The Greatest Parody

Look at me, I'm so legit!
My threats to you are full of shit!
I'll make you feel so goddamn small!
At five feet, I am standing tall!

Na na na na, boo boo boo boo
That is what I say to you you
My skewed wisdom takes me back to junior high
But ask me if I care, cause I just made you cry

Worship me
I'm a parody
The kind of thing that's tailor made for South Park
And I've built up
Enough chutzpah
To get the cunning of a plastic shark

Honey, let me tell you
I redid the whole word "stereotype"-AND
I know your teenage little brother's
Little sister's
Distant cousin's
Ugly girlfriend's
Pet dog's
Favorite BAND

I'm better than you
Simply because
I dance reggaeton
UNTIL
I hump the floor
And then the floor
Calls me a whore
And then I get AIDS
Even though
The floor told me
It got tested
No worries, though
I'm still the best

And I'm still better than you, my friend
I'm still better than you, my friend
I'm still better than you, bitch

Better than you, cause I'm so damn cool
Better than you, cause I ruled high school
With an iron fist
Don't enter my clique
I'll beat your ass with my magic stick

OH...
And one last thing
As I'm almost done singing...

If I were famous, my name would be Mocha
So you better get your caffeine fixes ready


Because you know I'll be famous
Once I'm out of this wet box
In the middle of New York City
And the pigeons stop eating my money.

Excitement of Secrecy

Dotted lines prance in the middle of their beds at home.
They always seem to say the same things
while conversing on the corner of Easy Street.
"Nothing is satisfying.
Especially at home!"
Their wives don't know how to please a man.
They still remember the first day
when both came out running
and each made their first move.
The excitement of secrecy.

They position themselves inside a box-sized cubicle
and get ready to purify themselves from the chains of shame.
Morals make no barriers within the marrow of their bones;
they just flow like the core of a stumbling landslide.

And when one stands up,
perfectly pressed shirts crumbled on the floor,
burning through cigarettes like Margo Channing,
He feels fulfilled.
He's had his fix.
At least another person knows

the excitement that lies in secrecy.

Chocolate Porcelain Caramel Skin

Please pull your pants towards the floor, my dear.
Let me handle that meat lying on the full-size bed.
Don't be timid-we're all premature adulteresses in this room.
Johnny, come quickly towards my sighing need.
Making me want to scream your entire name by these seas of flame,
especially when your sweat seeps through the ridges of my bliss!

Your lips make my throat two walls of dried sin.
I live to take hold of your
Chocolate
Porcelain
Caramel skin.

I can spend hours looking at your full lips.
It's the feature that separates boys from men.
Force me down, prove me wrong with those promising threats.
Hold onto that climax until it borders on violation.

While I could maintain an appalled expression at my reflection,
you prevent this with your numbing erection.
Wading in a murky puddle of lust is fresh air moving with you
and the tongues slithering all the way up to my shivering legs!
Keep on whispering while you make me speechless!
Keep on getting stronger while you make me melt!

You strip me of my innocence with a devilish grin.
That must be why I love your
Chocolate Porcelain Caramel skin...

Riot Call II

I have sent a request
to all the white cone clad
twiddling their thumbs with menace
and hunting for their latest scapegoat
to mask their feelings of inadequacy...

As the smut on my garage door
slithers your hatred along
in the form of the word "FAGGOT"
and the last three men who shook me to the core
have been reduced to front page casualties,
I beg to finally join this league of humankind.

Please, ladies and cavemen, do as I ask
or I might just lead myself to
break
your double standard neck into thousands
of desperate times that surpass desperate measures.

You see, you've eliminated all the other options,
as I will no longer be reduced
to another strange fruit hanging
on the swastika tree, for I've seen
the cracks from the stones
colliding into your precious glass houses.

Preaching your "manhood" and your "sanctity"
on your altars as the color of your
wife's eyes seem to slip your busy mind,
giving us yet another juxtaposition
to lock with these once worn chains
onto your Stone Age door.

It must stop.
Those sounds of you slinging
your fists and your speech
towards all, including your own flesh and blood.

Our palms can't stay nailed to the wooden floor,
our lips can't stay sewn shut anymore,
angels writhing in their graves,
your time has run out!
Here my friend...is your riot call.

Everything That's Meant To Happen Does

Again and again and again and again,
yet another "etc." sealed onto the end
of a line I was sure would cut off continuation
someday.

The walls are much more pale these days,
letting out yawns of feigned animosity
with a knowledge that they need not close in
to provoke exasperation--
a slight and aging slant provides sufficient
spiraling.

Outside, baking in the sun, the unfinished sentences
drag their soles along the pebble-ridden concrete,
stomachs slouching over their pants so far
as if to cascade all the way down to the sidewalk.
They can only toss parades for handfuls of newborns
that seem to multiply in handfuls of
seconds.

It's been a glaring shade of winter.
Standard procedure,
with the exception of eyes drooping,
and the desire to escape from oneself
seething.

Obvious Differences

I am one of the modest folk mote,
walking lethargically in curvy circles,
shuffling my feet in a small English town,
pulling the charcoal wool over my bloodshot eyes.

And the difference between us is
I'd much rather keep it that way.
There's no point in fighting today.

I am a fashionable mannequin
with a limp wrist and a lazy hip,
lithping all my thtereotypth
for the unisex scientists to hear.

And the difference between us is
I'm high on life and sleeping pills.
My stability is Fed-Ex'd and I'm sitting still.

I am a starving artist.
My white knuckles show just how strongly these knockdowns can pull.
Even rolling thunder cannot knock down the establishment
of transparency and an elephant's memory.

The difference between us is:
you see the point in the stiff upper lip.
It's hard enough for me to maintain this grip.

And I'd much rather keep it that way.
There's no point in fighting today.