More of the 1kb of poetry

Just a real quick update today from the pile of poems I got sitting on my desktop. Thank you for emailing that you like these poems and you think I did a good job. It is not often anyone would say such a thing to me.

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Watermelon
by R. Beef Kazenzakis
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The stripes on a watermelon
look much like a brain.
The dark green impasto
resembles a vein.

So if the melon is truly
a throbbing thing of beauty
will the men of science find
that melons can read one's mind?

Welcome, watermelon,
to my mental library.
Make yourself at home among
the apocalyptic coterie.


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Hot Dogs
by R. Beef Kazenzakis
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A hot dog is whipped meat
the skin yields a snap.
The flavor unmistakable
the condiments eternal.

Ketchup, mustard,
ground onions and kraut,
pepperoncini, tomato,
all flavor the snout.

But inside the foodstuff
a hidden ink pen
single-shot .45 Magnum
hidden in the pen.

OH SHIIIIIIIT

Five bucks for poetry

Chris said he would pay me five dollars a month to publish 1k words of the poems I got sittin' around on my desktop so basically since I have around 30k words of poetry that's $150 the easy way and I can use that money to fix the screen door at Gramma K's from where she wheeled into it in a drunken rage as I was leaving last time. Anyhow here is some of my poetry. I will do this in installments.

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Avocado
by R. Beef Kazenzakis
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Smell the avocado
Touch it and notice the softness
But what is that nub,
at the top ?
Did you press on it;
I hope you did not.
Because the avocado
-- you guessed it--
...is a grenade.


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Here is the Hard-Boiled Egg
by R. Beef Kazenzakis
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Here is the hard-boiled egg.
It is what you wanted.


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Mexican Restaurant of Death
by R. Beef Kazenzakis
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The taco itself is crispy;
tacos often are.
If you have a Mexican meal,
the taco is often the star.

Perhaps you prefer some beans;
or a long burrito bar.
It doesn't really matter,
if the Mexican restaurant is where you are.

My friend I hate to say it,
because we've come so far,
but hidden in the chalupa
is a ninja throwing star.

OH SHIIIIIIT

Vaporizer !

Oh hee man but dang Téodor got this vaporizer and I tell you man it is like taking a hit off of one of those electric glass science globes that got a ball in the center and all this electricity radiates out towards the outer glass sphere. You know what I mean; it is like a 3-D bloodshot eyeball where the veins are replaced by slow ghostly lightning.

Me and him cooled it pretty good over at his place, no one was buggin' about the weed and plus the vaporizer creates like zero smells anyway due to the precisely calculated temperature holding point that does not ignite the plant matter. After we got pretty mad on the stuff he played real good old albums, like False Prophets and SLF and all this original old punk which has good bass guitar lines and inventive usage of destroyed guitar signals. Good bass guitar lines and a good singer is really what separates a decent punk outfit (7 Seconds, Operation Ivy) from the ribble rabble. You may not agree that Jello Biafra should sing the national anthem at the Kennedy Center Arts Honors but you will agree that without Paul Simonon The Clash would still be together and covering "Oh Mickey You're So Fine" at the opening of a specialized shoe store for folks who have extreme foot corns.

Okay uh thank you for reading Roast Beef's punk rock thought corner and next week I will say a few words about how it is too bad that nobody has Drunk Injuns albums anymore except for Tommy Guerrero's aunt who has all his old skate-era stuff in her attic.