde bubble-headed boy
Bikini contest, Michael:
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Trish from Cerritos”
“That’s a far-out bikini you’re wearing Trish”
“giggle”
“And you are?”
“Casey from Norwalk, tee hee”
“A polka-dot bikini, do a twirl for us, hon. What are you taking in school?”
“I’m studying to be a nurse, Michael, titter! Go Bruins!”
“Far out, aaaoooww! Outta site, Foxy!”
After watching them tape for 20 minutes I’d go up the steps to the pier and play pinball
“And now back to our dance contest – Cannibal and The Headhunters”
“Land of A Thousand Dances”

Pomes From Homes

The topxngx beach

We looked for the emptiest beach we could find
It had a lagoon with cranes, pelicans, and noisy gulls
She wore a flowery hat
A tankini
And a tiny umbrella that sat by her head
The waves crashed quietly against the sky
Surfer boys and girls were running into the waves
Surfboards leashed to their suntanned ankles
Pale skinned ladies marched by
in their plus-size ross dress for less bathing suits
A gypsy family rinsed their clothes in the water
Kids splashed around
While single mothers yelled at them
Boys in bathing suits as long as skirts toddled by
Their distended stomachs like a dead bloated monkfish
I stood in the water
the waves shifting rocks
seaweed
sea shells
beer bottle caps up and down against my ankles
the sea air smelled good
when we got home we were red as lobsters
I drank some Russian vodka
took a pain killer
and passed out dreaming about the ocean

john doe blow

there was this band that made a name for themselves
singing about the plight of the working man and other welfare sob stories.
they once complained to people my band was taking up space
because we had no political views
and played funny songs and dressed up funny.
back then it was a bad (1978).
self-righteous phonies.
one night these working class heroes set a dumpster on fire
and pushed it down the hill in the middle of the street
a lot of people could have been killed,
people on welfare and people not on welfare.
they had to put their awful band back together again after the singer
acted in a lot of terrible movies and showed what an awful actor he was.
he has a ranch in montana.
flaming rubbish begets flaming rubbish.

Suburban adam and eve

It was cool being sixteen years old
And my girlfriend said,
“I’m hungry – let’s eat”
So she jumped over the backyard fence
and I waited
I heard her voice over the fence,
“well come on”
I jumped over the fence too
She stood right by her neighbor’s peach tree
She grabbed a peach and gave it to me
She grabbed herself a peach too
I bit into the peach
The juice ran all over me
She bit into her peach and stared at me
Her warm, hungry brown eyes burning into mine
This is the way it began
And this is the way it continues
Even in suburban culver city

Poetry Corner

it was a fuck you kind of day

It was a fuck you kind of day
You spoke and no one listened
You dropped things all day and when you bent to pick it up
You hit your head and someone laughed
Nobody laughed when you made a joke
But they knew what was funny

It was a fuck you kind of day
Like the invisible man no one could see you
People couldn’t move over or walk around you
Like stupid robots with dying batteries they charged right at you
The world gave up on me and no amount of
Drink or drugs or atomic bombs were going to straighten them out.


rot and roll

“Rock n roll never forgets” but it rots
I’ve seen it rot
Rot ‘n roll
I used to walk by the antique junk yard on my way home
A dirty, ugly statue of Chuck Berry made of shit brown bronze
Holding a guitar with his goofy pompadour
Legs splayed like hot shit on a shit stick
Then one day I walked by and his left arm was gone
Who the hell did that?

The following week half his right leg was gone
That must suck he can’t do his stupid splits any more
Two weeks later half his face was broken off
I never saw bronze break like that
A week later the guitar neck was all broken off
The rotting rock star was in trouble
I couldn’t wait to see what was coming off the following week
But alas the stature disappeared
The moral of the story is
Rot n roll always forgets that’s just the problem.

blackbird fan club

Walking to the bank for silver coins
With my inky black hair
Some wings flap by my ear and I feel needles in my head
A fucking crow has landed on my head and he’s sitting there
In Koreatown everybody has black hair
But this crow decided my head belonged to him
He flew right off seconds later
Fuckin’ demon

2 months later
Walking to Rite Aid past the puke strewn parking lot
With my raven feather black hair
Again I hear some flapping by my ear and claws in my scalp
Another fucking crow has landed on my head
Koreatown again aren’t there enough black heads to land on?
He flew off and landed on the ground
I stared at him
He stared at me, looking like “Well, fucker, what about it? I like your crazy black head”
Finally a fan I can relate to