Además de ser monologuista ha escrito un libro de poesía, con un montón de poemas rarunos, entre los cuales hay incluso alguno bello. Mi favorita:
Magic
Read this to yourself. Read it silently. Don’t move your lips. Don’t make a sound.
Listen to yourself. Listen without hearing anything. What a wonderfully weird thing, huh?
NOW MAKE THIS PART LOUD! SCREAM IT IN YOUR MIND! DROWN EVERYTHING OUT.
Now, hear a whisper. A tiny whisper.
Now, read this next line with your best crotchety-old-man voice: “Hello there, sonny. Does your town have a post office?”
Awesome! Who was that? Whose voice was that? It sure wasn’t yours! How do you do that? How?! Must be magic.
Les dejo mi selección por si no piensan coger este libro:
A Dog’s Poem
Roses are grey,
violets are a different shade of grey,
let’s go chase cars!
The Squares
The Squares lived happily, in their square houses, in their square yards, in their square town. One day, a family of Circles moved in from the west. “Get out of here, roundies!” shouted one of the Squares. “Why?” asked one of the Circles. “Because this is a metaphor for racism!”
Convenience
I would do anything for you, if convenient.
I would move a mountain for you if that mountain could be moved with a button or with a lever
that wasn’t too cold to the touch.
I would give you the moon if I could.
You would love the moon. You would show it off to everyone and not give a fuck that you’ve now severely damaged our ecosystem by disrupting the tides.
Maybe a nice look in the mirror is in order, Missy.
Anteater, Blender, Butthole
Anteater, blender, butthole: these words know what they’re doing.
What does a blender do? Blend. What does an anteater do? Eat ants. What’s a butthole? A hole in your butt.
Carpet, manslaughter, folklore. These words suck. What is a carpet? No idea. What is manslaughter? It’s actually slaughtering men or women. Misleading. What is folklore? A bunch of folk doing lore? What the fuck is lore?
Absolute nonsense. We need more words like toothbrush.
My Rabbit’s Foot
I’ve got a rabbit’s foot and I feel lucky that I have it, but I still know that it must’ve come from one unlucky rabbit.
Incomparable
You’re incomparable like a… Shit. Like a…
Touch Me Back
“Touch me back,” you said, like a pirate talking to a masseuse.
“Right away, Captain,” I replied, forgetting that you couldn’t hear that connection that I made in my head.
Above and Below
You little perfect thing, you. At once, I stand in awe and condescend, my puppy, my goddess.
Sharks
You’re afraid of sharks? Really? They don’t even have bones! They have cartilage.
Are you afraid of ears too?
Perfect
I love you just the way you are but you don’t see you like I do.
You shouldn’t try so hard to be perfect.
Trust me, perfect should try to be you.
Clowns
Most people fear the evil clown, squeaking his big red nose in a dark barn.
I fear the off-duty clown, out of his costume, impossible to spot, sitting next to me on a bus.
Her Eyes
Her eyes were like fire. They weren’t red or anything. Not particularly warm, either. They didn’t glow or “appear to glow,” whatever that means.
But they had that same strange blend of familiar and miraculous— and they were always nice to look at after a long day of doing things.