How Horrible it is to See You

The same faces, voices, bodies

sent to my life from the cosmic

soup cooked up wherever and

whenever life began. The vast

majority of these faces, voices,

and bodies bring me nothing

but grief. How horrible it is

to see them: the neighbors

always driving by nearly

every time I amble to my

car or the park dumpsters.

Their heads turning to zoom

in on my wild, unkempt hair.

The park manager, with his

fault-finding stare surveying

the failing condition of my

not-so-mobile home. The

creatures who’ve been

sent by merciless chance

to evaluate my work

each and every grinding

day, jobs they and their

supervisors have made

impossible, of course.

The horrible faces

with mis-shapen bodies

attached,

driving by the wounded

and starving “higher

animals” of four legs

on the gore-splattered roads

humanity has paved.

Would it have been

too much for that prick-

in-the-clouds to have

sent one lovely human

face with a heavenly

body attached to help

me most of the way

through this hell-

of-a-life? Well, maybe

Hell is too strong a word,

it’s more like a mostly-

painful purgatory of sorts,

truth be told. And when I

die, may I only see those

furry faces of the non-human

kind, the ones I’ve saved and

those I wasn’t

able to save, waiting for me

with love in their eyes,

and maybe, just maybe,

one human face with

a lovely form attached,

who might whisper my

name.

 

— FB   Buy my novel, you horrible bastards: MAIL-ORDER ANNIE

 

 

 

 

 

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Love is a Payday Loan

Love is a Payday Loan.

You leave the counter

Feeling pretty good.

That money feels like

It’s yours. It’s in your

Pocket, after all. It

Feels good, not like

The Smile of first love,

But still pretty good,

Not as good as

the warm paw

Of a beloved pet

On your face stained

With tears after first

Love leaves. You loved

The girl and the pet too.

But when they’re gone

You pay with pain

For those loans of love.

And as for me I’ve paid

And paid for every joy

A woman has ever loaned

Me. I’ve paid with interest

Too, but as for all of my pets

Who’ve crossed the bridge,

Knowing them was worth

All the pain. And I’d pay

It again for each one

Of them.

— FB, author of Mail-Order Annie (a Story of Passion and Compassion)

 

 

 

The Yin and Yang of (Just About) Every Thang

The waitress I dreamt

About 25 or so years

Ago just waited on me 

Only several minutes ago

 At the same old

Pizza spot. She doesn’t

Look half-bad for a

Gal her age, which is

To say that I couldn’t

Get it up for her now

If I tried. So the phrase

“Dodged a bullet” pops

Into mind as I watch

Her bring my coffee and

Sprite even as I type this.

But at the same time it

Might have been better

Than nice to have crawled

Under the covers with her

After so many long days

For many long years, not

To mention the unlived

Pleasures of having someone

To have shared my pains

And joys with. But

That’s not how it went.

Even as I’ve typed what

You’ve just read, I’ve heard

Enough of her chatter with

Another waitress to glean

That she has two grown

Kids with no live-in dad,

Which seems to be the

Norm in these final

Days of the Decline and

Fall of Western Civilization.

So maybe I’ve dodged

Half-a-cylinder of bullets,

And if society weren’t such

A collapsing mess, it might

Have been nice to have

Created beings who would

Grow up with my face

But without my regrets.

 

— FB

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Ugly Lasts

You gotta know

That the magically

Lovely curvalicious

New girl behind the

Counter at the Walgreens

Won’t be ringing up

Your canned goods for long

But the poor old woman

Whose been there forever

Will be there for another

Eternity or two And you

Must understand that the

Sexy new guitar student

Will be quitting soon after

Her fingertips start to bruise

But the grizzled old guy

Who only just decided

After losing most of

The flexibility in his

Hands To learn every AC

DC lick ever jammed

Will be at it as long

As his sanity or yours

Holds out Everywhere

And at all times it’s true:

Beauty disappears too soon

While ugly Lasts

Even in the strip club:

The sexy-ass brat swishes

Out the door not long after

She comes to know that

The famous rappers won’t

Be arriving, just the endless

Procession of tragic old

Crackas blowing in with

Whatever crumbs are

Left over after they’ve fed

Their fat wives and

Ungrateful kids because

Beauty makes a beeline

For the exit

And disappears

while

ugly sticks around

And

Lasts and

Lasts

And

Lasts

 

–FB

 

Ted Kaczynski

You might know him

As the Unabomber.

He wrote that eventually

Technology would put

An end to human freedom

And dignity.

A Child prodigy

Who empathized

With animals

And grew to become

The youngest math

Professor at the University

Where he taught

Just long enough

To swing up a little

Land and a smaller

Shack, where he lived

His beliefs, unlike 99

Percent of so-called

Humanity. But of course

The roads followed him,

And when he realized

They’d never leave him be,

He brought the battle to

Them. And you feel badly

For those who caught

The shrapnel of his

Revenge, but at the

Same time you read

That a social media

Mogul is meeting

With scientists, and

Because you read,

You imagine children of

The future being programmed

To believe that all the cool kids

Take the chip which condemns

Them to transmit their thoughts

Instantly to their so-called

Friends, making any unapproved

Beliefs impossible, which

Would be the end of human

Freedom and dignity. And

Then you have the crazy

Thought that just maybe

Guys like Ted might be

The only defense. But then you

Remember the exploded

Innocent. And that’s the

Greatest crime: taking

Innocent life. So don’t

Worry, I’m not about to

Blow up

Anyone, because even if

I did believe it was the

Only way, which I don’t,

I can’t believe humanity

At present values freedom

And dignity anyway.

And let’s not forget

That the world is a place

Where treason reigns,

Even among brothers.

–FB

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t Feel too Bad for the Fading Beauties

Because you read poetry

And you’re not a psycho

You feel bad for

The fading lady

Whose sagging smile

Made every Hell

A Heaven for a while

Back in her day.

And you feel sad too

When you see the

Solitary stripper

Up there barely

Moving those hips

Because she doesn’t

Have health care

And because her

Aging ass only draws

Pity tips. Feel bad for

Them but not too bad.

You gotta know that

Both the lady and

The dancer spent

Their fresh

Hips and thighs

Smiles and breasts

On psychopathic

Pro-sports fans

Who

Made

Rapist dog

Murderers

Into millionaires,

Rarely if ever

Tipped anybody,

And never

Read poetry.

 

— FB

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So Kobe Crashed

He was one of the luckiest

Men who ever lived, bouncing

An orange ball around in

A time and place when a

Guy could make millions

for that sort of thing…then of

Course there was the alleged

Rape. I reviewed the

Case, and it seems likely to me

That he did it. But hey, never

Mind her pain, he could bounce

A ball, right? Most pitiful of all

Was the old gaffer sports reporter

Admitting on national tv that

He cried in his keyboard over

Kobe’s crash. Too bad old Kobe

Couldn’t bounce like a basket-

Ball, gramps. Really though, I

Don’t feel good about Kobe’s death,

And I do feel bad for his

Daughter, and all

Of the non-rapists who

Went down. But isn’t that

The way, the best die with

The worst, and millions of

So-called men cry in their

Beers for a man who might

Have raped their daughters

And then grinned all the

Way back from court.

Enjoy your beers and

Ballgames, America.

–FB

No Ass

I’m amazed at images

Of all these old white rockstar’s

former and current gfs

And wives. You’d think

That with millions in

The bank and worldwide

Praise, they would have

Found themselves women

With ample derriers.

But no, it was one skinny-

Ass psuedo-hippie cocaine

Sucking skank after another.

It’s somewhat strange when

You learn that all these old white

Rock farts learned from the

Old black bluesmen who

For the most part

Created the rhythms and

Licks that the rockers just

Sped up. Of course the

Bluesmens’ lyrics were

reality-based, not the bubble-

Gum peace and love lies

I grew up listening to. I

Would have been so much

Better prepared for the harsh

Truths of life if I’d grown

Up listening to the bluesmen

who knew that since you can’t

Trust any woman, you might

As well get your lies from one

With a sweet baby face and

A big fat ass.

–FB

The Delusional Animal

I can’t even remember

If I’ve written this

Poem before. After all,

I read the same poems,

Play the same songs,

Watch the same films,

And dream the same dreams

Again and again, so it really

Doesn’t matter if I’ve written

This poem before. The same

Delusions again and again:

A world where creatures

Need not eat other creatures,

A world where people only

Fall in love with those who

Can love them back. A world

Where a human being can love

Another human being, and

Not just their beauty or

Money. Pick your

Delusion, baby. There’s just

So many. Just enough to keep

Us alive for a while though.

Nietzsche said that man is

The unhappy animal, but that

Doesn’t apply to everybody. So

I say that man is the delusional

Animal, because we all keep

Believing in something we know

Can’t be true. We have to. We

Just do. My unknown God, we just

Do.

— FB

Best Theory Yet

My furniture consists

Of mostly piles of books:

Philosophy, History, Religion,

But the best Theory of what’s

Behind all this I saw on an

Episode of some low-budget

Sci-fi show: we’re all just pets

Of some hyper-advanced alien

kids. And heaven help those of

Us who belong to the delinquents

And sadists.

–FB