I Thirst For Nothing

I thirst for
nothing,
and
do not
covet,
I just
want
enough,
and not
much
more,
the tiny
quaint
party
intimate
and snug
and the
soft
tender
breeze
of love
and the
warmth
of the
wine
is what
I dig
and yes
I dig
simple
and less
is definitely
more,
the song
of birds
and a
lukewarm
day,
and an
icy
coke
cozy like
the arms
an
angel,
In a
feather
bed,
I do not
need
much more
than
this

A View Of Life

Is life
a bitch
or a
glorious
angel?
nothing else
is more
loyal,
it's here
until
you
croak,
if you
love it
or you
hate
it,
you're
still
here,
and if
you're a
well
of ire
and 
contempt,
life is cold
and does
not
care,
if you treat
It like
a goddess
it will
kiss your
heart
and
pour
down joy
like a
ray of
sun
and
bless
your face
with a
smile

The Saving Hand

Rejection is
a blessing,
the hand
that keeps
you from
falling
off a
cliff,
and
the chain
that pulls
you away
from a
life of
far
greater
misery
than
it's
Sting,
and oh
yes it
hurts,
and how
painful
the burn
oh yes it
makes
you
wail
inside,
but perhaps
rejection
is the
savior
and
not the
cruel
curse,
for the
rub
could be
so much
worse
and you
might be
spared
from
the deep
mighty
bucket
of agony
and
grief,
and your
own trail
of
tears,
be thankful
your alive,
for love has
ripped up
hearts
like
cardboard
and has
left many
dead
inside,
their
shoulders
burdened
by a
monkey
of
regret,
wishing
that they
had
never
fell in
love

They Have No Spine

No one has
a spine anymore,
and no
opinion is
safe
and
People
are becoming
soft as
old
brown
jack-o- lanterns,
the threshold
of pain
has been
emasculated,
no one
has any
nuts
anymore
and one
day
the Earth
will be
an orb
of
wimps
offended by
the
weather,
sucking
on tits
well past
their
prime,
and the
pussy
will
be the
mascot
of humanity,
hey everyone
get off
the
booby,
you're
much
too big
to
be a
suckling,
and will
your balls
ever
drop,
and every
word that
we change
to be
more
polite
will
still
sound
like
faggot,
retard
the taboo
N- word,
until
we're
all out
of words
to
use
and everyone
is a
soft
mushy
turd

I'd Rather Finish Last

They want
a beast,
and a
Wild
man,
a
cowboy,
a biker,
a dirty
punk
rock
scalawag
a man
that farts
long and
loud
before
breakfast
and treats
them like
crap,
if you're
kind and
confident
they eat
your
kindness
and they
are masters
at sucking
out every
last drop
of confidence,
if they
want the
mean
guy,
if they
want
an
ass,
I'm not
what they're
looking
for,
I strive
to be
a man
of
Class
no
matter
who
they
seek,
even if
I never
have
another
bird to
kiss,
I'd rather
finish
last

My Reckoning Of Fairness

Life is not fair
and for good
great
reason
for fairness
is the
wife of
bloody
red
communism,
oh life
would be
such a
tease
if all
things
were
fair,
oh nothing
would be
more
bleak
and quality
of life
would be
a cold
grey
cadaver,
it would only
make things
worse for
a greater
swarm of
of
people,
the more
times a
cake is
cut,
the less
cake
there
is,
everything
would
be as
half assed
as a
donkey
with
two
legs
and the
air would
become
a loud
roaring
sea
of mouths
belly aching
to the
pale
moon,
and the
dull
drab
prison
of stagnant
hope,
even God
does not
think
that the
world
should
be
fair

Parasites

You owe
nothing
not a
single
cent
penny,
to he who
digs his
his own
hole
and blames
the moon,
you
do not
have to
smile
or even
say
hello,
you can
be tight
as a
stitch,
but I
tell
you,
there is
more than
one kind
of
parasite,
there is
the
money
hungry
leach,
the
tick
of
narcissism,
and the
mosquito
always
trying
to get
your
attention,
and the
greed of
the
uncharitable
tight wad
is just
as
bad as
the lazy
sloth,
both
are
deemed
ungodly,
so let
God be
the
judge,
you owe
not the
world
a single
thing,
but you
owe
yourself
the chance
to be
a blessing

Sticks And Stones

Sticks and stones
do break bones
but words
last so much
longer,
the mouth
is  an
inflictor
of
pain
that has
grabbed
poor
souls
by their
emotional
hair,
and dragged
them
to the
living dark
tomb of
addiction,
it's always
been
so,
for booze
has had
thousands
of
birthdays,
and been
invited to
millions,
the nectar
for the
thirsty,
parched
tongues
of pain
and
distress,
and
wilted
hearts,
dry
as
jerky,
who's daily
routine
is figuring
out how
to
function,
after years
and years
of bearing
the sharp
darts
of harsh
mean
words,
wine is
just
like
air

My Inner Animal

My heart is
a macaque
wild as
the jungle
itself,
the cousin
of zaniness,
and I love
things that
are
crazy,
and
off the
chain is
the song
that I
dance to,
and oh how
I love to stir
the pot,
spoon, spoon
magic spoon,
let's see
what is
in the
stew,
out of
my mind
is my
favorite
place
on
Earth,
in the
grand circus
of beautiful
wonderful
chaos

Your Cozy Words

You words
like birds
in the
morning,
and the
sound of
the ocean
in my
ears,
the
early
morning
sun,
and a
couple
of
ice cold
beers,
everything
that I like
to hear,
they make
me feel
so
cozy,
like a
baby
Wrapped
in
cotton
but it
all sounds
too
easy,
 the
devil
masquerades
as an
angel,
when he
wants
to be
convincing,
I admit
it did
sound
good,
after 
chewing
on your
words,
I hear
the serpent
hissing

The Slayers Of Fun

Fun is
the enemy
to some stiff
folks
with their
inner
man
made of
granite and
a spirit
so
sour
and tart
as
vinegar,
in some
mean states,
and rigid
cruel
towns,
having a
blast is
illegal
and a
cardinal
offense
to disturb
those who
seethe,
so furious
in their
misery,
the
killjoys
and the
poopers
of
elation,
crapping
on your
glee
with a
rich
stink
stench
of
scorn
and it
leaves me
to wonder
if their
contempt
for fun
could
smite
them
dead