Shameless Hack on Billy Collins, Son of McHack

"My New Song"

I tell them about my new song,
How it goes, vaguely,
Explaining the attitude.

I tell them it’s about prison.

How it makes you want to growl
The blues like a caged man.

I tell them the chords are easy
But the texture is tough.

I tell them it’s cool like ambien,
And smooth as heroin on a warm night,
Where you could relax and listen to it outside.

But they shoot its brains with their scoffs
And get life sentences without parole, becoming
Aryan brothers and stab a brother 74 times.

They need to pound its face for hours
To truly feel out its rhythm.

Between This World and the Next

Before the bones in my legs unhook
And release the coiled spring in them,
I will draw in and inflate my chest,
And pack everything from this world I can.

And as I pierce the membrane on the surface
I’ll bid farewell to this old realm of mine
And find the treasures of the depth,
And secrets kept from space and time.

The fish explode and all is behind,
This wonder kept behind the wall
Under the surface of shimmering gloss.
Where is Poseidon on his coral throne?

And the pearls! The pearls! They sparkle
Stars punctuated in the briny wash.
On the bottom, they spin and dance
Trading partners with seahorses and sharks.

As the dance concludes, I find I’ve packed to light,
Suspended in place I wish I could stay for the ball,
I must return like balloons to the sky,
Or else I’ll stay with them, their eternal guest.

Creature

“I looked for a man, but could not see.
I looked for god but he eluded me.
I looked for an alcoholic and found all three.”
-Barney Sloan, Twin Oaks Resort 1980

I have a major problem you see
I tend to let my thoughts run a little too free.
That’s one of the many problems with me,
And that’s the way it’s got to be.
Its been that way since I was three.
Even worse, it runs in my family tree.

There’s a lot of history in that tree,
Ever since it uprooted and crossed the sea,
With its branches many but leaves only three.
They were among the huddled masses yearning to be free,
And they were about to be,
Then it comes to me.

You must know it didn’t start with me.
It goes up the family tree.
Like honey comes with the bee,
We all can handle our drink, you see.
It’s our right and this country is free,
So what’s the matter with one or twenty-three?

I think the responsible number is three,
But what amateur counts? Not me!
And I can get most drinks for free.
I might break a glass or piss on a Tree,
Usually I go until it’s hard to see.
I think that the only way to be.

And that’s the way it’s gonna be,
I don’t want to stop at three.
That’s the problem you can’t see,
It really isn’t up to me.
It wasn’t up to my family tree.
We’re slaves to it, we’re not free.

But when exactly are you no longer free?
How bad do you have to be?
Is it when you wrap your car around a tree?
How about DUI? I know a guy who got away with three.
But how does any of this help me?
I know you got to open your eyes if you want to see.

Two Story Hotel

I.
I’ve got a room full of walls,
A bottle of wine—
And I can screen your calls
Because I don’t want to tie up the line.

There’s a cozy bed I can’t sleep,
And a lonely view—
Where I can count the days I’ve been gone
Away from you, in halfway room four hundred and two.

And I hate this hotel when theres nothing to do.
Two crying eyes, one’s on the side of my face and the other’s with you,
You took it where you’ve gone.

II.
I’ve got a desk and a phone,
And Valium—
Letters in my drawer
That I can never leave alone.
And all the boys tell me not to wait for you,
I say they’re wrong—
But I don’t want to be a fool
And it might be wrong but you’ve been gone, you’ve been gone too long.

And I hate this hotel when theres nothing to do.
Two crying eyes, one’s on the side of my face and the other’s with you,
You took it where you’ve gone.