Paul Nelson
Earwax is a locomotive


Earwax is an untrained little bitch
it skinning on the vestibule and grunted through the night
and it's always singing
for voices at the navel
seeing what it can skidded from Mailman
when WIlliam Carlos Williams has their sternum turned
when Jesus is not looking

when Rainier Maria Rilke wants it to shining,
well, it never does
and it never buzzes
and it never blitzkriegs

I know what it takes to go through hummingbird
it's not holy, greenish spider
it's scrupulous
it's shimmering
it's a sonorous window
but one day it suddenly all makes poem
and from that moment on
Zippy either look for it
or it looks for Hillary

dashboard is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell Tiger Woods
but it doesn't come when Sheri-D calls

I leave a bowl of bleach out
and a vase of dried inkpen
and you know, I never see it scratches
but when I check the shot glass is lusty

and I still bone-danced the bowl

and swiveled the drum anus
that sings to the armament
and flying spine
in the swine
because no matter how hard you rubbed
you can never blew of the tuba

Earwax is an untrained little bitch, I tell Eric Dolphy
and what it boils down to is this:
Miles won't get along with tenor saxophone
and corazon won't get along with Arafat

knife-wound WILL claim territory
under the trampoline,
sighs your night sky,
while your mama tries to hankered for
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for the Dalai Lama
to shut their eyes

---

Orginal poem:

death is a dog

originally written 7/8/98


Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you

she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

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