full service love kafka character: part VI


kevin costello, brother matt, matt wascovich and mike watt


say it, mean it
but don't show your big stick
stay quiet like asian kitsch
bend the light w/your will


balls, itch
pawns, move
check your mate
protect your queenie


supersonic hydroponic bionic chronic
strategically placed middle finger
givin you the "bully eye"


oven on broil
found in bottom of pants


that stupid carl's jr. dude is now in a cuckoo clock
got mad beats and a body rock
perpendicular, body block
horizontal ginger-bop


why don't your poems rhyme more?
at night when you dream behind your door
everything creaks when you snore
and everyone thinks you're a bore


the future bound like a book
without words, pages, bindings, or naked pictures
rather fingerpaintings done w/one's own turd
everything browned out


hand cramped, stuck in yang
bent over, tongue on arm
head down, blowing chunks
remembering lola


spiritual origami hand puppet sex act
below the table, below the belt
rolls of films of you
to be shown at town meeting


down pacific to 40th st.
bright orange man passes, dings bell
paradise waits


white noise
tape recording seal sounds
can't break deathgrip on dick
lowdown broke and depressed


do recall the poem in yr pants?
or the rocket in my pocket?!
I remember you bent over w/an ember
disassemble your hips


holy research in the backyard grass
slip-n-slide on the shit sheet
like pseudo-biblical rock opera circus on ice
tommy can you hear me?


I am off w/the nightlife
I can cover for you, brutha
I can leave you in the dust
I am off w/the covers


almost time to hit the road
right after I shit this load
stage scar, stitched in the van
feeling fuckin brilliant


let me get a look at your new pad
bad carpet, piled among the dirt
old crusty puke covered jiz stained bargain
no phone jack


I walked into the gap ad and
she was electric tiger, stirring
like a cheap plastic spoon in a dirty bowl
or da brat on da mtv


love had me leaf-like
sinned again
confession, it's like a cleansing shower. ask your favorite priest about it.


figure four
leg lock, take it off
blindfold, handcuffs, magical wiggling glo-in-the-dark squidhead rubbers
boner holster, also fitted


the freedom of D minus
graded posted current term
smoking in a beach fire
turd purse found, contents spilled


in an ancient pukin' rhyme
atop the mountain ring the bells of time
I heard that kid broke his nine
miles from now the years will meet chime


public apology, listlessly pointing
at his crotch and chuckling like a zoo monkey
makin kissy lips at the window
mouth full, must turn away


practiced sieg heil move
acting like a dumb old man
staying drunk
pissing on your favorite books


farted in a bag to have a taste
gazelle size eight
shoes do not fit the ace
so wear some panty hose to hide your face


fell through the ceiling, yr arms
wiggled like gigantic pissed-off worms from hell, until
I figured out the fucking math
two plus two equals a fucking heart attack


I was your pimp
you were my angel
she was the shill, he was
practicing hamlet


voyeurs peek
knees creek
helicopters hum
columns of white light looking for some


can't buy us love
chant, rise above
"OOO, it's getting bigger, OOO"
never loved you


elbow my shit into your business
get hard
stop, drop
roll-over, spread 'em. very nice


said the account manager
as he zipped up his pants, smiling
at the pile he had left in the can
overpaid short stop

who wrote which line?

copyright 2000 full service love kafka character crew

all rights reserved

part V

part VII

loop back to mike watt's hoot page

this page created 3 jul 00