The Collected Poetry of the Claynation

Here a few excerpts from the forthcoming book, The Collected Poetry of the Claynation.

The Claymate Song

Our feelings for Clay are almost devotional,
Just speaking his name makes us meotional.
Just seeing his face makes us orgasmic
Tongue-tied and knock-kneed and almost asthmatic.
We dream of the day he’ll call each of us “honey.”
Till then we’ll support him with bushels of money.
We’ll buy multiple albums and spam every poll
Making him famous will be our one goal.
So what if our marriages go straight to hell?
So what if our children are neglected as well?
We’ll cheer for Clay Aiken throughout this great land
Till we shut the fuck up with one wave of his hand.


Spurned and Quarter-turned

I know what it’s like to get a Clay Aiken kiss
(It’s somewhat less painful than getting his fist.)
I remember the romance of those quarter turns
(‘Cause they left me with chafing and bruises and burns.)
Who could forget his climactic screaming and growls?
(But did he have to yell at me for forgetting the towels?)
Then it was over, the last quarter turned
(And I did a porno while Aiken got Sterned.)
The Claymates hated me and called me perverted.
(But, look, now they love me! ‘Cause I’ve been Clayverted!)


Passenger 112-A

Imagine spoiled milk
And limburger cheese
Imagine a festering
Rotting disease.
That was the stench
As his cruddy feet
Smeared dripping toejam
On the side of my seat.
Why bother asking
What you would do?
If only you’d smelled it,
You’d hit him too.