Black Cat

I must have been asleep
I don't remember
But I must have been asleep
And when I woke up I was hurting
It must have been the black cat
That scratched me

I don't think I was out for long
Can't remember
But I was only out for a minute
And when I woke up I was bleeding
Don't worry it was just that cat
That scratched me

It came in through the window
I've been swearing I'll fix that window
Through the window while I slept
I only closed my eyes for a minute
When I opened them I saw the red lines
Aching wrists
It came in through the window
To scratch me

These things happen
Don't remember
But these things happen
When I woke up I was crying
And now I can't find that black cat
That scratched me.

I Can't Write You A Poem

I can't write you a poem
It wouldn't be right
I can write you a letter
And sign it with exes
I can text you by the hour
With cute punctuation
But I won't write you a poem
It wouldn't be right

It wouldn't be right
To think that I'm able
To sum you all up
In a few petty words
It wouldn't be right
To try to tell anyone
"Look at this poem
And you'll know I feel"

I can write poems of heartbreak
And poems of sorrow
I'll write poems of fury
And poems of joy
My poems of politics
Will slice like a scalpel
I can make you laugh loudly
With poems that mean nothing

But I won't write you a poem
Because it can't be sufficient
I won't write you a poem
Because I'll fail miserably
I won't write you a poem
For you're more than a poem
I can't write you a poem
It wouldn't be right

Barbie

If Barbie had nipples
I'd do her
Without nipples, I find it hard to get excited about her
But if she had nipples, I'd do her

And a vagina
She would have to have a vagina as well
Because otherwise how would I do it?
I'd have to take a drill to her nether portions
And the outcome would be uncomfortable for all concerned

So nipples and a vagina
And I'd do her

Of course, Barbie is a really tiny doll, and I couldn't do a doll that small, logistically speaking
She'd have to be much bigger
With nipples and a vagina

And not a doll
I wouldn't want to do a doll
If Barbie wants me to do her, she'll have to not be a doll
It would take the pleasure out of doing Barbie if she just lay there staring blankly at me
No sound but the squeaking of plastic
So definitely, not a doll

I would not hesitate to do Barbie if she had nipples, and a vagina, and was the size of a woman, and was not a doll
A Barbie like that is a Barbie I could get on board with
She should also have a tattoo

I would love to do Barbie if she had a tattoo
But Barbie never has a tattoo
If I could get someone to paint a delicate tribal tattoo on her shoulder with a tiny paintbrush, Barbie would be perfect
If she was a full-size Barbie who was not a doll, of course, we wouldn't need the tiny paintbrush
I could just ask her to get a tattoo

So I would do Barbie, if she had nipples and a vagina, and was not tiny and not a doll, and had a tattoo
And if she had an hourglass figure and black hair, that would be nice too
Because I think Barbie's hot

If Barbie was an actual woman, I wouldn't be so picky, of course
I would do an actual woman
That would be sweet
I'm not sure if I would do a woman without nipples
Maybe
She might have had her nipples pulled off in an industrial accident and I wouldn't want to discriminate against accident victims
That'd be cruel
She would probably still have to have a vagina though
I guess I could take a drill...
No, she'd definitely have to have a vagina

But I'm flexible about the tattoo
But it would still be nice

Also she should come with her own Dream Car

Sometimes I Dream

Sometimes I dream
Of breaking bones
Splintering shattering crunching to dust
Fists hitting walls and knuckles bent and crushed
By their own irresistible force

And kneeling
Bleeding
Praying
Floorheaded wallfisted beetleballed
Keening like a dying cat
Dreaming of broken bones
And relief

At The Gates

You work so hard

So hard at being you

You dive to the bed of the sea and hurl yourselves above the sky

You work so hard

What fools

Working to make a history

Working to make a world

Working to make lives

What fools

You kill so easily

It makes me laugh how easily you kill

You throw fire and steel until your arms hang heavy and you shake your heads and click your tongues at the low-down dirty shame, because you’ve been working so hard…

What fools

Because the history is killing

And the world is dying

And your lives pass so quickly I barely notice them and I say, what fools, what fools

And you love so strangely

So pointlessly

And it makes me laugh how…

You scale mountains and build castles and cast shattering light upon yourselves so that you may never see another night

And you dive to the sea…and it’s so strange how you work, how you love, how you kill

For one kiss

What fools

And I watch so closely

So closely to see how it all fits together

And I say, what fools, what fools

But still, one kiss…

What fools

Andy Warhol

I met Andy Warhol at a kerbside cafe

He didn't look the way I remembered, but I know it was him by the way he drank his soup:

Straight from the can, with a go-go dancer sitting on his head

I said to him, Andy, Andy, tell me about the 60s

And he said, let me tell you this, son. The 60s were more than just a decade. They were two decades.

And I said Andy, I'm pretty sure it was just one decade.

And he said, hey, maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong, but let me tell you this: the 60s were like a mind EXPANSION. Ever been knee-deep in yak hair, getting pelted with mangoes? That's what the 60s was like, believe me when I tell you that the 60s were like being in the middle of an explosion in a Teddy Ruxpin factory.

And I said, Oh, YES....

And I said, Andy, Andy, back when you were subverting dominant cultural paradigms and revolutionising popular conceptions of what constitutes art in the mass consciousness...did you never think of love?

And he said, let me tell you one thing about love. Love is like Richard Attenborough. It is old, and it is wise, and it is award-winning. Sure, we are sad when love is shot by the Germans, and yet love plays a pivotal role in Jurassic Park. Know then, love looks good in a panama hat.

And I said, you, me...WAVELENGTH!

And I said, Andy, Andy, I want to thank you, Andy, for all you've done. I want to thank you for taking in that little orphan girl, and her dog, resucing them from the avaricious Miss Hannigan and her evil brother Tim Curry, with the help of Punjab's turban.

And he said, no, I am Andy Warhol. You are thinking of Daddy Warbucks.

And I said, O you are wise!

And I said, Andy, Andy, did you know that David Bowie wrote a song about you?

And he said, yes, it's called The Laughing Gnome.

And I said no, it's called Andy Warhol.

And he said that song isn't about me, that's a different Andy Warhol, he sells aquariums.

And I said oh man....

And just then David Bowie himself walked in, unbuttoning his shirt, and said, anybody here need their pool cleaned?

And that's when things got sexy...