"The Dirty Poet" is a musician/poet/artist who lives and works in Pittsburgh. His work has challenged and amazed me for a long time. He's more than willing on any given night to do something mega stupid. For that reason I lovehim and his work. I'm a little distressed he won't let me use his name but what the fuck.

the dirty poet
ourtwocents @ mindspring.com

poetry slam poem
(to be read emphasizing every third syllable, delivered with many exhilarating karate chops)

tits may be titillating
but language is coincidence
and rhyming may be furious
but it’s spurious
curious

history is a flat balloon

what i mean is
it happened but its reality is flimsier
than the stuff we currently use
yesterday exists
but to a lesser degree than today
history is a flat balloon
it’s now with all the air sucked out
this moment is so much firmer
can’t you feel it?
packed with all the pounds per square inch
we’re allowed

date night
(written in honor of paris hilton’s porno movie)

i’m on a date with a picture ripped from entertainment weekly
the IT issue, an erotic photo of paris hilton - IT RICH BITCH
she’s wearing white feathers for a bra and red & white leather shorts
she’s ready for action - me too - so we’re out on the town
it’s all so gloriously sick and toothless, i’m married but that’s in another dimension
it’s not like i’m in an internet chatroom, i’m alone for chrisake, except i’m not

it’s all too clear that we’ll be celebrating soon the thwack of latex snapping
and you’ll be swiveling dixie on my purple paisley barber pole

tonight i’ll pretend pittsburgh is a city and i’m showing this fancy cooze a good time
we taxi to the rich end of town, share a hi-ball with the beautiful youth
enjoying your dirty martini, my sweet? slurp it up, you rich bitch you
as we examine the talent, we note that the chicks in this place are painted up hot enough
though under the varnish there’s a summary homeliness - pittsburgh’s no paris
the barmaids however are genuinely sizzling (hired by a pimping bastard)
though they don’t compare to you, baby (they’re going to take me away soon)
the most appealing bartender claims that she and her three best friends
are like the stars of sex and the city - they call me samantha, she says
giving me an abrupt erection

i must tell you paris, every time i pull you out of my pocket
you’re looking worse for wear, though when i take you to the girlie bar
all the loose strippers leave me alone - maybe they know i’m with someone
so much hotter than them

it’s all too clear that we’ll be celebrating soon the thwack of latex snapping
and you’ll be swiveling dixie on my purple paisley barber pole

familiar

it’s familiar
i’ve seen this before, many times
looks like the evil dead or reanimator
my sneakers tapdancing around blood
the poor patient
naked and white as frozen milk
it’s real
but it doesn’t seem real
nurses joking about lunch
as we surround the leaking body
who hasn’t heard that she’s doomed
seems like a movie
and now i’m on a coffee break

memorial day parade

an army airplane buzzing overhead
a volley of rifle blanks in the parking lot
thrilling kids and adult children
at this fine memorial day parade
no thought to the terrors of war
no agony, only exhilaration

now if the guns shot into the crowd
and the plane dropped a memorial bomb
then we’d have a celebration

sometimes an audience gets in the way

you say you’re a patron of the arts?
then fuck off
i don’t feel like getting patronized today
every singer must fight the urge to pander to the crowd
sometimes an audience gets in the way
i’m only playing to an ideal anyhow
two ideals actually
and though pretty girls listen occasionally
they seldom buy the complications i peddle
so they’ve disqualified themselves
which leaves my other target
myself at 20
i don’t see that fellow either
the bastard’s probably out smoking a joint during my set
but i’m going to assume he’s listening
with one ear at least
so i’ll keep broadcasting the love
besides
thelonious monk said a musician plays for people
and am i gonna argue with thelonious?
even if i wanted to, i missed my chance

my D was driving drunk
(an ogden nash poem for the 21st century)

my D was driving drunk
that’s why i grabbed her A
just do it, as air jordan used to say
and michael’s dome resembles D
so D said what the hey
we went for it in a sloppy way
since her A was in the air
opportunity was there
might have been different
if michael jordan had hair