he hears the mandible hinges squeak
he sees through the rain
the trees fold back when he breaks wind
his skirt balloons up over street grates
he make love to the animals
and steals other men's wallets
only to have them thank him later
(he pinches their nipples and they squeal
bloody murder)
but i got the nothing
i got the back end of the horse
i got the soggy mail bag
and i got the hurt
i got a pocket full of strangers' palms
and he got the blue sky
i got a mouth full of grass and paper
and he makes the moon
move the sea
he cuts the orange into eight equal
sections but i slice off my arms
into the toilet
he wears a cloud as a crown and the
hills are his pants and ice
is his memory
and the vapor his wife
i got no one to call my own
i turn full-circle and touch my privates
he pisses his name in the snow
in gold embossed olde english font
while i fumble with a sputtering faucet
he built his own coffin out of palm trees
and soda crackers and i gotta carry it
but mice like me can only sit in dark corners
he runs for public office while i sniff
my underarms
he is crucified and reborn while i
masturbate to the home shopping network
he is made of ingredients i can no longer
pronounce these rusty jawbones like
the heat of a dying animal
he is carved from a smarter stone
that's him out on the lawn through the rain
on the lawn skin gray
from the elements
the blood tickling
his eyes