Poems from Nancy Book

By Tom Miller


beer

 

there’s an empty glass

wishing it had beer

so it could become useful

 

wishing it could bring itself

to my lips and quench me

kiss me

 

an empty glass needs meaning too

just like me

 

beer would solve

both our problems

 


 

roget’s pocket thesaurus

 

 

I was looking for a word meaning

thesaurus

 

this book didn’t have it

 

I expected better for $2.95

 

hell

I could go down to 6th street

and get a blow job for $2.95

 

or head or sucked off or

whatever they’re calling it

these days

 


 

there’s something about a guy and his dick

 

 

he’s proud of his dick

 

it points the way

sometimes down

sometimes straight ahead

 

into the magic center

or the warm place with tongue

sometimes the taboo place

 

it points the way

 

it makes decisions

it says

be stupid

 

stick it in here

or here

 

keep it out of there

that place is no good

 

it knows what it’s doing

 

hell

it would talk if it could

 

little lips would open and say

I want him and I want her

and I want you

 

it knows

when you love yourself too much

 

if it can’t go

there or there or there

 

it wants you to

use your other hand

so it feels like someone else’s

 

it wants you to

wrap it with rubber

coat it with jelly

 

stick it in fruit

wave it at the old ladies

 

wave it at the little girls

the little boys

 

it tells you these things

and you listen

you obey

 

you trust your dick

despite yourself

 

in spite of yourself

you follow your dick

 

after all

it’s your best friend

 

you envy it

 

it has more courage

more stamina

more passion than you

 

there’s something about

a guy and his dick

 

a special bond

a connection

 

a relationship where

lover and loved are one

 

the only way to shame it

just for a moment

to get your senses back

 

is to go to the park

find a small dog

with a bigger dick than you

 

when you see that

run as fast as you can

 

with luck

you’ll leave your

mortified dick behind

 

and remember you once

were human

 


 

I feel it

 

going down

down

back in the trash

with the cheap beer

and the filthy smokes

yes

and nobody to

fuck me up

no love

or passion

just walls and walls

to climb over

or bury with words

say

goodbye to

good times

and hello heaven’s

hell

screaming

in the dark

 

I like it again

it’s fresh

it’s new

like

pissed in snow

and baby’s

first slap in the ass

and

the prom queen

with cum on her tits

 


 

grotesque parade

 

first in line

the midgets

followed by

the drag queens and

the leather men all greased up

rubbing their tight bulges

against each other’s bulges

pressing their mouths

hot against

teeth and tongue and spit

and after them

a big balloon

in the shape of a fat dick

spraying confetti

on the crowd

and then the lesbians

sucking tit and cunt

with ferocious abandon

their backs to the men

throwing out candy

with milk centers

the lesbians are the smelliest float

except for the jesus float

with a jesus man waving bread

drunk on wine

the small boys wash his feet

and there is a float of mud

and a float of men making promises

and a float of angels covered in shit

and holding up the rear

is the poet parade

dragging their pages like crosses

heavy with the weight of words

they fall behind

the procession moves through the streets

through the throngs of children

and old men

through the bitter faces life molds

with its cold blue hands

there is no music

 


 

I’m not that clever

 

or so he said

from the couch

 

and I said,

"yeah. not that clever,

am I?"

and drank my beer

and wrote my poem

 

about him

and how clever he was

 

sitting on the couch

wasting his time

on a bum like me

 

and I didn’t give him

any beer

 

even though he was right

 


 

nero fiddled - rome burned

 

I’ll play kazoo

while hogtown

 

sinks into

the swamp

 

screaming

for its life

 

while hogtown

is devoured by gators

 

while hogtown

spits the last man out

 

zwee zwee zwee

zwee zwee zwee zwee

 


 

what I think about jazz singers

 

 

there’s a point

in jazz singing

where the singer

begins to improvise

using such terms as

zoo-bu-dee doo-wap

doodlee dwapa dee-dap

this form of singing

is known as scat

and every hunter knows

that scat means bullshit

which is what they look for

before they shoot

 


continue...
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1