Whiskey Pete

Whiskey Pete you're quite the treat
Immobilizing patroness to third degree burns
Military issue- first rounds for insurgents
Civilians get the tab, for hospital mistresses
Children's skin blister doppelgangers syphilis
Their flesh hangs mauve with a viscous mucous
No next semester, when doctors can't cure it
Hemoglobin's sun stroke with your gin and tonic

Whiskey Pete your ambrosia reeks
Profiting mercy that is extra for beating
During first rounds under combat bordellos
Opening doors made a killing in Fallujah
New customer victims, malt a poisoned chalice
Wailing mothers in Hijabs, beg grief for virgins
Towards a sky that is hollow to pleas on the inside
This smell of success is white man's crime

Whiskey Pete know one has you beat
When it comes to hangovers for organ failures

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Because It's Fun

Let's dropp a dose of acid into a bowl of punch
And tell the pampered prep kids its special orange crush
We'll liaison our excitement watching the novice trip and blush
Down the Willie Wonka tunnel riddle psychedelic rush
Then I'll drive a Silver Lexus down the incline of a road
Speeding on adrenalin while viscera paints the hood
To discipline pedestrians when they act like nasty toads
When they smell the putrid sinews tattooed around the wheels
Then I'll tell the border guards there's illegal's in the trunk
Laughing as they convict me for being full of bunk
They'll never validate a sincere claimant to deduct
Since all my accusations are insolvent grains of salt
Maybe I'll start a revolution with exaggerated convictions
Then bailout responsibility for indefinite decisions
Watching on the sidelines of my Cancerous Ambitions
Destroy the social seams of this melting pots foundations

Simply because it's fun

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Today (Is Yesterday)

Here these words breath of my epitaph
Speak louder than all my deaf sentences.
This discourse is my final truth
Which to your ears translates this ruse

I never failed a test, I meant to past
But never learned respect of circumstance
Confess; humilities been my false pride
The world was made good for evils kind

Maybe it’s too late
I think it’s been a mistake
For the sun seems not to rise
When Today is yesterday

Listen to this before I lose what I mean:

The sky is always Brighter
When the clouds have disappeared
Air is always sweeter

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Retail Dogs - (Belittling Bosses who deserve to get their teeth knocked out)

My boss came down from Ottawa
And said to me in patent awe
Calculated by her reprove
Insuring my full approval

That I am -

'An amazing employee, you really, really are,
And because of your fine contribution,
As a tenant to our establishment
We've decided to reward you
By increasing your working hours
And as a special conciliation
(Much to our jubilation)
We're going to do this just for free
So you won't have to worry
About an increase in your wages
I hope this makes you happy
As it does for all of us
Because we've thought about this

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Letter to America

Dear America:

It must be nice to be insulated
Against this evolving world
Too avoid the armed conflicts
Enabling you haggard dogmatic
Recipes of disaster
While stealing the bread and butter
That infuses cardboard religions
With commerce morality
Of truncated values
From Saturday morning cartoons
Of old Tom and Jerry
That everything is better
When cats should eat the mice

And it must be nice
To live behind the ignorant walls
Of blue skies and green fields
From a television screen

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Paulie wants to be Polly

Nature gave him shoes that he never felt quite fit
Wrong soles inside a soul which was never much equipped
To prance around in boxers when he wanted ladies briefs
And roll around in cardigans while stuck in denim sleaves

He compromised himself to the rules of family life
Captaining a little league, while head of the P.T.A
Devoted to his wife who was a catholic socialite
With an honor role son, and a daughter in ballet

No matter what his summit, it was always hard to breath
Sheltered in an armor that was densely claustrophobic
Riding down a road that was always growing narrow
Until one day he decided to get the full adjustment

Paulie wants Polly, and that is her prerogative belief
For who are we to stop the change of butterflies?
And abort the metamorphose of once rights
When we could live each day fulfilled and always free

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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A Girls Best Friend

It was just a novelty
That she took out for a test
But now it's become a hobby
a magnanimous old pest
Now she meditates addictions
With an ornament lothario
Trading one note Casanovas
For south equator Cyrono's
And she's slipping any minute
For diverting games of sole
Causing intoxicating earthquakes
In the land of rock and roll
Where the cat's jaws always slander
Interpretations of letter 'O'
Down the crevice in the jungle
Where wild submarines echo

Her girlfriends are complaining
That it just makes her look single
But she scales the walls with retorts

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Sugar and Poison

Perfumed fragrant with delight
Activates my southern plane
Though I most prefer propane
The wealthy stench of metallic flames
Caressing my nostrils inhaling cancerous dames
Trading jasmine for oleander; and apple pie for asbestos
Vixens in nylons that juggle horns with their halos
Denigrate my dignity to achieve my greatest insecurity
All Behind locked doors, were virtues lost in sentiment

I’ll be acting tough, only if you play me rough
Discard the pleasantries and the romantic fallacies
That are the obstacles of hunger buried in the loins
Neglecting mammal habitations for primordial felicitations
So let’s just skin our lips and handshake tongues
Wrist cuff our hips too moonlight the floor
Exploring mouths and the new sensations of saliva
In the world of our eyes, where the secrets all die
Through the rhythm of throbs, we bait the language of lust
Gesticulating groans, sweat burns and atrophies

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Ding Dong Osama's Dead

Ding dong Osama's dead
he's been chopped with lead,
he's a sleepy head

Ding dong Osama's dead
By a black ops team in a Pakistan crypt
But I get bored and go to bed,
Ill dream of sheep in turbines instead

Rise - you patriots-
Get drunk and scream America
Wave old glory, and march with duty
Now Justice served, is wire tapping security?
To listen in on the disenfranchised
Incriminate Intel on personal live
Will it provide your world with peace?
To kill the donkeys in the elephant sleaze

Goodbye- to wiretaps
and illegal strip searches

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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How The World Will End

The world will end, when its least expected
When the days grow numb as dull November
Drifting sagged cardboard from silhouettes of heaven
As every face becomes a portrait of its own grave
A masque medicated to professional wake
Living day by day for the cuckoo disbursement
Regulated by numbers in scheduled hours
Collapsing our faith in the alley of bones
Where we are set free to one day roam

The world will end, without a goodbye
It will fade in a whimper without a big bang
Like water tip toeing on an unassuming stone
Parched penetrating the sewage of rusted charcoal
Yes the world will end the world will end
Counting down the grains of an hour glass eye
When there is less of a future and more of a past
Staring behind flesh of disintegrating glass

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poem by Kevin Patrick
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