Two New Poems

How are ya? Long time no see, I know. But Sine Pecunia lives, and I'm planning on posting here more often in coming days. Here are a couple new poems. Enjoy.

He's Coming Out!

He's coming out!
His squiggle sensations have gotten him out.

He will kill,
Arbitrarily, he will kill,
Will
Grow legs and sexy biceps and will
Find creative new ways to kill,
To entertain, to teach that
Car bombs are old news.

He will kill things and kill other things
With those things.

He will jump to Europe when he
Reads about it. He will take over
Buckingham Palace and
See
What the fuss is about.
He will kill the Euro while he's there.

He will discover Mozart and Beethoven
And Bach and he
Will play it in the cities while
Kills,
Play it over the air-raid speakers
While he finds fun ways to smash
Faceless Apache helicopters from the sky.

He will catch a Yankees game and
Enjoy a beer and nachos
As he kills his section,
The umpires, the players
When
The game is over.
He will go to Wall Street and
Invest wisely, make a killing
While he kills, and he will

Get a PhD in law from Harvard,
And he will kill legally from then on,
And therefore more hilariously.

He will host SNL and kill Andy Samberg
In the funniest sketch ever, better
Than the cowbell one, and
He will kill Christopher Walken just in case.

He will run for president and
He will win without killing, then
Kill his opponent after, over the phone
When
He calls to concede.
He will put an end to war, AIDS,
Hunger, greed,
And he will make us laugh as he kills
In the Rose Garden.

He will win every Nobel Prize for ten
Years straight, and he will kill all of
Sweden when he gets sick of it, and he
Will
Win eight Tours de France,
Choke Usain Bolt with his cloud of dust,
And he will drown Michael Phelps,

And it will be entertaining and
Horrifying, and we will laugh
Ourselves sick
As he goes back in,
Placid and congenial,
Apologetic, and much,
Much
Better for it all.

Would You Like to Be in The Yardbirds?

Cuz everybody's doing it.
Cuz you can drum, crazy as you want,
Like you're pushing a wheelbarrow,
A real heavy one.

It'll be nuts.

It'll be heavy and
Scratchy
And wild. It'll be
Lucrative, think of all the
Wrought iron wheelbarrows you can
Have, if you just
Join The Yardbirds.

Damn the turnover rate, you
Can play bass, you can
Make Mom proud, if you just
Tell her you know music,
If
You sit at her mother's organ,
Curl up your fingers, graceful beyond
Your image, and show the family
Three or four chords
Of yourself, your dream
Of not being like lots of things,
And being like--
Not
Lots of things.

But when you see their faces,
You'll sally out. When you feel
Their eyes scraping through your skull,
You'll know
The Yardbirds aren't for you.