Sunday, March 21, 2010

Another preview of "Utah Heat," coming soon/eventually

Yes. There was a gun in my pocket, and I am happy to see you. - "Both, actually"

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Mormon Vice, the Utah Heat premiere

The job just doesn't seem worth it anymore, Hal. Jimmy took one in the lung today. He's got five kids. Three wives. I don't know how I'm gonna break it to his fiancée. - "Mormon Vice"

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Cruelty Inconspicuous

They're everywhere this morning
The numbers seem absurd
So many bodies lying there
Littered is the word

In the dark and early light
Their flesh darkened as it dried
Wriggling, struggling, striving
They tried to live but died

'Twas a great calamity
The flood that did descend
So many simple innocents
The angels did attend

Clear and wet and sinister
The raindrops downward rode
Conspiring, connecting, and collecting
Into cold, dark shapes that flowed

The water gushed and rushed and pushed
And plunged into their homes
It filled up all the passages
And offered splashy tomes

Water finds what water finds
Nowhere could they hide
Unwilling but so ill-prepared
They were lifted on the tide

The wetness 'round them seethed
Gurgling as it surged
And plunged them into open space
To of their lives be purged

They did not drown
They did not freeze
'Twas violence that killed them
Thoughtlessly and needlessly and with such evil ease

They fought to find their way to safety
But all they found was slaughter
Hard surfaces came crashing down
On living things much softer

Rubber soles and concrete walks
Made the vice that squeezed their lives
Right out of them to somewhere else
Surer than could sharp knives

So next time it rains be carefuller
For when the water churns
The steps you tread might end the times
Of gallant angleworms

Monday, January 18, 2010

Fire Team

Sand and rocks and
Buildings colored dun
Dust floats and it's all
Blown out by the sun

Johnny Walker up front
Ready riding point
His hand shakes on the rifle
His lips yearn for a joint

His mind isn't here
It’s back in LA
His eyes aren't on
What the rest of us see

He's looking at Jenny
From toe to top
He sees her keep dancing
When the music's stopped

Johnny Walker, he's the Ready
He drinks Scotch and rye
Hymn Book, he's the Team
He's a preacher's boy and dry

Queen, he brings the Fire
Brit rock makes his day
Me, well, I'm Assist
There's not much more to say

We swig water and hump
Life-giving packs
So heavy that they're
Slowly breaking our backs

We trudge and we watch
And sometimes we rush
Running two-by-two
We cuss and don't blush

Doing tasks that elsewhere
Would get us locked up in state
Flashing muzzles, itchy fingers
Loaded up with hate

Johnny Walker should be seeing
Ready, he's our eyes
But memories and worries
Work to paralyze

He saw her dancing on a table
Loud and happy from beer
He picked her just before he came
All the way to here

She's back at the club
Prob'ly still puts on a show
The features he liked before
Are what now worry him so

Does she make eyes as she did
Does she still wretch to stay small
Is she wearing his ring
Or anything at all

As the question hits
His face is grim and dim
Do Dos Equis get for other guys
What they did for him

When we're back in the Green
We cuss him out
Johnny Walker asleep
Could get us gunned down

Besides does he have
Any room to fret
Has being unfaithful
Ever made him regret?

When has he ever
Taken girls one at a time
The more dates in a day
The more chances to shine

This one's different, he says,
I'll give her my name
To you she's different, we say,
But to her you’re a game

It's a shame that he knows it
It's a risk to his health
But he's fallen too hard
For someone too like himself

Sunday, January 17, 2010

The Skin Game

'Dermatologist tested'
Is what a company
Put on the package
Of its goop for acne

Molly was shopping
And here's what she read:
'Skin science dudes
Prove it kills blackheads'

Had she followed the asterisk
She would have known
Just what was meant
By the words shown

'We sent samples to doctors
Whom we never heard back from
We chose not to say so
On advice from our ad firm'

She bought it and took it
Right home with her then
And daily she used it
To wash off her skin

She used it and used it
And what do you know
It worked just as well
As those other soaps

Saturday, January 16, 2010

The Mission

Key in the ignition
I give it a turn
There's a job to do and
I've a paycheck to earn

The rig on the car's roof
Is brightly aglow
With blue and with red
As I drive into the snow

A detour ahead
This makes me angry
The forces of darkness
Want to halt the delivery

Nothing will stop me
I mustn't be late
There's joy on the line
It's goodness at stake

The GPS says
To take the loop around
But I'll shave off minutes
By going downtown

There's ice all around
I don't touch the brake
I take the curve as quick
As the tires can take

My passenger sits
Silent and still
Unable to know
That the danger is real

Flat cardboard boxes
Zipped in warm insulation
They must be delivered
Despite all trepidation

The three of them rest
As one priceless prize
Each of them costing
Just five ninety-nine

A car cuts me off
I roll down the window
And quickly I flash
My one-finger signal

I abruptly change lanes
The game starts at nine
I know I can make
The party on time

Not speed-limit signs
Not red traffic lights
Nothing will stop
These single-topping delights

I check the address
This must be guy
Inside there is laughter
And colorful lights

I pull up to the curb
Yank the e-brake
A glance at my watch
Shows we're not too late

The cargo and I go
Waltz up to the door
I push the bell button
Then depress it once more

The man has a goatee
His hair's poorly arranged
He hands me a twenty
And asks for the change

What can this mean?
No tip do I get?
I've risked violent death
The dangers I've met!

My heart is heavy
My resolve becomes stronger
If the goatee wants pizza
Next time he'll wait longer

Friday, January 15, 2010

The Chattering

Dead man walking
That's what some call guys like me
Trudging the long corridor
Face lined with defeat

The bleak gray-painted walls
The sick chemical smell
My stomach is queasy
My heart feels unwell

I sit in the anteroom
With a guard in light blue
Behind the wall there's a chair
Where it happens to you

I can hear the whirring sounds
They're testing it now
On some other poor patient
Who whimpers aloud

And I hear them sucking
Stuff out of his maw
Mixed spit, blood and bits
Chipped from his jaw

Another guard appears
Smiling like it's a game
Her perfect white teeth
Flash as she says my name

Clipboard at ready
She checks my blood pressure
Shoots rays in my face
Takes wicked pleasure

Then the man with bulging arms
Muscle built up
Holding down little kids
Who squirm too much

He draws out his needle
He readies his potion
He plans to stick it in me
In one painful motion

It's in moments like these
That a man has a choice
He can sit there and take it
Or use action as voice

Here's where history
Divides boys from the men
Some willingly suffer
Some fight to win

Freedom is worth it
It's the only true wealth
So I steel up the courage
And I brace myself

Liberty! Liberty!
How joyous art thou!
This is my moment
It's never or now

The syringe inches closer
Life's slowing down
I can live as hero
Or die as a clown

I'll win or I'll lose
The thought makes me sober
A quick kick to the stomach
And the dentist keels over

Now it's just the guards
Hygienists they're called
Such a sanitized word
For the terror involved

I jump and I dodge
They'll never nab me
The one class I passed
Was eighth-grade PE

My shoes click on the tiles
I'm a bat from grim hell
As I courageously flee
See ya! Farewell!

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Get Short

At a basketball game
The sport that I love
A guy smiles at me
From way up above

Hey, Shorty, he says,
That must be your name
You'll have to stand on my shoulders
If you wanna see the game

I hate him already
I'm not short as he alleged
Would it kill him to admit
I'm just vertically challenged?

Are you having a good day?
I know he's trying to irk
How's the weather down there?
He asks with a smirk

I want to spit in his eye
And tell him it's raining
Maybe I could send it that high
With a few years of training

A beanpole like him
Has no room to talk
Why, at my family reunion,
Everybody'd just gawk

I look him up and down
Before I bore into his eyes
His life sucks worse than mine
And I'll tell him just why

Just looking at you
Gives me bad vertigo
Your mama should have dropped you
So you'd stop to grow

You'll find nothing that fits
When you look for garments
At least I can shop
In the kids department

I have luxurious space
When I go to bed
I'm not crammed against
The foot or the head

When it comes to legroom
I have vehicles' favor
My knees don't touch my ears
When I drive a Ford Ranger

I'm glad that I'm short
It's by God's grace
That I can wear a hat
So I don't see your face

Now you're starting to cry
You see your height is a mishap
Make like a tree, tall boy, or
I'll punch you right in the kneecap

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Down from the Bottom

Honey, I'm home
It's been a pretty rough day
I just want to rest
And drink it all away

Sorry my feet smell
But I gotta take these off
Been sitting at work
Sweating into my socks

I'm not into dinner
I can't really eat now
My stomach's still churning
It's no time to chow

My job kind of does that
It's worse than any other thing
At least when I washed cars
I'd come home feeling clean

I finished off the Jameson?
How 'bout some Tullamore Dew?
You know I can't just—
We're out of that, too?

Then some Jim Beam rye
No, I don't need a glass
I didn't even drink this much
When I scraped by stealing gas

Or when I was a hit man
I was such a violent fool
Looking for a way out but
At least my clothes were cool

Or my first high school job
At least I was doing good
Enforcing's bloody work
But they had it comin' in that hood

When I did telemarketing
I lied less than now
And to keep 'em on the line
At least it took know-how

Now I'm just one of the pushers
With junk that's gone stale
And no willin' customers
I can't live in this hell

At least when I sold crack
My associates were fun
The boss was less of a joke
Though he did play with guns

My year teaching kindergarten
Doesn't look so bad now
The conversation was smarter
And the yelling wasn't as loud

When I sent out normal spam
At least I provided something real
People got good mileage
From all those blue pills

Now the evil's all dressed up
With high-handed incantations
I never should have gone
Into public relations

Monday, January 11, 2010

Crying for a Charge

My cell phone's all wet
It won't give me any peace
It cries out in the night
It could break any lease

My cell phone's adept
At waiting just the right time
To let loose again
With that noise that's a crime

Can I help it that I
Am a klutz and a goof
The charger ran off
Disappeared with a poof

Now my phone don't have long
Left for this earth
It's gonna run out
Electrons are its curse

I know I could hold
The little button of red
To silence the cries
For help that I dread

But how can I kill
My microwave friend
A treasured companion
With my own bloody hand

I can tell that my cell
Is getting farther along
The cries are now forming
A new faster-paced song

Now my phone is all done
With that awful alarm
It's cried its last cry
It done bought the farm

So I'm cut off like dead
From all of my friends
No texts can I get
This is how it all ends