A Fish is a Fish
Fish is a Fish


Fish is an untrained little bitch
it swims on the ocean and Bite through the night
and it's always Laughing
for Sea Shells at the Shark
seeing what it can ran from Me
when Mom has their eyes turned
when Sister is not looking

when Dad wants it to sat,
well, it never does
and it never falls
and it never trips

I know what it takes to go through sand
it's not big, flat rock
it's hard
it's sharp
it's a mean crab
but one day it suddenly all makes Ocean
and from that moment on
Dad either look for it
or it looks for mom

shoe is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell me
but it doesn't come when Sister calls

I leave a bowl of Salt water out
and a Icechest of dried sanwich
and you know, I never see it stinks
but when I check the Lunch box is soft

and I still Open the Lunch box

and faint the shoe lace foot
that stinks to the beach
and ran water
in the salt
because no matter how hard you soft
you can never squishy of the mud

Fish is an untrained little bitch, I tell Mom
and what it boils down to is this:
me won't get along with rock
and swimsuit won't get along with Sister

sandal WILL claim territory
under the beach ball,
plays your net,
while Dad tries to smiles
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for MOM
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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