the end of the old year

the crows came down.


what are you doing here?

why me? what the hell have i done to you and they caw theyre so happy that its me this time.

theyve been sitting on the light poles, waiting.

they fly above and when i look they land on a clothesline but theyre so big and fat that the line sags and they flap and then tuck their wings behind their back when stability has returned, cocking their head to the side to get a good look at me and my sneer.

caw, motherfuckers, caw.

then another one arrives landing on the statute of jebidiah springfield and then another on a fence post and another on an empty clay pot.

i pull out my .38 and pick the one off the pot and his brothers scatter, cawing. awaiting the flock.

i see one on the street-cleaning sign and nail him. then another on a trash can, gone.

i take off the silencer because these birds dont understand, i am not the one to fuck with. i am not the one that they get to harrass anymore. they are the bringer of bad tidings and i am the bringer of joy.

bam, motherfucker and its loud this time. im just walking up the block, get the fuck away from me. the gun’s barrel is warm against my lower back and in my wake is the death of sadness and fear.

talk to me birds. tell me why you’re doing this. tell me before i kill you all.

but they stalk me. they lurk. theyve got the numbers and still i confuse them. they hear the wiz and if it doesnt register to them.

it must have been a mosquito but wasnt their cousin there?

oh, look, he’s on the ground with just one wing flapping and look now its not flapping. who is this dark shadow, why wont he stand still, why do the leaders keep changing?

whats that he’s got pointed at me?

the other day i had to help demolish one of my favorite baseball stadiums.

it wasnt a beautiful stadium.

it was generic, round, full of crappy astroturf, greecian, dull, drab, white.

some might consider it ugly.

but it was the home of the big red machine led by my hero, pete rose.

i dont care if he bet on baseball. i hope bet on baseball. when i bought options of the dot com that i worked at i was betting on my team.

keeping pete rose out of baseball based on that antiquated rule makes as much sense as if the catholic church kicked a female parrishioner for dressing like a man. f baseball and f the catholic church.

friggin catholic convention here in the pits of hell. priests for days.

turns out that the Good Lord doesnt like it when you change his texts and include nuns no sex for priests and a laundry list of made up shit in the name of God.

and child molestation is even frowned upon down here.

they like creativity here more than youd think. which is why they like to punish with repetition.

poor joe strummer. got sent down here nearly right away. he’s been singing “straight to hell” non stop. i used to love that song.

it’s not coca-cola

it’s rice.

straight to hell, boys.

straight to hell, boys.

nothing the demons like more than tearing down buildings.

lot of times they’ll tie up priests and put the explosives in all the typical places, then arrange the long fuses, set up the cameras and watch it over and over in slo mo later that night.

please take me home

the dreams keep coming. last night i was trying to gaurd shaq and it was one of those games where the refs had swallowed their whistles and shaq’s big fucking arm kept pounding me in the chest, and i wanted to flop but how do you flop? shaq will just step on you and crush you and cuz it was a dream i didnt remember that i was already dead. flop fucker, flop!

so i tried to get in a fight with him.

i told him that his momma made me dinner and sucked me off real good.

he just smiled.

i said she took out her teeth and gummed me good.

i told him that i said, gum me, grandma, gum me.

See me got photo photo

photograph of you

and Mamma Mamma Mamma-san

shaq just steamrolled me harder.

i said dont be jealous, im sure she’ll give you some.

of you and mamma mamma mamma san

as riverfront smoldered we smoked menthols nibbled on devils food and listened to the muffled groans of the damned as the sun rose over the river.

King Solomon he never lived round here

Go straight to hell boys

that broken girl