"Little Ditties" By Greg Hernandez

"Coconut Water" By Greg Hernandez

She wants her coconut water.
She wants it bad.... Two for three dollars.
What a deal....Not a drag...
I know a man who starts spinning around until he vomits.
He goes crazy with rage....full throttle till it hurts.
That retching feeling comes up...through his throat all powerful.
The lady holding the coconut water had a fopa...
She stopped and turned to gawk at the brown geyser...
He created a mess...Now's he gotta clean it.
She's walking away fast....tattle tellers sure sashay fast!
So much fat on top of that snatch...Oh that coconut water.
 He keeps on spinning and drinking till he falls in the vomit.
And when he does he says, "hey, this kinda smells bad..."
You get used to it sooner or later.
He's a multitasker: A swimmer and a cleaner...
Hey, it's your own vomit...No man can argue against it.
So don't fight it...drown in it...revel in it. It's your vomit.
It's warm. It's mine. But it sure don't taste like wine.
Coconut Water...
It's not being lazy...
He ain't acting shady that's baby talk.
Pick up that coconut water...clean that mess.
A man who swims in his own vomit doesn't clean his own room.
He's got a sea of clothes on the floor.
A closet for a floor.
Vomit interspersed with the sheets and fabric.
Pour me some coconut water. I know it's healthy.
Makes my vomit look nice.
Makes the ladies squeal thrice.
I'm neither WEIRD nor SHY.
I'm being lazy in front of everyone while getting paid.
Yeah that's crazy...cuz it won't get me laid.
How dare you all criticize me...ya'll ain't...shit
My apron is dirty. I'm sweating and hairy.
Damn that coconut water.
Where's that "fopa" lady?
Fire...what fire? 
FIRED!!! 

Oh...

"Savage Satire" By Greg Hernandez

I'm a savage at night.
I'm a savage in conversation.
I'm a savage over the phone.
I'm a savage towards religion.
I'm a savage during intercourse.

My brutal tendencies render my social pathology.
Damn it, I'm a savage!
But to be more specific, I'm an artistic savage.

I have nightly transformations caused by vicious dreams.
An evolution of attitude and personality personified by blood thirsty means.
My impulses control me.

I have a savage demeanor
Cold dark eyes that will make you second
guess every word you utter in an argument

I have a nasty tone.
Voice is hoarse over the phone; sound is attached with an incentive to bring about imminent danger.
Just like a drone.

I have an air of aloofness when it comes to religion.
The righteous wars are the only things that interest me.
Faith does not. The believers are as savage as I am and guilty of egotism.

I have a propensity for rage in the bedroom.
Sexual vigor isn't hard to come by.
Rough, tough, and belligerent with each position.
I plunge with a scowl.

MR. E The Savage Artist
When the sun goes down
People call me Mr. E.
A 21 year-old with bags under his eyes
Who carries a loaded pistol and some weed.
There is no swagger in my walk because I lack the vapors.

I'm old fashioned
Mr. E never shies away from getting personal
Verbal confrontation is what separates you and me.
I bring the sheer thrill of a good talk.
My mouth has a mind of its own and therefore never shuts down.

The loaded pistol is emptied into your mouth
while you sleep.
You choke on the bullets
as Mr. E sits back to
smoke his weed.

The terror in your eyes
speaks to me.
Its what gave birth to this
soliloquy
The light fades from
your eyes and
your chest ceases to rise
Only one question
remains
and that is left for your maker

You lie there
comatose
Blue in the face
While Mr. E has finished his blunt
he's red in the face.

The intimacy has ended
so Mr. E must take his leave
his job is finished. Out the window
and down the fire escape he goes.
A savage artist is a perfectionist.