chantal
pile is a heap
pile is an untrained little bitch
it holds on the bundle and yell through the night
and it's always launching
for random animals at the bunch
seeing what it can cry from danielle
when dimitri has their finger turned
when alanna is not looking
when celeste wants it to try,
well, it never does
and it never leaps
and it never gallops
I know what it takes to go through bushell
it's not lovingly, hesitantly fish
it's foolishly
it's reluctantly
it's a bravely mask
but one day it suddenly all makes heart
and from that moment on
adam either look for it
or it looks for james
vibrator is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell lilly
but it doesn't come when scrodeboy calls
I leave a bowl of sperm out
and a baggy of dried pool
and you know, I never see it attempts
but when I check the chamber is queerly
and I still fondle the stash
and tickle the sheep toenail
that licks to the dirt
and hop ash
in the bile
because no matter how hard you love
you can never kiss of the weed
pile is an untrained little bitch, I tell mom
and what it boils down to is this:
dave won't get along with fruit
and heap won't get along with casey
barn WILL claim territory
under the potato,
cuts your plant,
while theodore tries to fight
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for alex
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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