Used Meat

I’m not looking for somebody like you…. again.
You probably won’t be looking for somebody like me (to be your friend).
Let’s not analyze it,
or cannibalize it.
There’s no point in trying to revitalize it.
We sure had our moments, but Baby, it’s true – again,
That I’m not looking for somebody like you… again.

It’s a siren, siren, siren!
And it pierces my environ
With the screaming, gleaming, reaming of sireen.

“‘Reen, ‘reen, ‘reen, ‘reen!”
And I am part of the machine!
and the gleaming, reaming, screaming! of SiREEEEEEEEEEEN.

Blackberry pie, blackberry pie
I'll bake a blackberry pie before I die.
Before I die, before I die,
To save my soul,  I'll bake a blackberry pie.

That pie, sweet and warm'll
Bring me closer to normal.
Midst the crust and the goo,
I won't feel quite so blue.

So you see that's the why
That I must make a pie.
A blackberry pie,
Or else I will cry.

Oh, blackberry pie, you heavenly pie,
I'll roll you and fill you, and give you the eye.
I'll pinch you and stir you, and tickle your thigh.
Oh how I love you, my sweet blackberry pie.

Yeah, blackberry goodness will be filling my soul,
And after she's cooked, I'll be licking that bowl.
And nobody knows but blackberry and me
The things that we do, when nobody see.

Oh, blackberry pie, my lovely blackberry pie,
Before you were here I just thought I would die.
But now that I have my own sweet blackberry pie,
I'm starting to think I'll get on by and by.

So, blackberry pie, blackberry pie,
I'll bake a blackberry pie, so I won't die.
No I won't die, naw, I won't die,
Because I'm going to make my own blackberry pie.

When I was nine years old my sisters and I each received a baby bunny for Easter.
I got a boy bunny, and my sisters each got girl bunnies.
After that, my family was in the rabbit business.
This is how I learned to build rabbit cages and take care of animals.
We sold live rabbits, and dressed rabbits, fresh and frozen.
This is how I learned to kill, skin, and butcher the babies of my pet Easter bunny.
This is how I learned not to love.

When I was ten I wrote my first poem for a school assignment:

“When you are weary,
drink some beery,
or some wine;
it’ll make you feel fine.”

My mother wouldn’t let me take that to school. She said it would look bad, it being a small town and my father being a preacher, and reputations and so on.
So I wrote my second poem:

“Spring, spring, spring!
Spring is just the thing
for Kindness and Love,
You feel like a feather floating above.”

That one, my mother liked. The teacher loved it. It got published in the small town newspaper.
This is how I learned that honest, intelligent, creative self-expression was supposed to be repressed, and idiotic bullshit was what people wanted.
Most of my life after that has been a halting, clumsy maneuver between my own inner truth and trying to anticipate what people will accept.

For my entire childhood my family moved every 18 months.
This is how I learned not to plan.
This is how I learned not to form attachments.
This is how I learned that all relationships are short.
This is how I learned that relationships are best cut off without emotions.
This is how I learned not to work things out.
This is how I learned that I will never really be part of the group.

When I see a sweet, young lady
with a well-developed bust
it sure does drive me crazy,
because I’ve got excessive lust.

There’s a lady where I’m workin’,
and to have her is a must.
She sure perks up my gherkin
and gives me excessive lust.

Excessive lust, lust, lust,
as my morals turn to rust,
I think my pants are gonna bust,
because I got excessive lust.

Oh, the girls I see on teevee,
they make my breath come in a gust.
I wish that they could be with me
and let me share my lust.

In their 40′s they’re all  horndogs,
So I’ve been told and thus I trust.
And they seem to like my corndog,
I’m not the only one with lust.

Excessive lust, lust, lust;
to go without would be unjust.
My inner id just won’t be hushed,
because I got excessive lust.

I’m truly thankful to my maker,
’cause he raised me from the dust.
and when he put me together,
he blessed me with excessive lust.

And when my life is over,
if my existence is discussed,
one thing they can say for me is
“He had excessive lust.”

Excessive lust, lust, lust,
as my inhibitions rust
I think my pants has gotta bust
because I got excessive lust.

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