King Missile

Love Is...

Love is beautiful Like birds that sing Love is not ugly Like rats In a puddle of vomit

Love is beautiful Like the sunshine And the dancing wind Love is not ugly Like pus And lice And tobacco snot Love is beautiful

Love is beautiful Like all the little animals In a forest full of green That smells like pine And wonder Love is not invisible brain control

And pain And malicious intent And lying all the time Although it can be all of these things And more

Love is a many splendoured thing It is not a shipload of slaughtered pigs Rotting and festering In the bleating desert

Love is what love is And love is not What love is not

What If

One day
What if one day
What if I said
I wish I was a tree
And then, suddenly,
I was a tree
Then could I wish myself back?
No, trees can't wish.

What if I wished I was a wishing tree,
A tree that could wish?
What if i wished I was a toilet bowl,
And then I was one, and the wind
   changed and I stayed that way?

Or what if I wished I was a toilet bowl
And suddenly I was a tree!
Would I be able to say,
"Hey! I wanted to be a toilet bowl, not a tree?"
No, I wouldn't be able to say that,
Because trees can't talk
They don't have mouths.

I would have to have the foresight to say,
"I wish I was a toilet,
But if by some chance I'm turned into a tree instead,
I wish to be a tree with
    a mouth that can wish to be
  changed back into a human being!" 
Because I'd only ever want to be a toilet or a tree for a
very brief
    period of time.
I guess this is the exact reason why they always say you
should be very
    careful what you wish for.

Let's Have Sex

I will slur
And heel and hem and haw
I will eat a monkey paw
When you call me up and command me to come over to
your house for sex
     and tea biscuits, I shall clandestinely drop my
cumberbund down the
     dumbwaiter chute.
Lutes will serenade us like liquid lemonade.
You will glisten like newborn snow, and I will listen like a
clairvoyant
     nipple clamp.
It will be sex, like nobody has ever had it before in the
history of
     postmodern lovemaking.
It will be sex, even if it isn't.
It will be sex, even if only in theory, even if it's only
pantomine, even if it's just a memory, or a dream or a
symphonic approximation;
     after a summer of autonomous sodomy and
National Geographic specials
     about the pretty animals that use
other animals as food
     by eating them.
     on television.
But we shouldn't even watch television,
we should just have sex:
Epoch making, earth shaking,
Teeth chattering, dish clattering,
Fish frying, eye popping,
Never stopping, bunny hopping,
Toe tapping, Joseph Papping sex,
Shakespeare in the park kinda sex.
D train to Coney Island vacation kinda sex.
Clandestine in the airplane laboratory kind of sex,
Olympic marathon sex.
All the different ways that we feel like having sex,
we should,
     until we grow old and bored and disillusioned.
The let us rekindle our feelings,
     forget our despair and our celibate nonsense
     and do it like bunnyrats till the cows
     come home to roost.
     so call me sometime, and let's have sex.

Pigs Will Fly

I don't know what it is That is or isn't inside me That gives me that empty feeling Inside of me A voice said to put it all down Pretend that it's all just a lie When the lamb and lion lay down Side by side Pigs will fly Little one Pigs will fly I don't know what it is That gives me that empty feeling A feeling that can't be filled With sex, food or coffee But one thing I know There is blood in the sky When the lamb and the lion lay down Side by side, pigs will fly

I see not I say not I cannot say why I say not I see not I cannot say why There is blood in the sky There is mud in my eye

These People

The people here Are so hospitable They have given me their best blanket And such soft pillows They are so kind I am crying

And i think it is violently rude of them To make me feel so guilty I barely know them And yet here they are Extending every courtesy, And being so caring And so considerate That I just want to burn their house down Right now While they are sleeping

Open Up

What's inside of me What hunger drives me To drive myself What makes me feel That I will be filled If I open you up And open up to you These things going thorugh my mind Are things I'd never do What do I know That I don't know What can I do to me That I haven't already Done to myself

We got a long day ahead And we got a long way to go

Wind Up Toys

If most of us were wind up-toys Could we trust the few of us that weren't To wind us up when necessary? I think not We would be a separate oppressed minority Even if we were in the majority It would still be that way The ones that weren't wind-up toys Would have the upper hand And we would have to look out for each other Because they wouldn't They would only wind up those that they saw fit Those that conformed to their ways

If most of us were wind-up toys It would be in our interest To learn to wind ourselves up Or wind each other up That's reality That's the way it is

Delores

The air was breathing, but I nearly suffocated
in my sarcophagus
Where the antelopes wear underwear on their antlers:
On my mantle, memories recede, but cost of living
adjustments dance the
    Charleston at the Rosebud of resplendent nostalgia:

The walls are dripping, and tonight the faces are on the
ceiling, are
    they are suspiciously silent:
There was a fire tonight, when the world weary smile:
There was a pillow plummeting like invisible carbon in a
passion play:

If this is only going from A to B and back again, how
come when I clothes my eyes, I see bedsprings and
excrement in deep focus:
Dirty deals that only I am privy to, elegant cobblestone
goblets, bone
    orchard china, parsips and lichen:

Puke on me, Delores:
Are you married or lesbian, are you a celibate Buddist
acolyte,
or are you just detached and unavailable like me:
More to the point where are you : where were you:
I went to the high school reunion, and Delores, there was
no puke:

It's a sad lonely song by the barnyard, 'cause Delores
ain't sick to
    her stomach no more:

Tongue

There was somebody else's tongue in my mouth (3x) And I don't know where it came from There was somebody else's hand on my tongue (3x) and now my mouth is missing Somebody should shut me up Somebody better shut me up that's for sure Somebody should shut my white ass up, sure a chicken fried steak

there was somebody else's fist on my throat (3x) And I sure better learn how to rhumba

The Dishwasher

He looked late 30's, maybe mid 30's. Tall, maybe six feet. I saw him in the Guatemalan clothing place. He was thin and hungry. They sold jewelry there too, I noticed some bracelets with Sanskrit writing on them. I think the woman behind the counter looked like she was Indian, not American-Indian, Indian-Indian. She had a weird smile on her face as I walked in. I was looking at the bracelets. He said he was looking for work. He said, "I applied for work as a dishwasher over at the hotel. I'll find out tomorrow, but if they don't, there's six other places looking for dishwashers." She's smiling at him, and I'm realizing now, hours later, she didn't know him. He says, "See ya," and leaves, and I'm still looking at stuff. She looks real nervous. She's not Indian: too light skinned, maybe- I don't know, but she didn't speak English very well. So he says, "See ya," and leaves, and I'm looking at stuff, and I'm realizing now, hours later, she didn't she didn't know him, she was just going along with him. And he obviously wasn't a customer either, 'cause he said he was looking for work. He applied fopr work as a dishwasher. They don't make a lot of money. Something was going on. He was desperate: maybe he went in there to try and sell something, but no, I think he was trying to distract her so he could, so he could maybe take something. He was thin and hungry, and desperate; I mean, he obviously wasn't a customer, but I didn't figure it out till later, after the movie, I'm walking back, and I'm playing the movie back in my head and I'm playing the scene back in my head, in the store: he looked 30's, maybe mid 30's, maybe six feet, in the Guatemalan place, they sold bracelets with Sanskrit wrintg on them, the woman behind the counter was light-skinned, she didn't speak English very well. I should have done something, I should have realized. I should have paid attention. I should've been awake. He told her he was looking for work as a dishwasher.

I didn't really get a good look at him. He looked like a dishwasher. I believed him, but now I think he was lying. I think he took something. She seemed real nervous. I should have done something. I didn't know. Is she alright? Do you think he - did she identify him? If she's dead now, how did you get my name? I don't know any dishwashers. No, I never was in Vietnam. She definitely wasn't Vietnamese. Is she dead? Do you think he. He looked 30's. I think he stole something. Do you think he killed her?

Socks

LOOK AT ALL MY SOCKS OH SO MANY MANY SOCKS I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IT CAN YOU IMAGINE HAVING SO MANY SOCKS I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO COUNT THEM ALL LET ALONE EVEN THINK ABOUT WEARING THEM SO MANY SOCKS HOW DID I GET SO MANY? WHERE DID THEY COME FROM HEY! WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY SOCKS? I'm inundated I can't- No, I'm sorry This won't do I cannot have this This is too many I cannot have this many socks Please take some of these socks immediately away at once

Ah, yes That is much better Thank you This is much more manageable This is quite good This is quite precisely the quintessentially right number I am extremely pleased Thank you

Bloodletting

To live here now, lying down Living as one of the bloodless Having been done with bloodletting Having let all of the blood out Having been bled dry by leeches Having let leeches bloodlet you Lying, Lifeless and bloodless You lie as you live without life, Lying lifeless and bloodless Living Lifelessly, bloodlessly Bleeding without bloodshed All blood having been shed The shower of leeches that sucked you dry The shower of blood that cleanses and dies Dyes you red dyeing Red lying Dead lying bled Shedding Bloodletting Shining in red Said the leacherous leech Lead Bleed Feed the red anger Drown in the shower Bathe in the blender The sender-receiver of life That you lie That you dye as you bleed As you flee like a leech Unleashed Released Deceased Insist Refuse Resist Transfuse Ooze, Snooze Dream Awaken Get the lead out Let the blood out

Lies

A narrative framework Another break with illusion A cognitive fallacy Imaginary reality These are all lies These are all lies Nocturnal emission Fraternal incision Internal submission Eternal division All of this fakery Artifice, trickery Phoniness, fakery Artificial, artificial Taking it easy This could be all there is Taking it easy Maybe it comes too soon May never happen again Saying it's all for nothing May never get there again May never happen again Typical, typical Typographical hypodermic Demographic epilogues Illogical dialogues

Biological monologue Obsolete novelty Original replicas Typical typical These are all lies

The Commercial

Lately, I've seen red, I've tasted blood, I've killed with words, I've wished and hoped and Swam through a river of snot Twice as wide as the mighty Mississippi, But I wanna know about the commercial I saw on TV: An Irish guy, Walking through a field of green, Whistling one of those Irish jigs, And a woman walks up and says, "Manly yes, but I like it too." Then the guy pulls out a huge knife And cuts off his first two fingers, And somehow catches them, In what's left of his left hand, And hands them to the woman Did I mention they're both dressed in green? They they both sing this song together: "Are ya icky? Are ya sticky? "Are ya hot as anything? "Hey cut off two of your fingers, "And stab yourself in the eye!" Then he stabs himself in the eye, And hands her the knife, And she stabs herself in the eye-okay? okay? so what about that? Then they join arms And do this Irish folk dance While taking turns dismembering each other This was a commercial for deodorant, I think, Or soap or something So now all the body parts Are lying in a heap, But the heads are still singing "Are ya icky? Are ya sticky? "Are ya hot as anything? "Hey! get away from summer, "And cut off all your limbs!" Then all of the body parts Start hopping and bopping around, Like little bunny rats, Then they jump into the mouths of the singing heads, But then they just slip right back out Through the severed necks and keep bopping about It's very beautiful music that's playing; There's an Irish flute, And a mandolin, I think, And the background singers sound Just like the Clancy brothers It's really a wonderful commercial, Spectacular, It must of cost a fortune to make The kind of commercial you'd see During the Super Bowl, maybe, Where the advertising time costs A million dollars A half a minute Wow, imagine that: A million dollars For a half a minute! Anyway, By the end of it, It looks like the two of them have been through a juicer, Or a food processor Or a blender or something- It's just a pink puree of Blood, bone and flesh in a big bucket, But it's still singing somehow "Are ya icky? Are ya sticky? "Are ya hot as anything? "Hey! Blend yourself, process yourself "Become a glass of animal juice!

"Haven't you had enough "Of fruit juices and vegetable juices? "Next time company comes over, "Offer them a cool refreshing glass of yourself! "Give of yourself, "Stop being such a selfish piece of snot, "Okay? Okay? Okay!" "And now, back to our program."

King David's Dirge

(This is an instrumental track.)

Psalm

My body's been altared Drawn and quartered A shower-the shower saved me Saved me cut me bled me Dead me, I would've been Like as if it could've been Oh, it never should've been But why, I don't know On the darkness, of the depth And the blood and the body Oh so badly shaken up Like nothing I ever And never you know I cannot, I can't Just give me some water to drown myself clean Like I never have been But I am I cared and I stared And I melted and cracked And I never felt stronger than this I swear

If I could I would blaspheme my way to you Just give me the courage and the glossary Let me turn my own words against me And perish in the process Let my obsolescence blossom and propagate Until every inkling of me passes away Passes along, passes on

Happy Note

I don't know why I'm always inclined To end on a happy note Though the point may be mute like a ten year old boy With his throat And his dreams Ripped out by wolves