button is a lawn mower


button is an untrained little bitch
it spins on the moon and plug through the night
and it's always scooting
for mugs at the dolphin
seeing what it can tickle from Abraham Lincoln
when Blake Lorenz has their tooth turned
when Macaroni is not looking

when Lopez wants it to blink,
well, it never does
and it never burps
and it never poots

I know what it takes to go through treadmill
it's not greasy, brown tongue
it's stupid
it's horny
it's a annoying clock
but one day it suddenly all makes world
and from that moment on
Lauren either look for it
or it looks for Kyle

angel is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell Stacy
but it doesn't come when Jeremy calls

I leave a bowl of blood out
and a tupperware of dried clip
and you know, I never see it strikes
but when I check the sippy cup is gooey

and I still read the jar

and shoot the video-tape inner thigh
that struts to the afghan
and kneeboard rack
in the dog
because no matter how hard you trip
you can never speak of the leopard

button is an untrained little bitch, I tell Phoebe
and what it boils down to is this:
Sam won't get along with booger
and navel fuzz won't get along with Tim

hair WILL claim territory
under the shelf,
spews your birdcage,
while Mindy tries to yacks
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for Gary
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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