poetry folder 2 Archives

May 31, 2007

My Blackout


So dark, so dark
here in the black hole of my blackout

It's my own personal hell:

Where the bouncers are demons
under neon bonfires

Where the bartenders are zombies
with infections in their eyes

Where the pretty girls have razors for tongues

They kiss the boys and slice off their faces
then leave them bloody and twitching in a pile by the pool table

while oblivious demi-Gods finger each other in bathroom stalls

And the cave-beast is awake

I can hear him pacing
crunching on the bones of those who have blacked out here before.

It's sure is scary inside my blackout

Another shot bartender please?

Uh - oh,
I think I'm falling off my stool again

Down, down, down

I am on the floor now
How did I get on the floor?

Is this my puddle of vomit I'm lying in?

And the rum-spiders swarm
They drink my puke and eat my eyeballs

And the beezle-bouncers lift me off the floor

They toss me to the cave beast
who rapes me with the femur of Charles Bukowski
and whispers ax-murder lullabies into my ear.


Here is a live reading on the radio of this poem.

(Drunk Thoughts (LIVE and SLOPPY)-- June 1, 2007: My Blackout

Drunk Thoughts was a recurring bit I did for a radio show on Free FM called The Binge. Sadly, the station got bought out, The Binge went on a bender, and Drunk Thoughts landed on skid row.

Thanks to Alicia Champion of Durga Sound for engineering the audio

May 24, 2008

The #4 Combo


Driving our car through the drive-thru window
Of the Special Memory Wedding Chapel
In Las Vegas

My bride and I
Are getting hitched

And the radio goes,

Going to the drive thru and we're
Gonna get ma-a-arried

My wife calls it
The McMarriage. . .


We pull up to the window
And the Reverend appears

He spreads his arms and says,
"What are you having today my children"

"We'll take the number 4 combo," I answer
(That's the ceremony, wedding music, a novelty license plate and two t-shirts commemorating the sacred event).

Around the Reverend's neck dangles a gold cross on a fat golden chain
His hair, as Zevon would say, is perfect.
The watch on his wrist is Rolex.
And the name plate on the window sill says, Da Rev!

Da Rev looks my bride up and down, lingering on her soft swells
"Do you take this hot mama to be your wife," he says, still staring at her ample chest.

"I do, I do, Indeed I do."

May 26, 2008

Jesus Christ and his Disciples at the Last Tupperware Party


(To be spoken/read in the style of the Gregorian Chant)

Then Jesus did pass the Tupperware to his disciples, and say

"This . . . is my product line. It will keep the blood of the everlasting covenant fresh for we--eeks"

Jesus then showed them the deluxe set.

He opened his arms wide, and said, "Perhaps I can interest you in the hamburger press and freezer set? The Hamburger Press and Freezer Set makes a great Christmas gi--ift"

And the disciples passed it around to each other.

And paul said, "Write me down for a set, Je--sus
And john said, "Me too--oo,"
And peter said, "I'll take two, one for my sister and one for my bruh--ther.

And Judas testified, "But, Jesus, doth not Ziploc bags serve the same function as Tupperware and yet is much chea--per?

And Jesus said, "Yo Judas, why you always trying to fuck up my shi--it?"

Here is a live reading of The Last Tupperware Party

Thanks to Alicia Champion of Durga Sound for the audio

October 18, 2008

Ode to the Red Fox Room

Ode to the Red Fox Room
(Drinking with the ghost of Shirley Allen)

The walls are dark, mahogany stained
From this wood the blood not drained

Dark red and dim like murderous lanterns
The Red Fox Room is full of phantoms

Of Marion Davies, Fuzz, and Fredrick
Their spirits yet had not ascended

But no spirit I know comes here more often
Than the loving ghost of Shirley Allen

Who played piano here for many years
Who cancer took, despite our sneers

Who visits us from time to time
To try and touch what she left behind

Who whiffs the bistro back in the back
And presses face against stained glass

Who runs her slender hand across piano keys
And strokes a melody with ghostly ease

The shadow of Shirley walks here still
'Cause she, like we, can't get our fill

Of this ancient inn from the fifteen-hundreds
From a small hilltop in Surrey, England.

Stowed piece by piece on a once great ship
And brought to America in '26

They took it from there and rebuilt it here
Now Shirley's grin spans ear to ear

Then the ghost of milady floats away
But will return another day.

To weave in and out of patrons tables
And listen to their dreams and fables.

In loving memory of the great Shirley Allen

shirley allen.jpg

About poetry folder 2

This page contains an archive of all entries posted to Edwin Decker in the poetry folder 2 category. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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