"When We All Work For Walmart It'll Be Great"

when we all work for walmart it'll be great!
pushed by the invisible hand of fate
they won't pay us worse than minimum wage
they don't discriminate with age
imagine 200 million coworkers strong
everybody sing along!

when we all work for walmart it'll be great!
they've got a selection that is great!
they've got prices that are great!
why hate them 'cause they're great?

they're gonna provide jobs
for all of us
why take the bus
to go to some shop
that only employs like, one or two slobs
when you can help be a part
of the master plan
walk on in to walmart with money in your hand!

when we all work for walmart it'll be great!
i can't wait till my start date!
why don't we stop with all the hate!
there's a place for you and your mate!

with so many jobless, the bigger the better
the cheaper, the wetter
i get when i see sweaters
made by children overseas,
but you can't beat prices like these,
explain to them
if you please
that walmart both clothes and feeds
thousands of people everywhere
that makes them good
that means they care... Read More
they can't pay 'em less
then they already do
so line up here to boogaloo
at the walmart that has become your life
because all that's important
to you and your wife
and your workbuddy steve
and his friend tim
are low low prices
and everybody wins

First Tube

Agent Tease awakes in a glass tube. Have you ever woke up doing something? Woken up fucking or puking? Tease wakes already pounding on the glass. That's jarring. "Jarring". In a "glass tube". How about that?
Tease's eyes open, hands pounding on the glass, liquid filling up around his feet. It's not water, it looks like water, but it's not. It has a smell, water doesn't, this does, this, is not water. It is pouring in. In the time it's taken you to read this, it's reached his knees.
Agent Tease has stopped pounding, pounding time is over, pounding time is a last ditch effort, it's what the body reverts to when it's out of ideas, sleeping, is a time in which while a great many ideas flutter and dart, good, tangible ones are often scarce. Now it's thinking time, that's what consciousness is, thinking time. Tease is thinking.
Thinking about this glass tube. Thinking about escaping. Thinking about her. Not now, he shakes his head, trying to physically dispel distracting thoughts from his brain, in doing so slams his head into the glass and it goes all black then white in front of his eyes for a second and now the not water has reached his waist and his legs are starting to feel funny.
The tube is too narrow for him to lift his arms above his head, but he can get a hand into his pocket, can maybe grab his phone, maybe activate the heat laser, maybe cut a hole in the glass, get out, finish the mission.
The pockets empty. The other, the same.
The not water, chest level, time running out. Out of ideas, impossible, Tease was grown and schooled for situations just like this. But here he is, here we are, watching the not water fill up and Tease is desperate and begins to slam his head into the glass, thump, *crack*, thump, *crack*, a crack for the glass, a crack for his head and the blood begins to swirl in the not water, making not blood and the crack is big enough for some to get into his head and the crack is big enough for some to get out the tube but it's not enough and he chokes violently, sucking bloody not water into his lungs and his body spasms, the spasm cracks the glass, the fluids spill out to the floor along with an unconscious Agent Tease.
His body is found by two guards who lift the limp Agent by the hands and feet and carry him over to a glass tube.

Not Quite Ready For Key Lime Bankers

Short poems
don't waste as
much time
as long ones
being last in a long line
of fairly useless
outcomes
no one needs suffer
since no one needs care
and since no one
is listening or laughing
out there
it would hardly
be fair
to sit here and judge
just what went wrong
instead lets cover
Beatles songs
and build a statue
to a bong
LIVE FROM NEW YORK
IT'S KING KONG

Slice Of Lime, Optional

it's an escape plan
a rocket pointed skyward
an opening in the ceiling,
parents grieving holding the evidence
of them conceiving , hard
breathing and eyes mist
and weeping
a rocket pointed up, fired at
the stars, takes the last child
from the planet of the cars,
toward some sorry stupid hope
buried way out there in space.
some vain masturbatory wish
for a selfish wanking race
to be given the chance
to replace all that's good,
natural, real and true,
a stupid hope, like get well
soon, or i love you,
a rocket propelled coffin
with a living babe within
an escape plan
into the frying pan
and out of the fire

an escape plan,
walls encased in stone, steel,
lead, brick, wood
should prevent the world
from crashing in and spoiling the
mood,
you were ready, they were
not, now you got what they
want, what they need,
but don't have, cause while
you were over there,
stockpiling underwear
they were doing anything
else, everything else,
nothing bad ever happens
in the land of the keebler elves,
now you got supplies of
water, a virgin, young
daughter
and a taste for the slaughter
you just can't fake,
sealed up in a shelter,
with no way to adaulter,
with no help on the way,
an escape plan that
worked a bit more
than ok
an escape plan? more
like a stay plan,
you didn't escape it,
it swallowed you whole,
left you alone
with no place to go,
and no one to see
an escape plan
hatched in the land
of the free

an escape plan
be the hand that writes
the books
make the rules,
make the laws
not the follower left
describing what he saw
to a bored police officer
looking to score,
Be the headline news story,
the cautionary allegory,
Be the one they make
the TV movie of the week
about
the best way to escape
fate
is make such a big
noise
to shatter brass
plates
decide who is good
and who has to go
declare yourself God
or the next best Joe
the men who can
tell just what
God likes,
tie yourself
to the Lord
and through
your holy noose
survive,
you can't lose a game
where you make the rules
by agreeing to play
you sacrifice principles
it doesn't matter at all
no one escapes
from dino to ape
no one escapes
son of God
son of a bitch,
no one escapes
if you're reading
this
you won't escape
a grave without marker
a night gone darker

everything begins
and ends again
in the world
without sin
An Escape Plan
is gin,
slice of lime,
optional.

EMANCIPATION PROCRASTINATION

The United States of Dependency
The United States of Transparency
all laugh, love, live in the same
lil' lie
all beg, fall, give for the great
big eye
you're a little kid, now you're a big kid
quick
which kid are you,
red, white, or blue
who are you today
and what day is this
and why should that matter
watch the old men scatter
as the world gets flatter
and you're expected to know
the names, the names
and the dates
and the combination to the
lock
that keeps shut the gates
another prison break,
another boiling lake
along creeps the snake
and breakfast is ruined

burned toast and the ghost
with the most is still dead
no matter how many little
kids pet his head,
no matter how many
breakfast cereals
no matter how many
tv movies
a ghost is still a ghost
just a ghost
not breathing
not living or caring
just scaring and haunting

christmas in july
summer school in december
childhood wishes
burn then turn
like embers
a fire for warmth,
food, to dance around
drunk and nude,
to destroy the evidence,
at the altar doing penance

Christ suffered for you
now suffer for him too
it's only fair that those caught
unaware, be forced to leave their
lair, to stare and try to care
as our own worst fears
get realized
and you try to
write a poem
about your father's eyes
but no matter how you
try, you can't
and he dies

and your books and
the notes that you took
are all left to rot
in the hole that time forgot
the farce of camelot
the hideous waking scream
from the American
dream.

I.C.

How far are we past points?
Having them, sharing them
fearing them, forgetting them.
All we need to be happy is need.
Our misery makes
for interesting stains
on boring sheets.
If we had
then we would stand out
I'm talking about we
that's me and us and ours
(mine)
which is funny

I dropped out of college
many
many
times
because I don't like
belonging
but here I'll say
we, us, ours
(mine)

because it seems
that it doesn't matter
you can say what you think you are
and they can act like they know were not

here I am
drowning in an unremarkable sea
of tired cliches
is there really anything more pathetic
then...what?

living a life of dreams
silent jealous rage
built on a solid foundation
of fear and self loathing
I feel like the second half
of "Flowers For Algernon"

I feel like vomiting
all over this page
and never writing again



wage slave or sell out?
maybe I'm just too lazy
for both

maybe that's the worst part

well if we hurt the ones we love
and I fucking hate myself
what the fuck does that mean?

Running down the street he saw
all of it running backwards
he saw all of it running forwards
and he saw
nothing on top of nothing
added to nothing means nothing

and i have no words to say to-day
all my fears are washed away
in dreams drifting to arizona bay
there has to be another way

but it all bleeds out quickly now and then slow
and i can't put it into words
and for that
i deserve to be mocked and derided and kicked and forgotten

not a hero's send off
but a loser's jerk off

and a glass hand rewind pink slip organ donor test tube atheist forgiveness and freshness

if opened before date stamped on seal