“SUNSHINE BE GoNE GOnE GONe” – “WHY the hell DOES your PEE SMELL so BAD?”

SUNSHINE BE GoNE GOnE GONe

Old Ugly Alfred held his hand outside from the twelfth story bathroom window. "Sunshine be gone gone gone, baby!" and sunshine was nowhere to be seen nor found. 

Somewhere underneath the rocky moon, pie-land claims me not until I come back from the city streets to shower off this inky beat and slink down down down into my warm bed.
Come home from the wartime calling, she is calling, he is falling, baby crawling, no time to spare until the early dawn smack calls from the hilltop,
singing "shaw, shaw, shaw..."
From there the beaded-eye choctaw feather caps cry out, "Jaw, Jaw, Jaw," the little boy who lost his dad cries "paw, paw, paw," and before my dinners ready feasting mouthful from the pickup lines, he swooping in from county lines, those deadly pesky crows come in! In flocks those filthy buzzards pecking! Out of the sky like the sunshine we killed comes the screaming: CAW! CAW! CAW! 

BE needy, beaded button-eyes,
O' blue eyes,
soften me with your flaccid flab of white chicken leather skin,
and pull the naked covers over your headand sing sing sing me a-doo-wop-a-doodle-zipp from the smelly high horn up way over there in the tobacco fields back home.

She was singing on the day she was born.
I could hear her tune and smell her blood sac, like the long long spool of yarn-- but not from the crow calling CAW in the barn, 
or the little oracle insects marching along,
but that thick honey trail leading out to the hospital gurney. 

Somewhere along the cinderblock walls of that old Chester mud hut in the warmest week of one August past. Somewhere behind the wood pile tool shed sat an old man crying with his aged and salty, worn and weathered hands, cracked and scabby, textural to the touch like a square of belt-sander paper—
black bark running head to toe over an old oak shaft.
Come see, come hear, come know me and I will show you. Come see it, come hear it, come taste me on your lips like poisonous sap. 

Somewhere above my head now sat, perched like an eagle, the ghost of that little fetus lost and crying, burning in the august sun but lonesome in the October night, when stars speckled his naked body and polished him like copper pipes. 
Play your pipes and hum your hymnal, no coat-hanger wire can puncture your small undeveloped skull in the heavens and no mother can leave you to die, 
now that you have been dead for so long and only your little pipes chime in the starry sky, 
thousands of feet above where your tiny body lay burned, buried, and forgotten. 

       Days forgotten.
              Forgotten days. 

WHY the hell DOES your PEE SMELL so BAD?

Who do you even know? 
Who do you work for? 
The chirp of those damn crows was the CAW of the island shore, bashing and trashing on the houseboat's window.
Time and time again.
Time-after-time was my least favorite song.
I write this backwards, line for line, time for time. 
Take your pills every morning with plenty of water and a balanced diet.
WHY DOES IT SMELL SO FUCKING BAD well come and and see that fucking shack in the woods where the old man carved his name into the victim's fucking skull, show me his hard fucking cock fucking the eye socket open mashing that little boy's brain under his fucking hammer pounding that bloody meat and cooking it over an open flame. 
Moan and pant like a fucking dog, get me soaking wet. Slopping slippery organs pounding pulsating throbbing ejaculating. 
Fuck you.
You haven't showered in weeks and your organs are all hanging out. Keep that stubbly yellow face out of my fucking houseboat and never eat fried turkey liver without thinking of my fat pink anus-hole. 

1,422,598
14:22
Green eyes, blue.

Blue face purple neck.
I will strangle you down back to you for a minute. Or two.

So let's get this straight for one minute. Or two. If your shirt looks yellow because it hasn't been washed in days but my face is turning purple from the rope around my skinny neck and I want to fuck a cactus with my bare dick hole poking out of the center cone speckled dust mite shadow of a doubt sunday dancing queen, only seventeen, take a chance on me. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber shit. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber shit. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber shit. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber shit. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber shit. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber shit. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber shit. Rubber shit, shit rubber. Shit, shit rubber SHIP! NO NO! GO! 

Tomorrow I will cut the cord, and yesterday she goes.

Fly high crystalized eagle, fly away before you're bludgeoned to death. Shine down from heaven floating seagull, don't eat my antacid today! Somehow I knew it was a mistake before I even started because I could see that feather fly hip hop over the old yellow octopus leather seat and all, high chair, sexy cougar sextuple sex tape porno clip. I came twice in one hour. Will you eat me out before I go to sleep? Rim me, lick my asshole, clean it, lick it raw. Somewhere down that Orange County country road sang the snipper snake as it grabbed a field mouse in it's jaw and CRUNCH down on the rodent's small skull. SNAP SNIP SNAKE don't let me go, don't let me loose. "Don't cut the cord" she cried to the wind. The wind and I replied, "tomorrow I will cut the cord, and yesterday she goes."

Who am I to think the same? Who are you to question God's will? Count it, yell it, say it with me now! One! Four! Two! Two! Green eyes, blue! I'll even shave my pubic hairs just for you! I love you too too! 

No, but seriously, why does your pee smell so bad? 

— Lipton Bustard was born in southern Maryland. After his mother’s death at age 4, he relocated to Hatteras Island with his father. As an only child, Leopold spent much of his formative years capturing and crucifying rodents, helping with his father’s bird-house and furniture building business, illustrating magnificent and grotesque scenes on schoolwork, and generally isolating from the rest of the small bluecollar fishing town. He now lives in a major east coast city, working overnight at Wholefoods and writing incoherent gibberish 4-6 hours every morning over too much coffee, vyvanse, and wellbutrin.