Young Poem

I was digging through the big black plastic container where I throw all my old writing and garbage writing and scraps of paper with incomprehensible ideas -- I think of it as composting -- and in a folder whose cover features a white seal holding the Earth between its paws and another white seal peering cutely outward, both beneath the aurora borealis, I came across this poem, which is dated 1997 (putting me at 17 or 18):

Ladies

The ladies want a big meaty man:
Bold, juicy, and flavorful.
He should strut about and boast of his protein content
So people will ignore his saturated fat.
Call me rice pilaf.

I laughed.
---

Boner Chicago

Some scrape the sky, some bung the low,
All of them got girth.
In throbbing pulse, steel purple glow,
This city sure got worth.

The men they swim in millions,
Small fish biggish pond.
They whipped: their fate: to impregnate,
Hot dog's a magic wand.
---

Off to Work

Good worker bee.
Good worker bee.
Ga-ther mo-ney.
Ga-ther mo-ney
No bites for me,
A good worker bee.
Ga-ther mo-ney.
Ga-ther mo-ney.
---

The Bank

Today I go to the bank.
There are no men at the bank.
I am the Man of the bank.
Listen, goddammit.
I am the Man of the bank.
---

Dear Conscience

You love the pain, you prick yourself,
Enamored, you're alive.
Efficient torture practiced soothes
The buzz inside your hive.

The lawn lies bare except for there
A ruddy iron rake.
You cast your seed upon its tines,
And garden in your ache.

Now curse these blessings that would speak
To give away your ruse.
Both God in here and mother dear:
You have so much to lose.
---

Where I Start

I start with a person.
I evaluate tingling praise,
What's in it for me?
I consider her own
Hopeful laughter.

And sex, how does that go?
If not me, no
Definition, idea, or concept
Senses the sensual,
An inflexible farce of flesh,
Only organic.

Happy ladies and gentlemen
Simply give more.
---