Politico had an article about human organ printing and manufacturing which has crept into my psyche, and I am working it out through this week's cartoons...

********************

Memoir of an Ice Cube 

I am an ice cube in a sea of soda,

lolling here for hours. I am among

this caravan of swirling ice cubes,

stale sea of soda. Sit here

in the shallow end, feet swinging, swirling, shriveling:

how small this tall glass is. I once thought

it was everything.

*********************

Albino Corporation

  

Summer

& the kids are dropping

aluminum cans like business cards

that read “I’m young, I’m wild, I’m free.”

Skateboarding beneath a rotisserie sun,

Delicious skins frying across the tippy toed length

of June, July & August. Meanwhile

a man collects up all their cans

like a stooped November custodian

gathering musky gym towels

“I will make a profit of your sinful youth,”

he grunts while a sticky genie

composed of sugary pools

of caramel colored sodas

entwines

his albino corporation.

Suicide Beard 

Once we go beyond logic,

and have faith in the suicide beard,

we can accept that the luscious little ladies

will spot the white claws

in the fur and run, for the nearest fountain of youth,

as that is their privilege.

And as this seine

of aging bearded men tightens

around the one lost little lamb, squeezing

all the love out of her, we will run our fingers

through these white swords,

and she will run her fingers

through these white swords,

drawing kisses, never blood,

& the suicide beard

will dream of pennies on the eyes,

as the nubiles haul ass

through the valley of the shadow of beard.

                 ********************                  

                                                                                                                                  

Hip

The doctor’d prescribed a pill, it’d killed the crocodile

in my hip. Instead, it turned the rest of my body into a swamp. 

So I’d given up the swamp-pills, and nature breathed new life

into the crock.  I’d gone a week with the crock in my hip pocket,

till I just had to get away from his gnawing companionship. Popped

a pill and all was well.  Till the dizziness returned. I started fantasizing

about just hacking the leg off.  Kept thinking about that

mythological bottle of booze: the civil war solution. 

Those few numbing swigs of whiskey, as some sawbones

amputates the drumstick, dipped in the gangrene

flavored batter.  I fantasized about going on Disability, 

buying a cheap van, stealing a page from Steinbeck

and traveling the US of A .

*********************

*********************

dog

dog has a name

dog loves to bark

dog runs like a fugitive

dog is in love with the cat

the orange one

with the bad temper

the rat killer

the killer of rats

dog has an address

dog rarely receives mail

from credit card companies, or

publisher’s clearing house

dog never worries about identity theft

no social security number

no investments

dog has a name,

a bark, a reputation

all the old ladies wave

and call her by name.

********************

Lost

 Currents

invite me---

I swim away

from my work.

I am free

                & lost.