Five
Days From Sober
Written by:
Alex Sandell
June 2nd, 2001
Five days from sober,
I wish I could feel like the rest of you.
Five days from sober,
I’m tired of soaking myself in this excuse.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t cutting the rainforests down.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t combining Church and State.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t telling us it’s un-American to
conserve.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t still touting the "benefits"
of the WTO.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t selling monopolies at bargain
basement prices.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t ignoring the homeless.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t denying the fact that Capital
Punishment doesn't work.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t taking medical marijuana away from the
sick.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t carrying on with this foolish drug war.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t letting multi-national corporations homogenize
culture after culture.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t denying equal rights to homosexuals.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t using prisons to keep the blacks
slaves.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t cutting taxes for the rich.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t lowering minimum wage for the poor.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t blaming all the violence on TV.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t still using "tree-hugger" and
"bleeding-heart" as an insult.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t still claiming that socialized medicine
is a bad thing.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t drilling in wildlife preserves.
I’d take my last sip if they weren’t killing the planet for your SUV.
I can’t stay sober for “four more years.”
I can’t stay sober through all this “compassion.”
I can’t stay sober through all this “unity.”
I can’t stay sober when this “reformer” gets his results.
I can’t stay sober when they take the war into the sky.
I can’t stay sober knowing that Chicken Little was right.
Five days from sober,
I don’t think I’ll ever go back.
Five days from sober,
I know there’s nothing left.
©2001
Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some
feedback!
Bury
Written by: Alex Sandell
We all believe in something more than what
we have,
so we don’t feel like we’ve missed out on everything.
We all believe there is something more,
so we don’t feel like there’s nothing at all.
And it always centers inside of my ear.
And it hides within a grand-mal.
And it lives and breathes in the enemies I create.
And it manifests in my hate.
And it always centers inside of your
crusade.
And it stares out from within your desperation.
And it lives and breathes inside of the person you’ve went all out to
formulate.
And it manifests in a fictional me, and you won’t let yourself escape.
Anywhere we can place the blame.
Anywhere we can bury the hurt.
Anyone we can point the finger at.
Anyone we can hide inside.
Anything, as long as we don’t have to
let it go.
Keep the fire burning by putting it out.
Keep the light on by removing the bulb.
Anything but having to face the everything
we haven’t had the chance to fabricate.
©2000
Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some
feedback!
Crucifix
Written by:
Alex Sandell
Crucifix is stained with
hate.
Crucifix is stained with lust.
Crucifix is stained with hypocrisy.
Crucifix is stained with televangelists.
Crucifix is on fire.
Church burns down.
Up in flames, God barbecued his choir.
How can we have faith?
How can we blindly follow?
Too many conflicted messages make the entire thing seem hollow.
Crucifix, Crucifix,
send all of my friends to Heaven.
Crucifix, Crucifix,
send all of my enemies to Hell.
Crucifix, Crucifix,
while you’re at it, could you send me a new DVD player, as well?
One that works this time?
Church shooter guns down the congregation,
just when they were learning they’d burn in hell
for acts of masturbation.
Oh, so many of them in eternal fire.
I wonder if they’ve been joined by the charcoaled choir?
Look through the ashes.
Look through the bullet holes . . .
get a look at this -
the only thing left standing
is the battered crucifix!
©2000
Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some
feedback!
Copyright
Written by: Alex Sandell
Violate my copyright,
take your hand and lower my
standards.
Life is a fucking fabrication,
manipulating forever.
There's nothing for us here,
outside of a musty coffin.
Take me into your womb
and let me live forever.
Heaven is a woman's stomach
and Hell is the outside.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
I Wish I Was Rambo
Written by: Alex
Sandell
I don't want to go out anymore.
I just want to sit in my room and
watch
paid commercials
about exercise machines and
telephone psychics.
Stare vacantly at out of shape
morons riding machines,
cheerily describing their flabby
arms and oversized butt.
"I can really feel this
machine working,"
they'll say and the corporation
will sell a hundred more.
They claim they're in it for the
cardiovascular workout
when they really just want to get
laid.
"Firm your fanny in under
three weeks,"
and the corporation will sell two
hundred more.
The corporation will get fat off
of the insecurities they sell. And I sit back in my hard plastic chair
and eat a bag of greasy potato
chips, a candy bar for my dessert.
Then I scratch my balls and jot
down another
1-800 number to call for more
information
so maybe someday I'll get
laid.
Then I set down the piece of paper
and watch more mindless t.v.
By the next day I'll forget all
about it.
One machine the corporation won't
sell.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Bestseller
Written by: Alex Sandell
About once a month someone
recommends a bestseller
for me to read.
"You'll really enjoy this
one,"
they tell me as I head to my local
grocery store.
I stop at the mass-marketed
paper-back section
and pick up a mass-marketed book.
I put it in my cart with the rest
of the junk-food.
I bring it home, turn the little
lamp on above my bed,
and sit down to read.
I always get partially involved
until around the middle when I
just lose interest
and become entirely bored.
"I could write something
better than that,"
I always proclaim,
and then I never do.
Instead I pick up something other
than that best-seller,
something that I can't purchase
along with
my box of Captain Crunch.
Something a little more real.
Something darker, more vivid,
satirical, surrealistic or sad.
Something I can read and reread,
always discovering something more.
Something filled up with all of
the answers
and enough questions to keep you
up for weeks.
Something you find on the back
shelf
of the independent bookstore;
The one that's located in the bad
part of town.
Something that you'd risk your
life for.
I'll get back to that bestseller
later.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
The First of September
Written by: Alex Sandell
The first of September,
I walk down to the park
where we used to go late at night
to hold hands.
The place where we'd promise each
other forever.
I sit down at the point I liked to
think of as ours.
I reach over to put my hand into
yours,
but only get a fistful of sand.
You would smile and tell me
"Whenever you need someone,
I'll always be there for
you."
So where are you right now?
I'm alone,
except for some car-engine humming
across the street
and a lone dog barking off in the
distance.
The swings are perfectly still,
you no longer bring them your
laughter.
The moon shines down on me,
it's no longer romantic.
And the stars aren't falling
anymore.
The trees are beginning to lose
their leaves
and their branches silhouette the
night sky.
I lean back, close my eyes and try
to imagine you're here with me.
Still offering me all of the
dreams that I've never had,
and the solace that I've always
desired.
Letting me feel that for once,
this heart won't be broken.
Letting me lose myself in your
smile.
I open my eyes, hoping to find
you.
Hoping that, by some miracle, you
come back.
As the car-engine keeps on humming
and the lone dog keeps on barking,
I think I finally found a spot as
lonely as me.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
The Carmex Death Song
Written by: Alex
Sandell
When I die,
it's gonna suck,
cuz Carmex won't get all warm and
smooshy
when I keep it in my pants'
pocket.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Newt's Wet Dream
Written By: Alex Sandell
They sell us a
period of time,
as though it's a CD.
They make us believe
consumerism created our memories.
They make us believe the little
people are nothing at all.
They convince us that the power
rich
control every feeling we own.
The scariest dream that I've ever
had
took place at the World's largest
corporation.
Every citizen was forced into a
suit and tie,
their hair cut and combed
properly,
eyebrows plucked and nose hairs
hidden away.
Nobody had a thought for
themselves,
when they got off work
they all undressed and put on
cowboy hats.
Conservative country shit-kicked
out of their speakers,
as they square-danced to Rush
Limbaugh's voice.
Thoughts were outlawed
and the national greeting was a
patriotic "yee-haw!"
They replaced public t. v.
with government funded episodes
of virtual "Hee-Haw."
They burned down all the homeless
shelters
and hid the history books.
They took the bubblegum down from
every shelf
and replaced it with chewing
tobacco and motivational messages from the NRA.
Nobody cared,
they just kept line-dancing and
plucking nosehairs.
Then my alarm clock started
ringing its bell
I think I woke up,
but why am I still trapped in this
oppressive dream?
©1997 Alex Sandell
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Smile
Written By: Alex Sandell
Smile,
the camera's upon you.
Smile,
pretend the world is all yours.
Smile,
pretend that you're actually
happy.
Smile,
pretend that you actually care.
Smile,
as though you don't know you're an
image.
Smile,
we're all an act.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Lesson
Written By: Alex
Sandell
Aging-flesh and pumping-blood
is such a fucker.
I'm starting to hate every
person that has ever laughed at another.
I try so hard not to hurt anyone.
Nothing I say can ever convince
you,
that I really care.
I will swear that I won't ever
hate you,
as you hang up the phone.
The suffering that you represent
will not go away.
I wish I could leave you,
but that would leave me alone.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
A Dream
Written By: Alex Sandell
Life is but a dream,
until someone fucks with you.
Shoo-wamp,
life is but a dream sweetheart.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Lethargic
Written by: Alex Sandell
I've got to peel myself off of
this easy chair.
I've sat here so long that fungus is growing off of my back.
This isn't the easiest thing that
I've ever done.
I've become trapped in fear of my
own body.
My heart mocks me by skipping a
beat.
My lower back laughs as my legs
fall asleep.
Seizures wait in the back of my
mind,
finding the perfect time to
attack.
Migraines rip their way through my
skin
and make a home in my head.
I've never felt this short of
breath before.
I turn on the t. v., but there's
still nothing on.
I try to read another book,
but it's not within reach of my
easy chair.
I try to go back to college,
but my heart just skipped again.
I try to get a new job,
but my legs are still asleep.
I try to get a girlfriend,
but my dick is too small.
Is that my phone,
or is it on t. v.?
The cordless phone's not within
reach of my easy chair.
I've wasted so many minutes,
so many days,
so many years.
I just watch them fly past,
without looking back.
I'd like to catch up with them,
but I swear,
I've never had chest-pain quite
like this before.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Junior Republicans
Written By: Alex Sandell
Your 40,000
square-foot mansions and million dollar yachts
just can't raise a kid.
Smile! Your children are
sociopaths.
You've gave them the world,
it's ironic that you forgot to
offer a conscious.
Every weekend in an expensive
motel
with a fancy whirlpool,
offers them nothing at all.
Little Mikey just got caught with
a bag of cocaine,
two days after you gave him the
credit card.
Try as you may, you just can't
purchase love.
You sure as hell can't buy
loyalty.
You're up all night praying that
your teenage junkies makes it home alive,
they'll never empathize with your
pain.
When the stress finally does you
in
and your little piggies inherit
all of your fortune.
They won't feel any remorse,
they'll just think of different
ways to claim that they "earned it."
They want it all for themselves.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
A Poem to Frown With
Written by: Alex Sandell
Affirmative poetry is the most
pointless thing on the Earth.
Writing about happy
thoughts
is more of a curse than a
gift.
All the smiling poets
and their cheerful
delusions
aren't any more real than the all the girls that stand me up,
the guys that they date
or the tanning beds that
get them laid.
They aren't any more
genuine than the jocks playing ball on a Saturday night.
The followers,
the bigots,
the bullies,
and the spoiled rich actor
and his pompous jokes.
They're just as trite as
all the happy endings,
the smile you give as you
say "cheeeeeese!"
The gaiety displayed at an
employer's birthday party,
the card that you give him
or the pink champagne that
keeps you gay.
Keep me away from all your
affirmation.
Who the fuck wants to read
about puppies and flowers and true love
anyway?
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Interview Me, Too, Please
Written by: Alex Sandell
I want to be a guest on Jay
Leno,
David Letterman, Conan O'
Brien
and Tom Snyder.
I'm tired of sitting in my
room.
I want them to ask me lots
of pre-planned questions,
I want to be a celebrity,
too.
But what if nobody thinks
I'm funny?
What if nobody laughs?
What if I walk off stage
and everyone thinks I'm a moron?
What if it doesn't make
everything right?
I don't think I want that.
I don't know if I can take it.
Still,
it might be better than
sitting here
at twenty-four years old,
moping around and doing nothing.
Sitting in the basement watching Jay Leno,
David Letterman, Conan O' Brien
and Tom Snyder
on late night t.v.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Anarchist
Written by: Alex Sandell
I want to be a exhibitionist,
because to be an
exhibitionist,
you must be egotistical enough,
to believe that you'll turn
another human on.
I want to be a socialist,
because to be a socialist,
you must be selfless
enough,
to believe that you don't
deserve everything that you have.
I want to be an anarchist,
because to be an anarchist,
you must be crazy enough,
to believe that everyone
deserves to be free.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Nothing Means the World To Me
Written by: Alex Sandell
I'm trying to reevaluate the
life that I've had
and find a way to never go
back to it.
I wish that I wasn't
condemned to be the
same person that I was yesterday.
There's not enough time
allotted within mortality
to go on with this casual,
"do-nothing" life.
I've got to join the
rat-race,
before I'm just a rat.
I've got to make myself
someone,
before everyone sees me as
nothing.
But I still believe that
a no one is the everyone,
that a loser is still the
real winner.
I still believe in delusional
dreams,
and a teenage sense of hope.
I still place all my faith
into you.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
The Brink of Forever
Written by: Alex Sandell
I'll never forget that nursing
home bed.
The way it trapped you,
oppressed you
and made you so cold.
I'll never forget the
person you were.
Your dry sense of humor,
smile
and the way that you made
me laugh.
I would have done anything to
save you from death.
You were not happy standing
there,
standing alone on the brink
of forever.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Server Down
Written by: Alex Sandell
I can't believe I've been
rejected by my computer.
Now even my life on the
'net is falling apart.
Cyber-space was my only
escape,
I didn't need it to come up and attack me,
in the one place I felt
entirely safe.
Reality seeps into my fantasy world
and tears it apart.
Imaginary worlds have now
intermingled
with this desolate excuse
for humanity,
and Virtual Reality has
gotten too real
for my taste.
My flight of fancy
has been grounded again,
and I'm stuck looking for
another escape.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Humanity's
Last Stand
Written by: Alex Sandell
If I could write the world’s most perfect
poem,
I’d turn into the world’s most egocentric man.
If I could change the world with my words,
I’d be sure to make all new friends.
If I could show everyone how to share the wealth,
I’d hoard it for myself.
If I could tell everyone how to be fair,
I’d become the only hypocrite left.
Humanity can’t handle heroism.
It’s too weak,
too self-centered,
too ready to believe.
To believe in all the compliments the
crackpots,
the starry-eyed and the complacent give it.
Forgetting, far too quickly, where it came from and
never able to get back again.
Humanity isn’t modest.
It’s desperate,
always searching,
looking for affection.
Humanity isn’t heroic,
it’s greedy,
and always looking for a way
to prove that it wants to "help."
Humanity is nothing and,
I can’t wait until the day
the cockroaches take over the World.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Mother's
Day
Written by: Alex Sandell
My mom always thinks everyone has
the stomach flu.
She’s as crazy as me, if not even worse.
She thinks the whole nation is twisted and sick.
She’s scared of her own shadow,
because it may carry germs.
I sit and my room and try to rationalize,
her thoughts and her feelings
and her misunderstandings.
She’s compassionate about heroic things,
and obsessed with nothing,
I don’t know what she’s talking about.
She’s got her foot in one door,
her mouth in another.
Obscene sentiment makes her upset.
Censorship makes her cower,
but her mind is somewhere pure.
My mom, she always carrys a bucket,
she needs something to throw up in.
She always feels she has the stomach flu.
She smile like a saint,
but she is obsessive compulsive.
I take thirteen aspirin a day,
I’m as bad as her.
She’s my idol.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
The Best Fucking Poem Ever
Written by: Alex Sandell
I can’t think of a topic,
I’m just putting the words on the page.
There’s no more in my mind.
Creativity has fallen to an all-time low.
Maybe tomorrow,
I’ll wake up and be better.
Then again,
maybe tomorrow,
I’ll wake up and be dead.
That would be pretty funny.
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Evil As
You
Written by: Alex Sandell
She laughed as she lied and sputtered out
half-truths,
anything to make herself look like a saint.
Never cared about the pain that she caused me,
the sense of loss,
as long as others thought she looked good.
Now, all I wish is that I never met her.
But since I have,
I just want to know all that she's done,
so I can prepare myself for the next time.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
What It
Was
Written by: Alex Sandell
It’s the truth,
yet it’s hard to imagine.
I fell in love with an image and
was seduced by an act.
You've made my life a short, dreary interval
book ended by a cunt, a dick and a grave.
I thought you were more than that.
How could you lie with such an innocent smile?
I’ll never get over the sense of pride that you gave me.
I’ll never smile about what I’ve become.
I’ll never shake my head and say
"that’s the way that it goes."
I’ll never laugh and claim
"It’s all in the past."
I’ll only wrap myself into a ball in the corner
and wish that it wasn’t all the way that it was.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Ladybug
Written by: Alex Sandell
I see a ladybug crawling across one of my
poems.
A poem filled with heartbreak and deception.
The ladybug doesn’t care.
Insects don’t give out sympathy,
they just keep crawling across people’s poems.
And I envy that bug.
I wish I didn’t have to feel like my poem.
I wish that I didn’t know about all the heartbreak and
deception.
I envy that ladybug,
so I smash it.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
And
on the First Day of Shopping . . .
Written by: Alex Sandell
Only in America,
could consumerism
be tradition.
The day after Thanksgiving,
we go out and buy.
And,
the day after Christmas,
we take everything back.
Consume with the family,
as an annual bonding item . . .
one day the whole damn thing
will blow up in our face.
Mother Nature will be left to
try and sort out the discarded products.
I wonder if the cockroaches
will turn out any better.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Nostalgia
Written by: Alex Sandell
Nothing you do,
will ever make me happy.
And, if I smile,
it won’t be genuine.
I’m just here,
living through the disaster.
And, if I laugh,
it will prove that I can act.
Nothing you say,
will ever bring me comfort.
No action,
will ever make me trust.
And, I know that if you kiss me,
it will only be an action.
And, I know that if you fuck me,
it will only be in lust.
I’m sitting here in neutral,
never going anywhere,
only dreaming of where I’ve been.
The nowhere of the past,
somehow becomes romantic.
I’ll just put the future on hold,
let seizures and nostalgia waste my time.
©1997 Alex Sandell
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
Over Again
Written by: Alex Sandell
I’m depressed enough to be a
poet again,
the grenade’s to my head, but will I pull the pin?
The person that I loved,
is the enemy in the end.
I won’t sit around the second time,
betrayed again by your lying mind.
This time,
it’s your turn,
your turn to know how it feels.
Staying up every night, having faith,
with a smile on my loving face,
telling you, you mean the world,
and meaning every word.
It’s time you understand,
why I hold this gun in my hand,
shaking in pain,
I won’t die in vein.
Looking through old photographs,
all the times that you laughed.
It always made me glow . . .
just thought you ought to know.
The least you could do is send me some feedback!
You can send all suicide notes to me, at: alex@juicycerebellum.com