Bluebird, Bluebird

Look at the pretty bluebird, bluebird
Sitting on my shoulder
Listen to her singing, her singing
Could not be any bolder

But just before taking-off, taking-off
No longer to be heard
She leaves a sloppy-dropping, dropping
Off a runny turd

And so I go to wipe it, wipe it
Clear from my clean shirt
But as I swipe my hand, my hand
Smears and spreads bird-dirt

On the house next door, next door, next door,
Next door there is a spigot
Which should provide a wash, a wash
With water – that’s the ticket

Summer’s sun had been heating, heating
Water in the hose
Soon my face was bleeding, bleeding
From burns upon my nose

That’s how I scared my face, my face
Which had been rather pretty
Before one delicate bluebird, bluebird
Who just happened to be shitty

Comedian’s Breakup Breakdown

I can’t
I can’t just stand here
And yet I’m standing right here
I’m standing up
Against a black brick wall
You look right at me
Like I’m not here
Like I’m not even there
Like all you see is a black brick wall

Oh I see
You’re on a date
At my show you’re on a date
The guy beside you is your date
You turn back to him and laugh at something he said
Even though it wasn’t funny
It’s not funny
I can tell
I can’t tell
I can tell
I know your laugh
I know your laughs
All of them

For the past 10 years I made you laugh
And now I’m going onstage
To make everyone laugh
And I can’t think of a joke
I can’t think of a joke
I have a million fucking jokes
And I can’t think of a joke
Something has reached into my joke chest
And ripped them out
By the heart

You’re on a date
I want you to be happy
I want you to laugh
For real
I can’t think of a joke
I can’t think
I can’t

On cue the lights change
On cue I walk on stage

I’m so skinny
I’m so fucking skinny up here
Why do I feel fat

If you can think of a joke please tell me
Please tell me a joke
Please tell me a joke right now
I can’t think of a joke
I can’t think
I can’t

I look into the familiar faceless crowd
I focus on an unfamiliar faceless face
I open my mouth
I don’t know what I say
I just
I just
I just can’t

There’s a little laughter
I say something that I can’t remember now
There’s more laughter
There’s more
There’s so much
There’s just so much
I can no longer hear that artificial laugh
I can no longer hear, I think
I can no longer stand, I think
I can no longer think, I think
I can

Full Quote – Patrick Henry

“Actually, glad you asked, bro, funny story… I have two favorite flavors of frozen yogurt. One is Liberty Swirl; the other is Death by Chocolate. So sometimes when I go to my favorite fro-yo shop, I just throw my hands up, and I’m all like, ‘I don’t care, give me Liberty or give me Death.'”

– Patrick Henry, 1775, Richmond Virginia

Man in the Moon

The moon is hidden by the fog
Behind the trees
Behind the building
Behind the city
Behind the man
Who stands behind the city and the building and the trees and the fog
The man behind the fog

What is that man doing there
What the hell is he doing there
Why is he looking for the moon
Who is he
Who is he to the moon

Let the moon go
Let the fog go
Let the trees go
Let the buildings go
Let the city go
Be the man
Be the moon
Be the man and the moon
And the man

Bus Top

I was thrown
Under the bus which is strange
I’m the bus driver

I should say
I was the bus driver
The thing is
I am still the bus driver
I am just under the bus

But here I sit
Or lay
Or lie
Still the bus driver
Am I still the bus driver
Thrown under the bus

It’s still my bus
I’m still the driver
Even though it’s crushing me
Even though without me there’s no driver
Even though without a driver it’s crushing me
Even though I’m still the driver

But let me repeat I’m still the driver
But let me repeat I’m still the driver
But let me repeat I’m still the driver
Even though it’s crushing me
Even though I’m under the bus
Thrown under the bus
I’m still the bus driver

Two Wifes (sic)

I have two wifes
So deal with that
Deal. With. It.
A secret life in Northern California
Or Utah
Or Nebraska, or Minneapolis, or Dover
Delaware Central Women’s Penitentiary
Doesn’t really matter, does it?

I have two wifes
Think I’m fucking crazy?
Think I’m fucking crazy?
I’ll show you
I’ll show you who’s fucking crazy

I’ve already told you
Or have I told you?
I’ve already told you a thousand times
I have two wifes, after all
It’s America, after all
Land of the free and whatnot

And I’m not lyin’
I’m not even lyin’ to no one
No. One.
Except my second wife
And, oh yeah, my first wife, too

Because, I have two wifes
And, I have a secret
A secret secret
A secret secret secret secret

They’re twins

Now that’s funny
Now that – for the love of all that’s holy – that’s just freakin’ hilarious

Strange Bedfellows

Get out; get out
Get out of my bed
Move over; move over
Get off of my head

You bore, you snore
You’re making me sad
You smell; you stink
You’re driving me mad

All legs; all arms
All over the place
Get out before
I’m punching your face

The blanket – don’t yank it
So cold when you steal
The covers; you’d shudder
To know how I feel

You’re gone; relax
I have the whole bed
I should be happy
I’m lonely instead

Sea Salt

Sea Salt
See Saw
See, Salt
See Saul see salt

Long board
Long john
Long John Sliver
Silver like the sea
Like the salt of the sea

Salted rim
Salty dog
Salty salty Rin Tin Tin
Doggie paddle swim swim swim

Seals with salt
Sealed with salt
Salty sea lions roaring
Dogs of the Sea

See one salt
A salty-salt
A salty assault in your eyes
Burn blue eyes red
Is that blue
You call that blue

The eyes of the fish taste like salt
They say
The water tastes like bromine
They say
The ocean tastes like sea

the hoe and the rake

Last night he had a dream
That he was looking in the sun
During all the rain
And all the tools were in the shed rusting into rusty rust

And a big, weathered, broken-in pickup truck
Plowed backwards through the lawn
The lawn he could see through the window
That in reality wasn’t there
But there it was
There it was
The other truck
Axle deep in the dirt
All four fat tires spinning

And holy shit what is that guy thinking, he thought
And, and, and when his wife gets home, he thought,
She’s going to kill me
And I don’t mean “kill me” like, like I’m just saying that
Like I’m just imagining that
Like I’m just dreaming that
I mean she’s gonna kill me
And, and, he keeps telling himself to wake up, wake up, wake up
But he’s not asleep

He can’t get up
He can’t lift his head
He can’t protect her flower bed
And, and, and she’s insane when it comes to things like this, he thinks
He knows it
He’s lived it
Things like how he tends to her shrubbery
Or doesn’t or
Or, or, or, sometimes, how he totally ignores the lawn she has had manicured
Just hoping he’d notice
But he didn’t
He’s sorry
But he didn’t
And now he’s sorry
And, and, and now he’s stuck
In bed
All alone
While another guy is ploughing her garden

There’s No “I” in Poop

The bathroom
On the first floor
Of the building where i work
Often smells of shit

Men’s room, if you must know

Big sticking outhouse-style shit-piles of shit

But today
The whole first floor
Of the building where i work
Is smelling of shit

Human Resources, and Employee Engagement Offices, if you must know

Big sticking outhouse-style shit-piles of shit

Who the fuck shits so much
Oh, my, god, it’s creeping up the stairwells and elevator shafts
The whole building where i work
Now smells like shit

From the president of the company
To the assistant to the associate to the guy who seems to just walk around with a clipboard, smiling,
If you must know

Big sticking outhouse-style shit-piles
And shit-piles
And shit-piles
And shit-piles of shit