Fetch Me a Remy Mervis on Diamonds

The Orange Mervis must be served ice-cold for maximum refreshment.
The Orange Mervis is something best made by professionals, but can be homemade if necessary.
The Orange Mervis may or may not contain a, or many, slug(s).
The Orange Mervis has a bitter flavor at first, but goes down smooth on a hot day.
The proper Orange Mervis should have orange peels floating over the top of the drink.
A Flying Mervis is mixed with alcohol and gin once the Mervis is ejected forcefully from the glass.
The Orange Mervis must be served piping, if not scalding or even boiling, hot for maximum refreshment.
The Orange Mervis is thew perfect drink for social occasions.
The Orange Mervis can fixed Arizona Style, Regular Style or Hindi.
The Orange Mervis, Arizona Style, has all the accouterments of a Regular Style, only it is served with Icy-Hot (or Vick's Vapo-Rub, if you cannot find Icy-Hot) around the rim.
The Orange Mervis, Hindi, has a variety of spices dumped into the glass and curry powder around the rim.
The Orange Mervis must be ordered description last like an adjective after the noun in Spanish. Let me have an Orange Mervis, Hindi, you might say.
The Orange Mervis should always be ordered-- if a bar is Mervis-free, once should not patronize said bar.
If a bar has The Orange Mervis on tap, well, this is a fine bar indeed.
There is an Orange Mervis bar on First Avenue at Doldrids near the Lower East Side, I believe.
The Orange Mervis should be served lukewarm for maximum refreshment.
The Orange Mervis is a fine thing for a Winter's day.
The Orange Mervis will get you druuuuuuuuuuuuu
The Orange Mervis is a combatant for social change.
The Orange Mervis will contact you if you need it's services. For now, it will bring the car around.
The history of the Orange Mervis is long and storied.
The Orange Mervis, straight from the microwave, is the perfect drink for a night alone while crying due to the crippling depression that haunts your pathetic life.
Ah, an Orange Mervis, an excellent choice.
Noted Orange Mervis enthusiasts include: Kobe Bryant, Mike Tyson, Gov. Mike Easby, Richard Yates, Yosemite Sam, Paul, and the patrons of omgtru bar on Third Street at Yoval Ave.
The Orange Mervis is banned in RI, MA, MN, NC, SC, ND, SD, WY, MI, NY, Sweden, Africa, Eurasia, FL, GA, AL, Crooklyn, the Staples Center, LA, TX and Candyland. Void in Canada.
I am losing my mind.
The Orange Mervis must be served medium-cold for maximum enjoyment.
The Orange Mervis can be found in other flavors, but that shit is for the gays.
Let me get a Flaming Mervis, Mango, because I am the gay, you might say.
FETCH ME AN ORANGE MERVIS ON DIAMONDS.
The pluralization of Mervis is Mervii.
TGI Friday's just added a Tangerine Mervis to their menu. I wonder...
The Orange Mervis is a delicious addition to your party platter.
The Orange Mervis, so good it will make your asshole split open and bleed like a wounded soldier.
Let me get an Orange Mervis with a hot towel for my split anus, you might say.
Now that is a good Orange Mervis. Delicious.
Bottled Mervis is available in many flavors for those on the go: available in Classic Orange, Tangerine, Mango, Spearmint and Algae. Coming soon: Orange Mervis, Hindi. Must be 21 to purchase bottled Mervii and WE I.D.
Can I interest you in a refreshingly hot Orange Mervis?
The Orange Mervis is perfect-- it is pure energy and light to be worshiped while ingested.

Passive-Agressive Pacifism

There are shopping carts in lines, and
kids hiding in their makeshift enclaves.
When Walt sighs aloud, he is shifting the
burden of blame onto his wife, his children
and, in finality, the whole chickens thawing
in the basket adjacent to his ice cream.

Walt can fly. He can flap the tiny wings
at the ends of his mustache and lift himself
above the fray of shoppers and managers--
none of which know just why Walt can fly,
but he knows. He knows and he knows and
he decides to fly without frills or filler.

Walt will become accustomed to his skill.
He has placed his hands on women and
rubbed dogs' bellies and slipped under cars
discreetly to change their oil and walked
out of jobs without warning and told his
mother she was full of shit and apologized.

The other shoppers will be amazed-- mouths
agape, arms dangling, apples rolling slowly
away from their unclenched fists, eyes wide.
His wife will whisper "true" into the cashier's
ears and his son will nod approvingly as he flies
untowardly toward the edges of stratosphere.

Though he's bought a house, placed his feet
on strangers' coffee tables, sexed in his dad's
washroom, destroyed a computer monitor,
learned to cook proper short ribs, and slept
through the beginnings of a war, he has never
used his power of flight until just now, just now.

And as he raises his arms, the milk splashes
out to the ground with a thud like birds ne'er
heard, ne'er heard. He is going to show them
his unfettered brilliance and he will do it for
everyone who has ever wanted to condemn
themselves for their choice of off-brand tuna.

He will do it and it will rock the foundations
of want, the confluence of absurdity, it will be
the penultimate perfection in his life-- the last
being the one time he realized why he couldn't fly
until just then. He was waiting, waiting, waiting
waiting, yes, until he was Walt, nonetheless.

Ugh.

I have to learn how to be a poet by tomorrow. I am reading poems in public at the Outpost Lounge Reading Series-- 1410 Fulton Street (between Classon and Grand in Brooklyn) at 8 PM, Friday, May 2nd. Feel free to hurl potatoes and run from the released white-backed wolves as they intend to maul me before I allow any more stilted shithole words to escape my ultra-bearded mouth.

Yes, they serve beer.

SMOKING UPDATE: Cigarettes are gross, dude.

A Biographical Moment

I am reckless with want:
I am christened with the blood of wineskins.
I am created from molds.
I am weighed down with alacrity and machines.
I am paralyzed by bread.
I am impartial though haughtily stacked in belief.
I am locked like valuables.
I am collapsing upon the ocean's salted beds.
I am the definition of relief.
I am belied the idea of falsely engraved idols.
I am endangered like owls.
I am following the masochism of my father.
I am not doing well, people.
I am the depiction of lifetimes of pictures; alive.
I am not that photogenic.
I am the effort of reality, the realization of want.
I am made of the tree bark.
I am a man of suits and ties with no employment.
I am the rising exhaust.
I am an endowment of fur warming the indigent.
I am corn-stalks grown.
I am worn about like a loose, carrot-colored dress.
I am scared of all of you.
I am reinventing the created subtext of my footfalls.
I am unsure; melancholy.
I am the ending before it happens; a tenement ragged.

POLITICS

Write-in votes I would consider putting in over Obama, Hillary or McCain (simply for humor value).

Mr. Burgers (D)
Marist Walter Wellermeyer, Esq. (R)
Wandy Sterwing (B)*
Henry Bagels (I)
French's Yellow Mustard (D)
Saddam Hussein (D)
Hurricane Chris (a bay bay)
Paul (R)
Devin the Dude (R)
M. Thomas Tacos (D)
Bruce Springsteen (D)
Any One of the Cats from the Picture Accompanying My Previous Post (R)
Gus Johnson (I)
Dr. Mr. Pickles, the Mildly Retarded Horse (R)
Frank Norris (N)**
Glen "Big Baby" Davis (I)
MAYES (FAT)


*B=Black, only gets vote if America agrees not to assassinate him, because he is my friend.
**N=Naturalist, of course.

Bird Bridled

Light diving about like birds over wheat fields
Write driving doubt like words over sheets' feel
Fight depression bouts like herds of sweet veal
Spite-divining routs like absurd retreat; surreal
Smite, darling-- pouts like referrals/completed deals
Kite darting, shouts likely unfurl or conceal
Slight definition crouches like myrrh entreated or revealed

This week has been both outstanding and outlandish and I have nothing to add to anything; forever. But seriously. This shit hits. So, here's a list, instead of complaints about, you know, stuff.

FACTS:
Lions are cool animals at which to look.
Cold soda being dumped into the ground must taste like marmalade to the Earth.
The birds of time are writhing next to us with their wings clipped.
Biographical information only makes us want.
x=decilcious (tacos being x, of course)
Damien Jurado will destroy us all.
I'm dying, my hands are clasped, failurebirds
FACT.

Want (part one of many)

I finally cooked the pork chops
that sat in the freezer for so long.

I'd wanted them so badly
while hungry in the grocer.

I knew I had no time to eat them,
but my want outweighed my sense.

I marinated them in molasses and smothered
them in orange peels to enhance my want.

I made corn and peas, prepared butternut squash
and washed romaine leaves to accompany my want.

As I cooked them, I wanted them as
exceedingly as I wanted the wine.

As they cooked, the smoke spread;
covered the walls with my want.

The smoke clogged the drains
and my pores with my want.

The smoke welled a few
tears of want into my eyes.

I consumed them, but they did
not satiate nor enhance my want.

I fell asleep in the belly of want while
clawing; ravenous with so much want.