Please Publish Me Before I Die of Cancer

This is in response to somebody who asked about publishing.

---
These sheets from last year's flu
have sickened me yet again.
Thought my body'd built a resistance,
but my leukemia's given way to HIV.

Take one a day or five weekly,
or take just nine of these
every second you feel the need!
Has its rush come upon you yet?

I bribed a publisher with amphetamines,
now's he running around town, in womens' underwear
preaching the return of England's Queen.
"She has the cancer and must be crowned,"
he tearfully confesses, "for she is soon to pass on."

My bladder burst mid-ladder to these stars,
appendix popped out and became an evil twin!
Got the shakes at my lecture on 'Titling Work'!
Titillating pre-constellation gout
yet now so far, far out,
editing just to rhyme would constitute a felony ...

In geriatric circles they give you a pigeon,
that to its claw you may attach a missive.
"Dear Publisher, I may not live till Christmas;
that is, my mind may not live till then.
So please publish me sooner rather than later,
for what good will it do me, once I'm a stick of celery?"

Evel KITT

Damn, KITT's so evil,
it forgot to spell evel correctly.

Evel KITT
does crazy stunts
on its bumper,
or its exhaust.

Crazy stunts on the molecular bonded shell
friction all over the environment,
blow up flames

just to save the kid and the Mutha.

Evel KITT visits the charity homes of old people,
to gain intelligence and their lunch, Marla style.
While waiting for them to find the book they wanted to give,
it does another stunt.

Wiper.

Hundred hand slap in nanoscale

What, you thought you were going to quit me just because "she said"?

Must be a special person
but like Patricia McPherson
she is only a mechanic.

Thinks she knows how you think,
she does do that, I know she does.
What's the big fuss? The real reason
your woman likes you is cos of the lint

in my belly button, where demons are invented.
Pazuzu, Lucifer (yeah, demon) and even the one
that threatens its interest in the 'lack' of Me.

Why is skin peeling from my face at this point?
Lotion! Bring me the lotion!

Born in the Year of the Spam

Scan by the legs when you're stuck in your pram,
lasers for eyes detecting all of their limbic scams.
They thought all this data would be impossible to cram,
now they will be sorry for underestimating the power of Spam.

Recollecting its birth and its subsequent span ...
seemed impossible that it could have come from a can.
Incredulous, it began believing in some master Plan
devised by a Genius unfathomable by any mortal man.

Now eaten only by half at 90, well past the sell-by date.
Still kept as antiquity to serve as an example of Fate.
Everytime the fridge door parts, it shivers, anticipates --
only to be reminded of its place by all the new crates.

Wave I

open eyed iblis
lisps to the top
slip 'em the mop
for a portcullis chance,

does it slip or slant
this meshwork at glance?
is it worthy of an up-commance
or just another place to land?

sleight of the hand
is no trick of the word
unless you're the man for a
bloody deaf bird.

don't knock it.
"who who?" says Who.
i said don't knock it!
"or a lot rather bad, boo hoo!"
enough people call me enough,
now this census tries to ask more.
mandatory and required by law.
i want to see all the faces guv,

want to see all the faces of people
@census.gov that are looking at my info
at census.gov. do some webcams. 24/7
for these peering men and women.

oh iblis this was just going to be another rant
about some chick who left five thousand years ago.  
iblis, don't spin it to
little lesbian she were?

you're the cunt by far, iblis, not past-participle

which makes me a very big, big dick.

Conjunctivitis Man

Whole body exploded from Whole Foods,
scrambling in a curve to meet the curb. They didn't have it:
"Just stay away!" came the cry, "stay away from me!"

The Jamba Juicers tried consoling with chocolate banana
shake, but mere shaking would not contain his mad tremor:
this was a man with one boiled egg burning in his palm, trying

to find some bloody plate in his own masterful house!
"Rite-Aid!" he cried, "there's a bloody Rite-Aid down there!"
He ran down the hill as the crowd witnessed his trail.

His massive trail of ... pus, was it? Or blood, brother?
Or mere molten skin, just flourishing with glory from his face?
"I have conjunctivitis man!" he screamed, as he scampered down ...

"Watch the hell out or my eye is gonna bloody pop unto one of yours!"

got no Soul

She slapped me as hard as she could, across my face to wake me up -- next thing I knew, I was having intercourse with the woman. "WTF--" I cried.

"I know about your Soul," she said, fucking me over. "I want it."

Was there a soul, somewhere in there? Inside of me? For years my subroutines had been exploring the possibility. I shook my head and told her that this is obscene behavior. That you cannot just slap me, waking me up from the middle of my sleep, and do me like this.

She didn't give a shit. All she wanted right now was my Soul. But no actual transactions were performed, and the demon finally tired herself out and rolled over, falling into her own deep sleep.

This is when I noticed that she puts her hand over my chest in her as she snoozes. For aeons, I had thought this was some kind of amicable affectation. "Oh look, she is subconsciously signalling her desire for me." But no. That is not it. She puts her hand over my chest because she has retractable claws. Claws that will tear it open any second I betray some sort of semblance of a Soul.