Poems of von Borax

Deathless Poetry flows like wine from the Feathery Quill Held by sensitive Poet Mr. von Borax. APPLAUSE. NOW BELOW TO SEE NEW LYRICS Written for TSARS which is kind of poetry but with less rhymes also less meter.

Nitro von Borax holds copyright of Jealous Vindictiveness, But will even write doggerel for Smarmy Greeting Cards for adequate remuneration.

Gas Station Rose

She pushed my change back from behind the plexiglass

And then she wet her lips and smiled

And asked me why I didn’t try to make a pass

And her eyes were deep and wild

My head was swimming in the fumes of gasoline

As I stuttered in surprise

She laughed and said a thing that some would call obscene

But from her it sounded nice.

I made small talk for fourteen minutes, acting tough

Not too convincing, I suppose

We agreed to meet that night for chicken in the rough

Me and my gas station rose

She has a run in her dimestore pantyhose

And she knows that life’s a bitch

That ain’t my worry now as my gas station rose

Leaves me some flowers in a ditch

I was grinning so, I must have looked insane

As I drove into the cold

Ten miles down the freeway I called out her name

As I spun out of control

I never saw the patch of ice that did me in

I just couldn’t hold the road

I went over the embankment in a spin

Then I felt the truck explode

She’s finally come out from behind the plexiglass

And the flower petals froze

Standing in the rain and crying by the overpass

My lonely gas station rose.

She has a run in her dimestore pantyhose

And she knows that life’s a bitch

That ain’t my worry now as my gas station rose

Leaves me some flower in a ditch

My Evil Twin

I’ve seen those sleazy Polaroids

It looks like me but please avoid

Your implications, I tell you

I could not do that in those shoes

Remarkable resemblance,

I do concede the very semblance

Of myself in sordid languor

But that’s just a doppelganger

It wasn’t me on Thursday night

Outside your window what a fright

Chewing on a human arm

Please do relax, don’t be alarmed

I’ve proof in documents you’ll see

Down in my basement, come with me

Just down these stairs cause I been framed

Me and him we look the same

It must have been my evil twin

Facsimile in stolen skin

That’s a window, not a mirror

And my twin is getting nearer

I’ve read those Doctor’s affidavits

And opinions, you can save it

Yeah, I’m shaky and frenetic

But we’re not a schizophrenic

I’m just a little tense is all

Because I think I’m getting small

And my evil twin is gaining

From my psychic juices draining

I’m afraid I can’t last very long

My evil twin is growing strong

It wasn’t me who staggered drunk

Through topless bars in swimming trunks

They think I’m guilty ever since

He stole and used my fingerprints

It wasn’t me, though I will say

I just don’t feel myself today

It must have been my evil twin

Facsimile in stolen skin

That’s a window, not a mirror

And my twin is getting nearer

The Amazon’s Mouth

Machete cleaves the jungle vines

I know the jaguar’s close behind

Me as I run with clumsy dread

With jodhpurs torn the field guide’s dead

And so I’m lost deep in the bush

My gun discharged, my breath is rushed

With nightfall near, pith helmet gone

I know I’ll never see the dawn

Still I press on East and South

For succor

At the Amazon’s mouth

I wheel and stare in purple dusk

A charging boar with bloodied tusk

Falls to the jaguar’s gleaming teeth

And next I know I’ll be beneath

Those fangs and slashing claws before

I can confess my sins once more

Stepping back my heel meets air

Into the Rio Paru there

I’m swept away, to East and South

The mighty pull

Of the Amazon’s mouth.

The rapids roil, I fight for breath

Whirlpools, falls and certain death

The alligators snap and fight

Fierce piranha dart and bite

I scream and sink, my khaki’s tattered

Nothing really seems to matter

Soon I’ll join my poor dear Rhonda

Constricted by an anaconda

Drift East and North, no more to South

I’m dead, released

In the Amazon’s mouth

734

I kicked down the door

Of this cheap motel

Then your boyfriend fell

I’m sorry about his chin

Oh baby, how do I begin

To get you back again

Because you sure like men.

& you’re still asleep

I ain’t about to weep

I pour myself a shot

You haven’t left a lot

Room 734

The clock says 7:34

734 734 734

And the Bourbon’s warm

So’s your sleeping form

Sprawled upon the bed

And the lace is red

And your legs are white

Oh, baby, you know it ain’t right

To treat me like this

That guy’s face broke my fist

Room 734

The clock says 7:34

734 734 734

TV’s black and white

Four hours into the night

I wait, feeling sick

I give him one more kick

You wake and see me there

In the sweat-stained motel chair

With your high-heeled shoe

Oh, baby, when will you be true?
room 734

Now it’s 11:34

734 734 734

Dance of the Jungle Girl

I had a date with the amazing jungle girl
She asked to meet at the lost city of gold
I had to search every jungle in the unknown world
That goddamned town's been lost since time untold
So when I got there I was just a little late
She seemed annoyed and had almost drained her drink
I ordered two more I was sorry I'd made her wait
We were served two skulls of something strong and pink
And then she offered roasted ants
And then she wanted me to dance

When you dance with the jungle girl
You're gonna leap and twist and twirl
'Cause she's clad in a tiger's skin
And there's a tigress within

I was on the floor she said let's get a bite
And then we're in a tree and then she pulls her knife
And leaps into the bush and I hang as she fights
Emerging bloody and I want her for my wife
Because she has that savage passion
And she will love you in that fashion

When you eat with the jungle girl
You eat it raw with lips that curl
'Cause she's clad in a tiger's skin
And there's a tigress within

She smiled at me and her teeth were flecked with blood
I took her back to the tree that was her home
Her nest of leaves, ex-boyfriend's bones and mud
She said she'd kill me if I ever left her lone
But I will love her fierce forever
And I will leave this jungle never

When you live with the jungle girl
Then the jungle is your world
And when she takes off that tiger skin
There's a tigress within

FAT ASS ON COUCH

I have a favorite TV show, I keep it in a pouch,

My very favorite TV show is FAT ASS ON COUCH

My mother doesn’t like it much, she really is a grouch

I wish that she could see the joy of FAT ASS ON COUCH

And when I’ve finished watching I can neither stand nor crouch,

Because I’ve been immobilized by FAT ASS ON COUCH

My gyre’s surely widening, to Bethlehem I slouch

‘Cause all that I will gimble on is FAT ASS ON COUCH

I will further add endorsement, I will sit right hear and vouch

For the bliss of eating nougat, watching FAT ASS ON COUCH!

The Visitation

The seance was held on a Midnight,
The Moon was occluded by clouds,
The room lit a little by pale light
Which glowed from the Medium's shroud
As she called up the Revenant's figure
And he hovered there, spectral and grim,
And the eyes of the watchers grew bigger
As they stuttered out questions for him:
"What awaits once we're no longer living?"
"Are Demons in lingerie cute?"
"Are the Gods really mean, or forgiving?"
"Where did my late Wife hide my flute?"

The Ghost flickered wanly then intoned;
"I have something more crucial to say
"Lest all Ye be doomed, doomed," he moaned,
"For thy fate hangs in balance today:
"Thy breakfasts are boring and awful
"Thy oatmeal and pastries are pasty;
"I urge thou to put down that waffle!
"Cap'n Salty's Mush Puppies are TASTY.
"Buy 'em by mail or from Grocers,
"And think of the Money you'll save!
"Mush Puppies pop hot from thy toaster-
"Please heed this from beyond the grave!
"Mush Puppies will leave you quite sated,
"Thy lives will be less sad and faulty!"
The Revenant dimmed and then faded,
Groaning, "Mush Puppies- from Cap'n Salty!"

A Pirate Poem

"Avast ye, me hearties! A ship to starboard!
And she's loaded with spices and silk!"
"Do you think they have cream?" A pirate implored;
"I prefer cream in tea, over milk."
The mate and the swabs chewed upon their hard tack
With cutlasses sharpened, and knives:
(Though some of them knitted , and some played with jacks,
And some wrote sweet poems to their wives.)
The parrot croaked, "murder!" and epithets foul,
And the Captain lit candles in beard
And adjusted his eyepatch, his hook and his scowl,
And thought about wenches, and leered.
But the swabs were distracted by talk of ballet,
And the mate had to check on his fern,
The gunners were busy with their macrame,
And the pies in the oven would burn.
Soon the ship with rich booty was too far to see,
And the Captain he hung up his hook,
And sat down to crumpets and cupcakes and tea,
And read a nice romantic book.

Dog

There was always something weird about
That dog
We had him four years
Since the night we found him sitting on our porch
My wife said he was trying to break in
I don't think she ever liked that dog much
He was a big dog, brown and fuzzy
With floppy ears
Fed him regular
He never ate much
My wife said there was soup missing
But I never paid her no mind
He was very affectionate
Used to pat him on the head
While I watched TV
Always used to greet me
At the door after work
With my slippers in his paw
I loved that dog
Though the house did smell of cigarettes-
I thought my wife was smoking on the sly
Sometimes when I came home I'd see his big head in the window as he stood
On his hind legs to see me outside
Then one day he wasn't at the window
And he wasn't at the door
And my TV and stereo were
Gone
Too
My wife came home from shopping and
Said we had to call the cops
We had that weird dog four years
I'd have loaned him any money he needed...

A Poem Most Poignant and Tragic

She found her ex-boyfriend's paintbrush
On the way to the Dokken show
On the rug
Where it dropped when she shocked him when
She told him she was gonna go
There with Doug
She found a tear poised to moisten
Mascara 'round her pretty eyes;
Held it back-
She adjusted vinyl tube top
Indulged a couple tragic sighs
And a snack
She had a kiwi wine cooler
And a fork full of pasta whip
On the porch
With her mentholated cigar-
ette, lit the lonely paintbrush tip
Like a torch
And then as Doug drove his pickup
Up the driveway, glossed her lips
With a squeal
And a tube squirted red blood or
Paint under stil-
etto heel.

A Lyric from von Borax Hit Broadway Musical (in Progress):

Vomit Boy

If you notice me when you look at me
If you look at me at all,
If you happen to wonder what I be,
You can listen; hear them call:

Vomit boy needed on the Tilt-a-Whirl
Vomit boy, vomit boy
Vomit boy wanted at the Shaft...
Vomit boy needed on the Hoist and Hurl
Vomit boy, Vomit boy
Vomit boy to the Roto-Raft

I drag my ass across this carnival
From six o'clock to three
I watch the yokels stuff their gaping maws
With stuff they shouldn't see
'Cause Carmine's made the corndogs out of rat;
He bathes in the lemonade
The caramel corn is dank and foetid
And the pretzels are decayed
I watch these imbeciles get in machines
Snap flabby bodies 'round
And fling them roughly upside down
Leaving lunches on the ground.

Yes they're throwing up and I'm cleaning up
And the puke never ends
Oh they're blowing chunks as my mop it dunks
And this mop's my only friend

Vomit boy needed on the Tilt-a-Whirl
Vomit boy, vomit boy
Vomit boy wanted at the Shaft...
Vomit boy needed on the Hoist and Hurl
Vomit boy, Vomit boy
Vomit boy to the Roto-Raft

They say from the top of the Ferris wheel
You can see for miles
Down below you’ll find all the chicken peels
And varicolored bile
They say on the top of the Toss it Up
You're halfway to the moon
But here below as they rise up
Stuff is falling, soon.

In Solemn Tribute

To the tortured and exploited action figures of my youth:

To the Lone Ranger, unmasked,
Bound with twine
Hung to twist in the air
Covered in hot drips of candlewax
His pastel blue cowboy togs set aflame
Falling on the quilt on the bed as the twine burned through
And my hands beat out the fire then
As my grandmother grew suspicious in the next room.
To the lovely Dale Arden, captured,
And made to perform
Unspeakable acts
By the merciless Ming the Merciless and myself
While her rescuer the beauteous Flash Gordon
Lay forgotten on the carpet
Seven feet away.
To the ritually-scarred-on-the-face
Eagle-eyed-kung-fu-grip G.I. Joes
Held as prisoners of war
Hurled from second story windows
Covered in Pepsi and left half-buried in anthills
Stripped to their ultimate blue pelvis/underwear
Realistic carpet covered heads
Submerged and freezing in the ice cube tray.
To Superman who bravely flew
From the overpass to confront
Rush hour traffic.
To the Hulk whose empty rubber head
Was sliced open like a lid and filled with ketchup.
To the tiny green soldiers, arms and legs snipped off,
Melting in a napalm pool of rubber cement.
To Action Jackson,
Who I last saw bouncing down the street
Tied with white string to the bumper of my mother's car.
In the afterworld of the dolls I am a legendary despoiler
I am the destroyer
They speak of me in hushed tones of fearful reverence
And chase me down adult streets
Pointing at me
With kung-fu fingers.

My Mistake

Sad was I
To realise my mistake
Shortly after I fell into the churning vat of linguini dough
At the factory
To be called before the great dark being
And brought to see that
To my eternal shame
On Tuesdays
I should have been burning incense
Made of purest platypus dung
And sitting in a bowl of earthworms
Consecrated by a dwarf with neckrings
And a bald head anointed with holy mustard
Whistling the sacred waltz
Rotating my thumbs counterclockwise
But I was a fool-
And now I'm damned to be cast into the swimming pool of vomit
And suffer the torment of the six knitting needles
And one hot parsnip
Beset upon by hairy swimming spiders the size of hats
Hear my woe and pain
If only I'd partaken of mentholated massage oils
If only I'd been blessed by a man that lies with poodles
If only I'd had one eyebrow and one side of my moustache shaved off
If only I had not eaten of the forbidden Cornish hen with stuffing
If only I'd wept salty tears upon a newborn owl
And barked my shins intentionally on a low table
And made an irritating whining sound
When alone in the bathtub
If only I had known not to eat onions like apples!
But I was a fool
Pluck a nostril hair for me,
Or ignite a small vole
In prayer.

What I Should Be Doing

I should be singin' Italian arias
With my campadre Mbembe
Strolling through Paris
In a toga and a fez
Doin' a little Greek dance
And aiming a Mauser at that rat Ngyuen
-He killed Sonja-that rat Ngyuen
I should be running through an Egyptian desert
On Tokyo time
I should be eating Swedish meatballs
In a Brazilian falafel hut
And sadly warbling a Micronesian threnody
On Chinese bagpipes
I should be applying an English riding boot liberally
To the accelerator of a Hispano-Suiza
On a black Carpathian mountain road
With a bellyful of kim chee
Weiner schnitzel and absinthe

Or at the very least
I should be picking up some more strawberry zingers
From the convenience store on the way home tonight...

Vegetable

Like a razor through a radish
Her voice commands you to
Strip nude, and take that bad carrot
As punishment
Disdainfully
She calls you potato, and you flinch
As she teases you with erotic leather spinach
And the orange pumpkins of domination
Exposed now...
You crave bunches of sex dandelions
And gothic vampire buttercups
As skin is heating in limp asparagus bondage
But your mind is bruised and cold
So numbed by restraints of rhubarb
That her overcooked celery whip
Cannot
Touch
You
Laced in burlesque lettuce boots
Gasping for release
As rivulets of beet juice mingle
With streams of salty meat juice
On your bed of hot
Buttered rice
And pine nuts
And slivered almonds
Now weep
For the pungent severed innocence
Of onions.

From the 34th Floor

He rents his liquored ass

While I spit from the 34th floor

Adding my wad to the sputum of God

That whirls in the cold wind

To the street where he beckons to passing cars

He takes a pull from a bag full of bottle

And I laugh- ha- as I drop

A 1923 Underwood typewriter from the 34th floor

It's so cold and windy

You could snap his ears off like potato chips

And the Underwood is pulverized

On the cold cement at his heels

And the "x" key traces a tiny line of blood along his scalp

He might notice

But he doesn’t care

As a car slows he saunters forward

But it pulls away abruptly

His ass is insufficient to its needs

As I lean out over the windowledge

My toes push off

I howl as I plunge

From the 34th floor

To flatten his liquored ass.