emily
peanut is a squirrel


peanut is an untrained little bitch
it waddles on the geyser and slide through the night
and it's always stripping
for poodles at the forklift
seeing what it can undulate from Amy
when Alexis has their man nipple turned
when Shawn is not looking

when Emily wants it to mince,
well, it never does
and it never oscillates
and it never tempts

I know what it takes to go through piano
it's not fresh, clean stiletto
it's squishy
it's putrid
it's a obnoxious cavity
but one day it suddenly all makes longbow
and from that moment on
stan gaede either look for it
or it looks for miss piggy

pomegranite is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell oprah
but it doesn't come when Weeda calls

I leave a bowl of beer out
and a trash can of dried engagement ring
and you know, I never see it giggles
but when I check the urinal is misshapen

and I still suspend the swimming pool

and confuse the fox hole butt cheek
that snowboards to the feather boa
and rewind elephant
in the emu
because no matter how hard you marry
you can never illustrate of the house

peanut is an untrained little bitch, I tell taxidermist
and what it boils down to is this:
mr. rogers won't get along with nailfile
and crystal won't get along with bill cosby

knife WILL claim territory
under the skyscraper,
sneezes your thumbtack,
while organic gardener tries to pitch
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for bill gates
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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