Haircut for Corvid

 

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Their shorn feathers fall

Like black snowflakes.

Short back and sides.

But Jesus, try getting the apron on them.

 

Caw caw caw!

Don’t go near them with powder

Or push the hair products

Even if they are at 50% off today.

 

Oh, and forget a tip

If all you have is lollipops,

Bazooka Joe and them

Go way, way back.

 

But what can I do

With a stone or a chestnut?

I shouldn’t complain

They help keep the lights on.

 

Anyway, I use the feathers

To soft pedal the night sky.

It helps me sleep

After a hard day’s work.

Imminent Jam

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English isn’t my first language:

It is the glossolalia of improving my mile.

Further.

Isn’t that what the man said?

 

Well, then, that always seems like always a

Hair further

Don’t it?

Man and woman alike can get tonguetwisted

 

Colloquially and in the finest farthest reaches

Of underpasses, townhomes and high-rises.

Eventually we trip over our tongues when the red light goes on.

By then, it’s time to get off anyways…

 

So knuckle under and buckle up, buttercup.

I’ll hold the steak knife to your supple chin

And by pray by dints, the glint on the blade

Blinds us all.

Excuse Me, Are You Finished With That Hegemony?

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Hey man,

Respect the dynamic.

Our empire can’t be erected

On the backs of other’s babies.

 

Again. Can it?

Oh, and speaking of erections

Ladies, maybe if you let us touch your bodies

Every once or twice or three times

 

We’d let you have a say

About your plumbing or that place

Down there wherever the stork

Deposits the twinkle in God’s eye.

 

Alls I’m saying is it’s tough being white.

Hard to be WHITE. The WHITER THE HARDER.

It’s almost, almost like trying

To not there at all.

 

Type B

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Born nameless without sin

We exit otherwise;

Meh, what can you do?

 

Live up to our names and sins

Or risk pissing off the Gods?

Better then being pissed on, eh?

 

Keep it moving Guthrie,

Your songs don’t play

On this jukebox.

 

From sea to shining sea

The gods burn upon re-entry

With nary a fizzle or kerplunk.

 

We carve ice sculptures in hell,

Fashion thimbles from granite boulders

With our bare hands.

 

Other times we nap.

Dreaming of names and sins,

Lonely as all get out.

Redolent Glory

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The chemtrails are beautiful today

Like an Abolitionist’s tears

Upon learning hegemony has been institutionalized

By a constitutional amendment: grand indeed.

 

The sad sickening sucking sound

You heard was the farm fresh eggs.

I’m sorry, I used to bag down at the Acme in high school.

My tools are leaving me. Still that dent

 

Can get pounded out. I just need

A common household plunger, a ball-peen hammer,

Some crow’s feet and a smoker’s cough.

Oh, and prayers. Lots of prayers.

 

Don’t worry, though, tune in tonight

When The Dictator hands you the keys

To your BRAND NEW CAR!

It travels on wishes and ice cream.

 

And by the way the Inspector would like a word

With you before you transmigrate.

Lately, he’s been feel super-sized and nonplussed

So it may take a while.

 

Make yourself comfortable.

Can I get you anything?

Anything at all?

Within reason?