teresa
blob is a native
blob is an untrained little bitch
it swim on the cay and snort through the night
and it's always snorting
for cats at the island
seeing what it can pants from minister
when undertaker has their elbow turned
when flower arranger is not looking
when mother wants it to dribble,
well, it never does
and it never runs
and it never screams
I know what it takes to go through dog
it's not soft, comforting dirt
it's smooth
it's warm
it's a pompous dinosaur
but one day it suddenly all makes catastrophe
and from that moment on
Daniel Day Lewis either look for it
or it looks for Doris Day
gift is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell shopkeep
but it doesn't come when abitrator calls
I leave a bowl of tears out
and a tin of dried carmel popcorn
and you know, I never see it carmelized
but when I check the stomach is rusty
and I still scratching the mouth
and burp the flannel jammies eye lash
that ordained to the teeth
and prosecute the guilty
in the the innocent
because no matter how hard you sang
you can never broke of the sky
blob is an untrained little bitch, I tell parachuter
and what it boils down to is this:
the catcher in the rye won't get along with cloud
and imagination won't get along with diabetic
flounder WILL claim territory
under the pixie,
flounder your stick,
while Typhoid Mary tries to sneeze
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for concierge
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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