Independent Record Store Orgasm
I speed walk up main street
my jones for music is acute
as I spin through the revolving
door greeted by the smell
of vinyl and old parchment paper
the newness of plastic around
ancient analogue grooves
and computer chips
ready to buzz sounds
into my ears for several
dollars less than all of
corporate and cyber foes
the cashiers have pierced
faces of silver bling
and they can quote
Dave Van Ronk
and GG Allin
in the same invisible
paragraph of spoken sonic
knowledge
the bags are mustard
yellow they scream
at me in my panic
to rush home
and crank the
carnival noises
into my grateful
ears, still with
enough spare
change left
over for a
cheap beer
and a handful
of peanuts
for supper
as I dance
on the ceiling
my brain
temporarily
on holiday
as my hips
shake and
my voice
cracks
singing
along with
the wrong
lyrics
Homebody Blues
you chew on
bottle caps
and spit them
against the wall
and you watch
them ricochet
across the
vacant
cockroach-
infested
room
you dine on
poor man’s
surf & turf--
wet tuna
from a
can and
a flank
steak--
wheel of
fortune
comes on
behind the
immense
static
snow of
the
boob
tube
she
comes
home
finally
and she
removes
her
pantyhose
from
underneath
her
sagging
skirt
the
tail
ends
of her
slip
hang
low
on
her knees--
she
steals
your
cigarette
takes
a puff
and
slaps
you
in the
face
for
not
washing
the
dishes
and
putting
them
away
you
fall
back
into
the
murphy
bed;
it
collapses
with
you in
its jaws
into
its place
within
the
walls
I speed walk up main street
my jones for music is acute
as I spin through the revolving
door greeted by the smell
of vinyl and old parchment paper
the newness of plastic around
ancient analogue grooves
and computer chips
ready to buzz sounds
into my ears for several
dollars less than all of
corporate and cyber foes
the cashiers have pierced
faces of silver bling
and they can quote
Dave Van Ronk
and GG Allin
in the same invisible
paragraph of spoken sonic
knowledge
the bags are mustard
yellow they scream
at me in my panic
to rush home
and crank the
carnival noises
into my grateful
ears, still with
enough spare
change left
over for a
cheap beer
and a handful
of peanuts
for supper
as I dance
on the ceiling
my brain
temporarily
on holiday
as my hips
shake and
my voice
cracks
singing
along with
the wrong
lyrics
Homebody Blues
you chew on
bottle caps
and spit them
against the wall
and you watch
them ricochet
across the
vacant
cockroach-
infested
room
you dine on
poor man’s
surf & turf--
wet tuna
from a
can and
a flank
steak--
wheel of
fortune
comes on
behind the
immense
static
snow of
the
boob
tube
she
comes
home
finally
and she
removes
her
pantyhose
from
underneath
her
sagging
skirt
the
tail
ends
of her
slip
hang
low
on
her knees--
she
steals
your
cigarette
takes
a puff
and
slaps
you
in the
face
for
not
washing
the
dishes
and
putting
them
away
you
fall
back
into
the
murphy
bed;
it
collapses
with
you in
its jaws
into
its place
within
the
walls
