Ring My Dingaling DingdongDAWN

"I tried to help you
sorry it didn't work.
Tell him to ring
my bell.
Thanks."

11:33 PM

cuckoo must have done a bunch of cranky
sauce all nite again because
when sunrise rolled around the
message changed to
a shakedown to surrender my stuff
somehow floating above his dump front stoop
his front room with bags of five thousand beer cans
a motorbike three tools he can't find
cat food cans by the bakers dozen
and never an ounce of food in a fridge
only plugged in to electrocute mice when ginger
floods the house in psychotic rage
nude tammy photos he has to show to prove he's a he-man
so he-man that he can't clean his own pit of crap
the bathtub full of slime that burbles out when trains pass
and a toilet that bites back with bacteria sharks
utterly disgusting making the bachelor life
look like an alien horror flick
cuckoo pussy he-mite, flea in flannel, 
fan boy of two bands
stringy billy and billy goat snuff
half-cocked and going off on his former friends like batting practice
t-ball for he-puss no child his basketball goal rotting
in a pile of dead canopy spider legs trying to crawl off
away from his brown recluse nursery of wallowing drunk quicksand
the ivy and blackberry already hydra medusa 
jack in the boxing back as he rubs the 
dregs of his drug habit under the sleepless gums that birth lies
and delusions in nebula grandeur, long lost mind
pickled in puke that stews in his liver
worn around his brow like an albatross made of boy scout badges
staggering toward dawn he wonders
How did I write the word SORRY in any context
blacked out explains it at eleven pm whereas
at 8 am it hits him like a hungover vampire bite on the groin
that his alpha status never got close to pecking its way
out of his McCathy McClan McCuckoo egg
golfing his lone ball over the rubbish that like an asteroid belt
bulges with his blustering braggadocio and simultaneous simpering
self pity O cry me a blarney stone his kidney pie is cold
and he can't find his carriage parked on his head
with spokes yanking off his pecker and tongue in a rut
that splinters every decorum Mom tried to instill
under the frog pond he stuck his wang in for tadpoles
to trap and torture
and blame for ever growing legs and leaving
leaving and growing wings just 
to get away
from Done as the empties mount and there be no horizon
but a cycle of sour hate seasoned in sexist pursuit of every tail
that passes thru a field of vision maimed in Montana
by falling on the bar floor like a clockwork orange slug
crawled out of his pickup into a station wagon without inch sure ants
cases of instruments stacked like mother hubbards bastards
for an octopussy too coke addled at 8 am to recall what was
rote
and what his saviour suggested as Do Unto Others
and the golden mule: an I for his I and his Me Dough Me
forms of accounting slurring cunty slander 
only a worm on the tracks would divide to halve a friend
red-faced and whooped by his own greed grime and blackouted braincells
faltering to form consent under his teeth's dictatorial huffs
you piece of crap under a self confessed welcome mat
YOU ain't sorry SOB
bragging about buttfucking a woman "for me" as if
the goddesses won't flog you in your demented dreams
until nothing can save you
other than what you wish on others: JAIL and being ratted on
like you beg for with each drunk set loose on hw 30
big Z nothing back in your cuckoo cluck
little he-hen with a goatee full of spilled vitriol like parade confetti
and no toilet paper just a floor for wiping one's face
that
you mirror snort lick and paw
not needing to go to Hell, you birth it with every breath 
and envy eats what was left and that's yer cuckoo larvae
making misery all over again
from under a volcano of suicidal impulses you confide to alley cats
spraying piss in your ear just to hear you howl 
as the burrs are pulled from pillow talk you relish with sadistic aplomb

9-4-2020

Shtizen KANE CAN'T FIND HIS SLED