mustang vervetakemustang verve in Free Verse More Like This
the flesh of grief
versethis is how I imagine your earsverse in Free Verse More Like This
strange like blueberries and bellybuttons.
I know you're a surge protector
and a biodegradable watch
is how I imagine your eyes
crescent coffee stains
or an endless morning.
always pointing East
you swear your blood runs
like a river
is how I imagine your chest
present tense proverbial
and weightlessness in a jar.
two left feetyou move like a gaggle of geesetwo left feet in Free Verse More Like This
with no seasonal direction
and your arms
are cat tails by the Nile
waiting on the next love song
from the sea.
hips and legs are gunny sacks
plump with crumpled paper wads
and you are about as well oiled
as clothespins pursing their lips to wool.
but every time you fall,
I think of wine and silk
christening the moment
like flamenco porcelain seashells dancing for me,
just before I catch you.
89You sold my house89 in Free Verse More Like This
w a s
chilled the kings until they fled
river-side, Aphrodite perspiring on the hood
of my daddy's chevrolet.
Sea Foam, hot! and and
chipped paint dentistry. cups of holy
cups crowned rookie bishops told too late
we're saliv-atin' and Gabriel always fades
into Rembrant's chalice-breast, begotten grey stallion,
sifting messes by lumps of sugar
the canes harvested by Children, O! child, don't tarry long. . . .
You may just find a home a calling a cross a road too soft,
where Nero waits.
equestrian undividedI have bedheadequestrian undivided in Free Verse More Like This
but its not mine
the frayed ends of a serrated
homeless box with french postage stamps
the flaps held by my thumb and middle finger
like silkworm whiskers.
it asks me what I see:
pocketed cherries like rouge on mildew
or the truncated door stop that stultifies
the shadows like a dog-eared book.
this is all that is left,
eyeshadow rhetoric slumps between the jugular vein
and the train tracks to germany
fecal mercenaries silenced by ungual fleets
deaf to all but Iron Age chants.
my body is built upon the highland moss
pelted by gryphon stunts
that nail me to an eclipsed pond ridge
cold as white coal on a roasting spit.
we used to harvest the vowels of wet earth,
mooning over the vertebral shapes we could make
with the molted river bed
tucked into my wooden chest.
you read my mind
as I curdle in your shire-breadth,
retinal fibres like neurons between siamese twins,
transept of hoof and hand.
my self cloven in a vestal pith,
trumped by breed to employ
bibleblack predawnshe quiversbibleblack predawn in Free Verse More Like This
a spent arrow in the bible homelands
where everything looks like an overbaked potato.
the wet clusters of leaves hang like bagworms
made from the gargoyle bathtub hairs
that catch twitching insects
with their sequel claws.
their trails leave a fibre garden
of clothe petals and nickel roots
as the night passes like a wounded horse,
a messenger from God turning
the sidewalk clockwise, seven revelations.
her voice is a caterpillar,
only responding to mothwing equations
scribed into the pantry dirt
of bark and gothic centuries.
lights out, child of mineshe wakes up to the sound of white bottlecaps shifting weightlights out, child of mine in Surrealism More Like This
like the boughs of a taciturn ship
only to realize thru bedcovers
and forgotten colours
that it was just her vacancy sign.
she hugs her knees to
the nausea that slithers along her major organs
bedposts and wire springs that construct her waking life
and now perturb the numbers in her head.
the streetlamp outside her window is
just a metaphor for something she shouldn't read into
but always does.
jettison cigarettes on her marline veins
more the colour of phosphene scarlet letters
like the one only Nathaniel Hawthorne could rectify
and she could embody.
stop. stomach wails won't be pacified.
through roundabout monkey knots and cheshire directions
she breathes in singsong tongue-lapses
. s t o p
pull yourself togetherMy father, is a dying man.pull yourself together in Free Verse More Like This
He hoists me up onto his workhorse knees,
slow like da Vinci's model pulley system,
and I watch the room slide past.
I am never able to get over the fact
that while I move, everything else
I can feel his compact bones
beneath me, a picnic table birth.
I trace his flesh as my flesh, pictographically
committing his sighs and sojourn smiles
to memory. Because I know he is a man-
woe shades the arch of his brow and
the clefts of his hands,
the truth in his resignation.
I have the same style of falling as he;
we both found this out when he read
Mother Goose to me.
Humpty Dumpty is my favourite,
and I request it like a Veteran war story,
noticing him wince.
He is dying, my father, because he is a man,
and men need a reason to say goodnight.
Time lays at his feet
like a bloodhound weary from a hunt,
and now content with a hot supper.
But sitting on his penitent lap, I worry my lip
and wring my hands, eyes downcast to the vacant floor.
"You'll always be her
avifauna villahis feet are bare and openavifauna villa in Free Verse More Like This
herringbones of pentecostal bracken
like two birds frozen in the nest;
a nametag is lashed upon his breast,
wilderness homely and pure,
his praline token unsung
as he works it like a moat
churning honey pinwheels
that hibernate between inlets
in the heads of children.
names turn their faces, like the shaken joy
of turtle dove couplets.
only subsidiary bodies-
pebbles shamed into the grey-belly well
like beasts with bloody noses
can keep from sinking
from his geometry of words,
steely discuses oxidizing on the tongue
in nematic anchors.
like the tree that snaps the boulder, schisms
diluted and starry-eyed
by the river's throaty sheen-
the tension has a fissure, a wall of brick he must devein.
the mountains clap against the soles
of an evening gleaned from taxonomy
tinged letters, the tips budding s
whistlin' dixielinger on my tongue for a whilewhistlin' dixie in Other More Like This
twanging those sable dirges
as I lull back
called down, bluebird style through the hush:
a fugitive Kilroy, tendered and tart.
as burl woven weary and coarse,
the lullaby dresses my senses
in gruff wheedled barks,
fogging my palette when it drags me
like the passion of Rhett butler,
bearing me from squalor of Dixieland stairs.
decrescendo burgeoned with a million
quartered infant hearts
gliding up my thigh, nestling as a thunderhead
into my belly. Wake-darkling, don't leave me,
resigned to wildfire among lilies and artichoked sparks.
savory, so rustic true,
the timbre tumbles
it is wearing me,
the last wall of Jericho
found nursing at its supple door.
flushing grey, my lips do chap, whetted on the distance
from scored rabbits' feet hung round the psalms of slaves
like pied piper wishb
Smoke Treadsso I heardSmoke Treads in Free Verse More Like This
you like to make mudcakes
only to dust them off
and hide the stars
behind a telescope
their far flung beauty.
and I tasted
with your baring breath
some wood grains on
shaved down cancerous
and grievously festooned;
to rest a thought upon
and you are
a ghost beholden caulfield
an ordinary teen, born
a scream that emanates
charged from a mother's lips
generation that reeks of freedom
all the whirlwind
sees in its eye culminates
to one final grain of sand
a universe revolve around
you; we laugh, but only because
at the fear of never going home.
The heart must understandSo let me think straightThe heart must understand in Free Verse More Like This
of all the memories of dreams
I couldn't write down
before the morning comes
to chase away my hopes
of chasing rainbows to the ground
and while the oceans
wait for me to sleep
tomorrow creeps up without a sound
these distant melodies of wanting
waste in tomorrow's misty shroud.
So help me once more to recognize
the truth behind the morning
when darkness fades to darkness
as the clock ticks hours 'til the dawn,
wrapped in the snowy covers
of obsessions that I eagerly pawn
for a few blankets of misplaced love
that I'm knighted for, resolutely
avoiding the image of confidence.
I think the heart must understand
the words the mind could not pronounce
these half-thought riddles
echoing your dreams;
these hopes you can't denounce.
And as the clock replays the final scenes
of yesterday's remorse,
and as tomorrow's misty elegance
runs its meandering course
how can you live in hollow shame
and take the morning's grain
and drink the dew of dissonance
and suffer your own d
The Abandoned LibraryMany ghosts passThe Abandoned Library in Free Verse More Like This
through these spines
side by side in recognition
parchment flesh flutter
as if to remember
what stories felt like.
Shadowed ash, pours through,
dust resting, once living
with the gilded movements
of an emperor, or a child at play
weapons fully bared, sifting dreamily
through the sands of time
word upon another.
like nocturnes played by statues
the corridors explain their
decimal counters in binary steel
stolen, stolen, as the world's demise
looms silently behind the fractured screens.
Stygiachromemy house is made from wanderers,Stygiachrome in Free Verse More Like This
and the decaying dancers in the park,
twisting, reaving, speaking lullabies
in the harshest tones the wind could imply
the hallowed halls in silence, reply,
the verdict, point in hand, can't we all just- .
There's a wordless inclination
in your practiced argumentation
and predatorially stated in
your rancid tone and-
but it's said on through the telephone
and likening was never quite as duotone
as the heart on sleeve was .
Their's is a chromataphore,
difference in spectrums, spectored,
to watch the life of the universe
unfold, chromataphore is just-
caught up in cloning the man
in his isolated gear numbered land,
as he attempts an escape like a bird in
mine is a watchmaker, watch her,
watch men, drowning in her worries,
drowning in their black hearted furies
and the beat repeats itself in unknowable
the rain spent and dissillusioned
without the high, the drug is just a price
and the sound is just a vice
and the stories sound too nice to be believed.
A star for a heart A star for a heart,A star for a heart in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
dear, how will you ever know,
what the earth looks like?
these simply stringsI think back a hundred miles,these simply strings in Free Verse More Like This
hiding in the trees,
wearing black cologne
and sneaking back to
an every day November
and I am still a hanging
indentation of word space
do you still
only carry the fondest memories?
the invention of the fiddle
made of a washtub
and despite the remorseful
tones of violins
this is what really carries
an echoing redemption.
these simply strings
it's flesh and bone
flesh and bone
is a soul
The classic tale of Lyra and the Swan
without the gods, without the sex
without the lyre, which anyone,
not everyone, knows
can only lie.
The Waste of Wantingmine are near black,The Waste of Wanting in Free Verse More Like This
deep, dark, fatal;
you'll never pry the secret
from my eyes.
mine are like teak in the sun, or
dark tea on sunday mornings;
if you long, you will sink
right to the bed of a mahogany sea.
there are those days
when i can drink my fill.
your mahogany dreams
fall like tears
into the pit of my heart.
and when i swim the waters
directionless, dark, i fancy
i will find you lining the walls
wafting the quiet cadence of
night stars blinking
in your sky.
i follow you,
through the tears we've shed
into waking moments
waiting for the synapses
between the walls
of day and night.
we spark apart as thoughts sail
to the horizon of criss-crossing paths
weaving symphonies in unseen air;
undressed cares imprint long lines
of our lovely bones as
schizophrenia beats a zealot's toccata,
unraveling threads of habit
within our red collections.
your vital name, your craning weathers,
you beat out a doleful lacking
under any other nomenclature.
Royal Flushing BluesWhere on the orbital transechelonsRoyal Flushing Blues in Free Verse More Like This
does the sleeping princess lie,
she, a vigilent paragon
of virtues that would never die.
To Silence and Fair Innocence,
To Love Lost and Regained,
for the seams of star crossed revolutions
to the sense that comes from the insane.
Herald to bard and a tribute to ilk,
what heroes had gone to sleep at the gates,
and what dragons disrupt, to what distant skies,
what march upon the belfry towers.
What does she know, what does she know,
in sea and sky and air and fire?
What does she know, what does she know
of the sleeping future, of the sleeping tide?
Dream of the dancer meekly,
for she will sway your soul,
what faerie dreams steal swiftly,
to the faerie lands of old,
and princess dear, oh princess there
fair and lovely, announced renounced
I pray for your sweet resuscitation of time,
while these gentlemen remove their sounds.
Herald of demons and their rum
on the dancing floors of steel,
Ferry on with Charon wanderer
on the river Styx.
Toward broken ways,
beingI like being wherebeing in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the air is saturated
with your very own.
River DreamWhere I existRiver Dream in Free Verse More Like This
the seasons linger
or die too soon
I cannot see
the subtle changes
or hear the cadence
I feel the shift
and taste the residue
between our lips
and on the air
it also lingers
will bring the rain
but I covet him more
suspended as we are
between the seasons
and when the dusk
is touched by
the brows of moths
he will walk away
of autumn's end
before it has begun
while I drift
a river dream
a new moon ascends...
an oar dips silently
and I shiver
If Only They CouldYou take me from behind.If Only They Could in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Wave after wave anoints me
till the strength of our legs flag,
and the warmth of you overflows
from my greed of wanting all of you,
from hours of endless passion
joined as one until
only exhaustion separates us.
I feel you long after the
physical becomes phantom,
as one feels the itch of a missing limb.
Though your body is spent,
where it leaves off,
your fingers and tongue
push away the phantoms.
Your intent stays earthbound.
My mind drifts cozy in a dream
as my body reacts on its own
from your soft motions, your
after-thought of touch and taste.
Wrapped in the layers of my bed
we are swaddled in clouds of linen
where angels would make love
if only they could.
OrcaA gutted ship's hull lists,Orca in Free Verse More Like This
dragged into a roiling sea
filled with blue-glass shark fins,
leaving entrails of fever through
depths of eternal night-
the oil-slick surface
shifting mottled moonlight
on coral reefs calcified against
the leaves of bodies that drift by,
sinking, to disappear into
canyon fissures deeper than the
shadows of heaven can reach-
pods of whales cruise overhead
giving off their eerie cries,
baleful orgasmic moans
as they claim their take
from the debauch of a hunt.
The moon reaches its apex
over the battlements...
deceptive silence belies
the solitude of a killing
during an orca night.
Autumn Haiku Renga - with John"Autumn Haiku Renga" (collab with John & Jade)Autumn Haiku Renga - with John in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
captured in bishop's weed,
of gypsy moths
amidst a scattering of leaves
one flaps its wings
the bellows wheeze-
wind stripping the old tree
in one day
raked into a pile
the crackle of flames-
dried leaves hurling by
glinting on my windshield-
mist aspiring to rain
where each drop lands-
through a veil
parted by zephyrs,
the past few days
a full moon
engorged for winter
little stirrings III: etherlittle stirrings III: ether in Free Verse More Like This
from a craft adrift my voice muffled by
distance stutters through the ether
and the ink blackness- I can see the sun
I'm surrounded by stars- suns that live
and die before my eyes my own sun
stands out because it's where you are...
again my feeble voice calls knowing
you can't hear but will dedicate the
rest of my life so that one day you will
Out-Patient Tanka1Out-Patient Tanka in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
cold air wracks my lungs-
having tea in the
after my scan
a blind woman-
and I forget my pain
for the nurses' station
I bring cookies
anxious to park,
to accepting fate
in a private ward
in the bowels
of the hospital,
I drop off
jars of my urine
their Christmas tree
is still up
Shibari Haiku RengaShibari Haiku Renga in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
my weight settles-
shadow on the wall-
a sapling's quiver
herons take flight
the rope master's
work of art
Madonnaher face a saffron blush-Madonna in Free Verse More Like This
a Madonna at dusk
stands at a barred window,
a cracked adobe cameo
of myrtle and palm fronds
I pause, spellbound
amidst slow-rising dust
from my barefoot trek
through a quiet village
to contemplate the new moon
when the Andalusia sky
is lavender and violet,
the village youths
a lamentation with lanterns
passing before their Madonna
bathed in the scent
of orange and mint,
through her gypsy hair
a raven's wingspread
The sky deepens-
blend with the soil
a distant row of cypress
marking where the road lies-
from the belfry, storks emerge
to glide majestically
in a slow, widening arc
their shadows undulate
o'er the cheekbone of a riverbed-
the dying sun casts its yield
through newly plowed fields
Sylviahow ingenious-Sylvia in Free Verse More Like This
a photo taken
the year of their marriage,
hands grasping his
around her waist
and years later
arms holding their children-
and in between,
the New England tanned blonde
to English mouse brown pale-
always those dark eyes
telling on herself,
the frailty, the pain-
the wire she walks
brilliance and sanity
chaos and poetry,
between a child's cold
coveting the prolific,
the unstable nature-
the lover, the writer,
she was so lucky
never seeing another
the way she saw him
but he wasn't there
when she passed over,
gassed and found
alone and still warm
on the kitchen floor
God forgive me
I've wished I was her
in all her brilliance
before that cold morning...
in paradisumdelicate the orbsin paradisum in Free Verse More Like This
of my eyes as I float
within the vision,
my organs holding fast
tethering me earthbound
but helpless to
save me entering
a tormented nirvana-
the nights mock and
rob me of rest
for my need of you
is bitter with pleasure-
time deserts the senses,
direction its compass,
and flesh all feeling
in the exchange
fragile in your absence,
to question my sanity
while in paradisum
Clearing Out My Phone...1 17:00 11-10Clearing Out My Phone... in Free Verse More Like This
2 17:00 11-10
he's a twat.
(and a huge 1
3 17:00 11-10
She smells of
baby oil and
4 11:30 10-02
5 19:25 09-01
6 07:55 21-03
Birches and BritchesYou went out for some fresh airBirches and Britches in Free Verse More Like This
by the bins with the smokers,
but neglected to sweep
that leaf-seed thing off your leg,
allowing Mother Nature
to procreate with your trousers,
creating, in time, a hideous trouser-tree,
in various sizes, styles and fabrics
corduroy, Teflon, gingham
with labels already attached
which you then sold to worried,
trouserless men in pubs
for a fiver each.
a pen, a bus ticket, a walk...and there's Ivor Cutler on a bikea pen, a bus ticket, a walk... in Free Verse More Like This
and the smell of bananas and paint
and a barbecue on the grass
but no smoke for me today
second hand only
(my throat an' that)
and walking on the road
and a cone knocked over
open and willing
and smiling and water spray and capes
PilesI am not a healthy soulPiles in Free Verse More Like This
Bits of me are outside
that should be in
Piss on William McEwanIn the alcove, despite the lightsPiss on William McEwan in Free Verse More Like This
Handstands and such from dicks
at the Informatics
stolen from the shoppes
Bug garage sold out and now
like sleeping-in care or
arguous methodical stomping
Better pipe than pope,
I call malarkey;
I have bruised all my knees and elbows.
Put books in books;
a book bookmark,
and trains are stationary at train stations.
HaYou are a taxi driverHa in Free Verse More Like This
who knows the people in the chippy
and gets his usual
of a hamburger supper
and a pizza
and will die of a heart attack soon
Been Drinking Since Before...Have your period,Been Drinking Since Before... in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
cum up a mirror;
you are majestic.
Cross the road to avoid me,
in my proper person shirt
with a bag of crisps.
You got off with someone who wasn't your girlfriend
at seven am, in the playpark;
stealing my cigarette for a drag a few times.
We chatted outside Tesco for a while,
before it was open
because I really wanted a Pot Noodle.
'Missing also' written up my arm three times,
along with the score of coin flips
deciding where we're going.
Hey Mr. Coffee BeanDon't let the bastards grind you down.Hey Mr. Coffee Bean in Free Verse More Like This
space cabocbuyin food is un admurable thingspace caboc in Free Verse More Like This
but dinnae be daft
tha moon isnae made a cheese
ultho a hoped it wus
wun ye goat up ther
tae a knife wi ye
jus in case
nae noiz an rabble ther
jus peece an quiet
purfect fur a pucnic
wi some joos an mibbe a chickn leg
MidnightI remember my first geisha sightingMidnight in Other More Like This
Falling from the night, her robes were
splashed with ochre, and periwinkles.
in jet black hair.
A fleeting, imperfect,
I am giddy.
We start with a gentle hello
then comes the dance
low slung in her hips
moving her arms in a studied grace
It is hard not to pay attention
to the small stuff
the secret gardens
rain is in the air
Were not a literal people,
but I lose myself.
We write in
and she becomes
the dark, naked grapevines
of early spring.
I open my eyes.
It is a Zen notion
Here is a place where the dragon can rest.
Autumn Saku Series1.Autumn Saku Series in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
cloudless noon we debate the gender of God
alone in the field
the phone line rocking
the beggar jangles
his change cup
the cubicle office
work day over
the scarecrow's shirt
leaf clutter at his gravestone things I never said
the teenager paints
miles from home
news of her cancer
in stage 2
the bike race slower
leaving the canoe
world hunger report
I turn the potatoes
a second time
city dusk now and then a starling
my grandmother finds
the groundskeeper steps
the Jack O' lantern carved
with an overbite
at the general's feet
a beer can
the widow circles
a singles ad
the trashcan glowing
the evangelist returns
with a pie
Summer Renga1.Summer Renga in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
the beggar receives
my brother adds wings
to the chalk dragon
all six hands
of the hornet
mountain pass coyote eyes in xenon
wraps the sky
a photo of grandpa
the sleeping toddler
her sundress dips
from the cornfield
another man's shape
in the darkness
a week of clouds-
my sister paints her nails
the magician makes lunch
Senryu Series 71.Senryu Series 7 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
in jpeg format
my niece whispers
the magic word
I start composing
my death poem
from the pastor's robe
a ring tone?
"which blue is more blue?"
taking my sister
reading a God debate
over the urinal
by the dentist's chair
The War of EvolutionTorcoroma Holy SanctuaryThe War of Evolution in Open More Like This
At the core
Virgin Mary sits
in a tree root.
Her curving beak
gives the illusion
of an enigmatic smile.
So now the big question is,
"Are the dead to return"?
So many researchers
are divided over
Neanderthals and God
Were it not for hot spots
in the top layer of
the ocean's surface,
most of us
would be swimming.
Autumn Haibun 1Its early morning and Atlanta is gray with rain. Already, downtown is crowded. Corporate suits and street vendors drift to their respective trades.Autumn Haibun 1 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I am on my way to Mary Hall's Freedom House, a box of soggy donations in both arms. I pass an old black man sleeping by the Marta station. He is wearing a shirt that reads "I Am The American Dream." I reach out to wake him, then decide against it.
so useless now...
all the clever quotes
Tanka Series 81.Tanka Series 8 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
not one word
in the child's prayer
this red pinwheel
at the alter
into another poem...
of your parole
after ten long years-
for the gate post
an Alien flick
of some bug
on my neckline
at my age
still believing in
a few pale geckos
on the garden wall
that scrawny four-eyed kid
would end up here?
down the mountain
Tanka Series 71.Tanka Series 7 in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
after a drag
on his cigarette
he starts to talk
asking what he thinks
my little brother explains
how to catch
that I'm alone-
a frost patch
from Buddha's eye
it can't be helped-
my dinner money
in the beggar's hand
the street choir-
in a naked willow
each passing year
more like Mom-
in parade lights
first January rain
a hawk works
today, I contemplate
Holiday SenryuThanksgiving dinnerHoliday Senryu in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
my family passes
Skin DeepShould we pity the poor young pelican?Skin Deep in Other More Like This
Red in the face
a balding sequence of ambivalent metaphors
This is a strange fragility.
A comic evanescence
of stocking feet
all laughter and wonder
You hear this alot
no gleaming cup
for the non-technical among us
Its all narrative really.
A false swan wedged between
multi-millionaire pretty boys.
Im having second thoughts
They have declared war
on sexual ardor.
It is a very simple game.
Such violence is tribal
With so much ugliness,
when will you ever get a chance
to do something personal?
Were not going to the moon now.
I am a child again,
the roots of plain function
Gather me into the sunlit gyre of pelicans.
Death Comes HalloweenDeath Comes Halloween in Horror More Like This
Robby dashed to the next house with his skeleton mask bouncing on his face. He turned to his friend, Max, who wore a striped shirt and an eye patch.
Hey Max, if I get more candy than you, I get a shot with your sister, Cindy.
No way, dude.
Robby pressed the doorbell as he rocked on his toes. The door began opening. He shouted with Max, Trick or Treat!
Hi, fellas, an oaf of a man said. Hold on a second.
Robby stuck his head inside as he waited. Max grabbed his shoulder.
BlurBlur in Horror More Like This
Plunge it into me, she said.
He leaned forward, entering the soft skin, feeling the knife puncture and fall deep inside. He pulled out the knife and let it slip into a spin. The knife pointed down in his grasp.
Baby, he said.
She stared with serene eyes; her face was flushed and ecstatic. His arm raised and swung a hook by her neck. The knife ripped the blood free.
MonstahMonstah in Horror More Like This
The small black boy adjusted his cape and cowl, and knocked on the door. It creaked open. A large yellow eye hung in the crevice. The pupil awkwardly shifted, straining to see. Below the eye, a large cavernous mouth breathed slowly and deep, drooling black spit onto the welcome mat below. The boy watched the vile liquid seep into the mat.
Shit, you some kinda monstah?
A green tongue lurched out of its gnarled mouth and licked its gums, savoring the dark saliva.
Trick or treat, monstah.
The boy held out a yellowed pillowcase. He stomped his foot and raised his chin.
Which is it, man?
The monster licked its mouth in a circ
Leg SnatcherLeg Snatcher in Horror More Like This
Jimmy hugged the door with his ear pressed against the surface. He listened to his parents argument. Their voices sank to a whisper then rose accompanied with the sound of slapped flesh. Jimmy smiled, trying to make out all of the words. He didnt understand half the words, but was still proud.
His fathers heavy footsteps approached the door. Jimmy jumped back onto his tippy toes and flipped into bed, trying to keep his eyes shut, but not too tight.
The door swung open and smashed against the wall. It bounced back, making his father slam it open again. His father scrutinized him. Jimmy didnt have to see what he looked like; disapproving eyes were weighing heavily on him, and thoughts were being scanned to find a reason to hurt him again.
Honey, leave him alone, his mot
Cutting GirlyCutting Girly in Horror More Like This
She lay asleep, fidgeting from her nightly dose of horrors. I knelt atop her, pinning her shoulders. Her face cringed, and her eyes squinted in disarray. I didnt soothe her tension. The steel was unwavering in my hand. I traced her pupils. They darted beneath closed lids like she was running. My left hand hovered over her face, but careful not to block her breathing. I looked to my apartments door a final time, and inched the blade closer.
I snatched her chin with my left hand. The grip was tight enough to feel my bones tremor. I plunged the blade into the left side of her neck, and dragged across the length. Blood oozed like sap. I retraced the line deeper than before. Each stroke freed the warm blood in an outward spray.
It became my duty to end her life. There cant be a recovery. The blade jumped to her curvy cheeks. I rake
Car ParkCar Park in Horror More Like This
The dead cool of the car park inhaled Corigans paranoia beyond his limit. His eyes raced, checking his cars mirrors for sirens and uniforms. To his right sat Tally: a dark girl with darker eyes. They stared through Corigan, penetrating the last shreds of his ego. The cold bottle of gin was his anchor. He swirled the drink, listening to it splash around, waiting to be consumed. He obliged. The bottle smacked against the roof, causing him to sink in the seat. The poison swirled down his throat in its earthy concoction. He held it out to her. She took it, though it looked three times her size. Stashed it in her bag, she lifted her hands flat to his cheek.
The poisons serenity vanished. Out came the silent noise of the echo-driven car park. He twisted his face away in disgust, grabbed the gear shifter and slung it in reverse. The accelerator smashed into the floorboard. T
Skinpunk 1939Skinpunk 1939 in Horror More Like This
Ebbe groaned at the sunlight, turning in his sheets. The humidity was like a closed coffin. He sniffed, and wiped his face with his arm. Clawing at his eyes, he battled for his eyelids to open. He rolled out of bed, and spat on the floor.
Why is it so fuckin bright? Margaret?
He stretched his back and yawned.
What time is it?
Are you feeling alright, Ebbe?
What the fuck does that mean? What time is it!
You didnt leave today.
He pulled his bedside drawer out of the cabinet.
Devil's RyeDevil's Rye in Horror More Like This
Bozolli, my man, how you doin?
Ah, shits washed and fucked and ragged, ya know?
Rosco scrunched his face in disarray.
Whats wrong, buddy?
I got pressure on shit. Fuckin Zioli callin us out, I got Edgar on my back
Ah, some guy with a fucked
Face? That whatch you were gonna say?
MarshmallowMarshmallow in Transgressive More Like This
Everyone to their room. Lets go.
The children shuffled down the hall and filtered into their inescapable rooms.
Jack and Coby stepped through the last door. It fell with a clicking lock. The room was a stagnant black. Light poured through the small window of the door. Cobys eyes glowed. His dark skin blended with everything else, but his eyes held an incandesce light.
Roommates, not friends, Jack kept in mind. Coby looked up at the ceiling.
Soon as I be out here. Be hitting me some pussy. Mm. You hittin those white girls, Jack?
Shit, yea. Bet you cram in there and make em bleed. Yea.
Scum Like YouScum Like You in Transgressive More Like This
Robbie sat in class, but his eyes looked inward to his mind. His face wasnt soft like the other kids. His eyes didnt bounce around the room, they penetrated the distance. The teacher talked about cell division while Robbie thought of Anitas upskirt from the other day. She had stood on her desk and danced. He wanted to devour her whole. Robbie looked around at the other kids. They laughed and talked with dumbstruck faces. He knew he was better than they were, and that they didnt deserve the right to be in his presence.
The bell for lunch rang. Robbie walked outside to the long, wooden benches. He sat alone. He didnt have a lunch and didnt care.
Robbie watched an Armenian kid whose posture was the likeness of Frankenstein. His limbs moved, but never bent. A stupid grin lay on his face. His hair was wavy and alw
I Caught a ButterflyI caught a butterfly, colored green with silky wingsI Caught a Butterfly in Free Verse More Like This
which was not afraid, but that was mean. Such a human thing.
Delicate being, was not meant for glass made jar,
still it flew around, a couple of times, just to flaunt, and thus
I shook that cruet, to let it soar, just a little bit nothing more,
felt like such a brute. Still not sure though why,
cause how can you tell one delicate butterfly
colored green, with silky wings, that its the most
EverythingSoft rustle of dead leavesEverything in Free Verse More Like This
follows bristling breeze;
stillness frees necessities
in a melting blushing-sun.
Sweet bells slightly tinge
Colombian, freshly brewed,
set aside on an oak-made taboret.
Sweat, as real as love,
gently cool by giving-in.
Nothing, as it seems.
His MemoryI was too young to remember;His Memory in Free Verse More Like This
maybe I still am.
But somewhere hidden,
under layers of wax,
it still burns.
A Younger Version of MeFew remnants of your hairA Younger Version of Me in Free Verse More Like This
still linger in my sink
no matter how hard I try
to wash it down the drain
and forget that this thing
this moment in time,
meant anything more than
me hating myself.
Postern DoorIn a split of a secondPostern Door in Free Verse More Like This
his black eyes shift
to the color of the sun
right before it bursts,
tearing into million
His genuine look (the one
that makes him godlike,
cherubic, a shy smiling boy
with bright pearly tears
on the blades of his soul)
smashes across the floor
titan oak boards, crudely cut
into straight lines,
flattened. Now estranged,
ascends past me, and I
am but thin air;
hardly a gust,
just an old feel.
Blue Ceramic BowlBlue ceramic bowlBlue Ceramic Bowl in Free Verse More Like This
rests on our table
where the oak-salver
used to sit, piling
dust for ever.
Blue ceramic bowl
made of our lustful
sins, decorated by our
tears and smiles
of so many hours.
Blue ceramic bowl
is where we hide
the miscarried child
our son, Oriel.
Blue ceramic bowl
filled with shame
and the trivial carving
of your name.
Twice the Appreciation.It never happens twice. No, it never does.Twice the Appreciation. in Free Verse More Like This
You just stand at the edge of the world,
looking down, everything is green. Bang.
Bang. Bang. And that image is carved
right into your spinal cord. That river,
by that town. The smoking chimneys, spiraling.
Everything is so deaf. Smells of oranges.
Tastes like skittles. Rainbows. Dry.
It never happens twice. Never did.
That HumAs I look at her, with her beautiful honey hairThat Hum in Free Verse More Like This
my lungs feel colder than my head. With each bruise
the cr-creak at my feet grows louder and louderan dlouder
and that void filling hum in low lectric tonesss -
if I had arms to hug, or ears to hear, I would
I would definitely
fall in love.
One Day NewsMrs. Shahar calls this a classroom but we all know it well enough to be a bomb shelter. Thirty small naïve eyes stare at a beautiful journalist on the old television, long brown hair and expensive suit. She reports that a terrorist blew himself up in Beit Lid junction, just a five minute drive from our school. It happened at the big bus station, gray and dirty for so many years, so close its amazing we didnt hear the blast. Although its frightening Im not afraid at all, just glad that there wont be any more classes today.One Day News in Biography & Memoir More Like This
The camera focuses on her make-up, curly black eye lashes and powdered cheeks. "Four people died," but all I can hear is "no math homework checkup." She says "authorities are still withholding names," and I hear "no math homework tomorrow either." Then she starts telling the whole thing over again, all the little bits of information the route of infiltration, the name of the bomber, a description of the ar
The Scent of Lilacs Shopworn stones atop fresh moist dirt; how manyThe Scent of Lilacs in Free Verse More Like This
kids dug-in filthy handed, searching for treasures
or building castles. Pink pinched cheeks we attempt at
reliving our childhood; more beautiful with each a passing day.
Each day - nothing is the same.
They grew one day; out of spite, resentfulness,
paper rolled memories-cigarettes burn. You said -
you always said - it's all too messy. How can they
let them grow, with their pale purple crowns and their gentle pride worn,
above all that dirt-digging?
The scent of lilacs fills my chest with remorse
no brown-sugar curls, pearl teeth, aluminum eyes
So beautiful each day. They paved cement layers
over brown-black soil in only one bare night with their shovels
and by morning it was gone.
To hell with them stones, all those neatly carved shapes
green grinning plastic grass covering mud in its
elastic punctuality and cold bright shine.
No more the prattle of October rain, hitting thuds against
thick raw mire each day the s
I Hope New York Does Not Sink-Open, theseI Hope New York Does Not Sink- in Free Verse More Like This
arms like elevator doors
aggravated too many times
by the pressing of a button.
The dark breaks in through my curtains
and I am looking at a stranger
the way I never do on the train. Each day
is sun and jeans and aching licking at heels, traveling
around the ankle, throat
much lighter than kneecap, eyes
wider than my stride.
The first thing I
learn from the city is why
my posters keep falling off the walls.
They are colorful and expressive, but
do not know how to cling
to that which sustains their brightness.
We are seven blocks off broadway
and the traffic is spot on. I am
five minutes ahead
of exhaustion, until I deposit
my breath onto my bedcovers and
sink my steps like ships into the carpet.
Bouyancy, you see
remains a theoretical state, until suddenly tested
by the weight of daring.
It rains six days of the weekThe sky touches itself at theIt rains six days of the week in Free Verse More Like This
waist, and bows sunlight through my window.
A week of washing its floors, until
finally we are clean enough. You
slept and I touched my eyelashes to
your shoulder, which rose into the air
like a tiny mountain.
My worst nightmare:
you are walking away
and my voice is not even a telegram.
I ask where you've gone and they reassure me-
you unraveled in their hands,
trailed out of the window,
too fluid to gather.
Yesterday, upon waking,
you mimed goodbye
over the covers.
Your arms tightly at ease, looking like
you slept somewhere you weren't supposed to. If love is
jealousy then I suppose
I'm upside-down with guilt. Even
on the top of my head,
I could read you, like a newspaper with the
ink still wet and morals
drying on every page. We
were laughing as I kept
gravitating towards your open mouth,
half-afraid it would take wing
and fly from the room, already black
It rains six days
out of the week. No one is
bending over for us, anymore.
Q+AI will never be able toQ+A in Free Verse More Like This
be a good lover
because I can't answer
"Why are you sad?"
I am currently
inside of your left elbow,
questioning the ways I
long for your flexibility. We
are two unequal sides of a triangle
but I don't know where the third one went;
we can't even take a proper shape. If I
have to look at you one
I think I might die. The masochist
in me really likes this.
"Oh, you know-
My dear, you believe in
a heart that
takes to the air. Whereas
I am devoted to
because everything underneath
is just ducking for cover.
What we produceI am handedWhat we produce in Free Verse More Like This
smooth red skins
that slide off
to wrinkle like an
must hold them
the weight suspended
of me like
polluted world, beautiful
in its own withering
two syllables would
like a mouth
refusing to eat
so I carry in
the produce, their
and put them away.
Getting nakedI forgot to put makeup onGetting naked in Free Verse More Like This
this morning. Wrestled with the idea
of running back to my room for it,
instead stayed put and thought
about being naked. You can
be naked on your face. And on your
liver. Naked on last night's leftovers. People
who say they want to look better naked
are just trying to compensate for something.
It rains, and I like to think it is
the sky disrobing unrepetantly
onto my hair and cheeks. We
are its afterbirth, stagnant puddles
upon the ground. When I think of
the word 'stagnant' I picture a man who
will never whisper white nothings about
pomegranates into my neck, skin
dropping away from oxygen. But where
is my mask? You
are underneath so much these days
that there seems no need to cover myself
going alongUnderstanding isgoing along in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
just taking your hand, and not
trying to hold it.
Playing for closureStanding by the stairs,Playing for closure in Free Verse More Like This
how I met your parents midway,
going up to my room, them
in their hands
a wonder that I, later,
also found in you.
Your mouth moving
in quick laughter. Our looks
like notes passing across
a classroom. Then one day-
How can I describe it, it is
as if I inhaled deeply
and found no air willing to come back out.
I hung up your shirt even
as your body narrowed itself away from me,
like a closing eye.
At least I got it
so there was no black or white,
no chessboard to end
our game upon. But prevailing
logic did not bring us back. We
walked away from our
shop windows, until you became
a mannequin that
I could not dress, an idea
with a three-month expiration date.
the reversed way it happensFall for me, but pleasethe reversed way it happens in Free Verse More Like This
don't if your heart is already strung
too high on a laundry line. I am
content to be the long underwear hanging
I forgot what it was like
to touch your arm. I am one-sided
electricity, I am a relatively safe
flash of lightning, though I know you haven't
forgotten that night it rained on
us, kissing our way
I will give my
love over to a savant if it means
we never have to say
I'm sorry, or why
we ever felt.
the greatest show on earthif you told me your addressthe greatest show on earth in Free Verse More Like This
I would send a circus to your house, I would
hijack your front yard. tame every
lion I can find, or just take the food away
from your neightbor's dog every
day for a week. trust me it would grow teeth
and a mane. I would
leave myself in two pieces
on the bed of daffodils, because illusion
is the best form of honesty. we
have made a show of not lying to
each other, but nowhere would
you see such abandon trying not
to fall from a tightrope stretched
between two bodies. you might
try to find me, eyes as big as mirrors,
but only I would be
It is hard to be softMom cutting Dad's hair in the kitchen. Feather voicesIt is hard to be soft in Free Verse More Like This
because they are discussing matters heavier than water,
jarring scrapes when they move the chair.
Tufts of hair fall, touching the
curved blade of ear. It is sharper, as are our brains,
than you think, even as
the night velvets. It pads alongside my cat,
who sits behind the laundry room door and makes old saxophone sounds.
I slip inside to touch
the kitten scruf of his neck.
How difficult it is, to definitively love or hate,
when everything is so soft.
From where I sit there are no windows
and except for drooping eyelids I would not believe
in the moon. Or in the swift autumn nights
that come upon us like riders. And the hard
hands begin groping in my belly,
begging to be noticed. I do.
Things to Tell Your SonThings to Tell Your Son in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Drugs are bad for you,
unless you really need them,
in which case, trip away.
If you want to catch a fish,
you must first swim a mile
in his fins.
Loan sharks will take
an arm and a leg, so
invest in prosthetics.
School thy feelings,
because nobody will hire
without a GED.
If a girl hits you,
that means she likes you--
unless it's with brass knuckles.
Don't make a habit
out of avoiding pain.
It will make you strong.
Bad poems might impress the chicks,
good ones will impress themselves
upon your soul.
NamesNames in Free Verse More Like This
An isolated, winding gimbal floats along
The medium between my lips and your ears—
A tidy pouch
That clutches every thingness in a beaker
And distills it to comprehension—bare minimum,
Square root of Singularity,
Strong like a newborn's headbutt,
As typical as José or Steve, Haruko or Kristin(a).
Ripe, merciless overcoats of crushed purple velvet
Find their way to me
In a bargain-priced thrift store.
They carry faces, names.
Intricate carvings—stones, shells—set in relief on
Technology as old as pants—buttons, Cameos.
Style ŕ la mode.
Cameo is a nice name for a girl.
Annelise Tomoē is what I'll name my daughter,
If I have one.
She already will be and will have been mostly American—
The "new" American—Part French Canadian, Part Mexican,
Part Amer-Indian, Cajun, Japaneezian Asian,
Caucasian (slash) Aryan.
Almost any 'un can make a contribution,
And has, or is about to.
Dying Changes EverythingClouds and pearly gates,Dying Changes Everything in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I dream of sailing
into the west.
Close the Contentment GapIs it possible to have more than one trip of a lifetimeClose the Contentment Gap in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and then take on my next canvas?
Shed the suit and pitch the pumps.
Take on my next canvas
with a perfectly naked nail.
Shed the suit and pitch the pumps--
your dreams miss you.
A perfectly naked nail
notices feelings of fullness.
Your dreams miss you
in a matter of minutes.
Feelings of fullness
close the contentment gap.
A matter of minutes
knows no such thing as "too close."
Close the contentment gap--
the sudden disappearance of worldly cares is our pleasure.
There's no such thing as "too close"
in the bathtub.
The sudden disappearance of worldly cares
makes everything cold in December.
In the bathtub,
there's no passport required.
Not everything is cold in December--
No passport required
for more than one trip of a lifetime.
Pharmacy Help DeskPharmacy Help Desk:Pharmacy Help Desk in Free Verse More Like This
The Poet's Handbook to Prescription Drugs
Thoughts--from a poetic addict--about life
as depicted through various prescription drugs,
while working as a rep
for a mail order pharmacy
and prescription benefits management firm.
For tablet identification,
and claims research,
select from the following options...
Dying Changes Everything--Dying Changes Everything-- in Free Verse More Like This
Dying Changes Everything
Learning to speak Renoir sunsets
with Cézannese grammar,
waking eternally, the short sleep past,
to sunrises heralding the new Jerusalem,
the citrus tang of always young
in the verve of always life.
Sailing into the west,
the sun also sets, finds its light refracted
through tears shed from ducts of clay.
atones for the laws of physics.
Taste the thirsty amber-pink
soaking behind your eyelids,
melted reds and oranges
osmosing into your fingertips
henceforth and forever,
PHD: OseltamivirPharmacy Hep Desk:PHD: Oseltamivir in Free Verse More Like This
When nausea is a common side effect
of an influenza anti-viral,
how can you tell if it's
the flu or the med
making you throw up?
PHD: AmphetaminePharmacy Help Desk:PHD: Amphetamine in Free Verse More Like This
One need only learn Adderall's generic name
and further discussion of poetic significance
can only devolve into snickering fits.
A drug called amphetamine
is widely used
and highly successful
at treating ADHD.
PHD: Anti-Infective ABCsAnti-Infective ABCs:PHD: Anti-Infective ABCs in Free Verse More Like This
Azithromycin, Boceprevir, Clotrimazole
I dare you to imagine a worse fate
for defenseless bacteria
than to suddenly find yourself
unable to create protein.
Tender mitochondria instantly
eviscerated through once-firm outer membranes,
beautiful in their translucency,
now putrid, leprous, porous.
PI, protease inhibitor, oddly appropriate.
Through thousands of cells
whose structures advertise "friend,"
to investigate more closely,
a magnifying lens on a sub-cellular level,
and to throw a wrench in the assembly line
just for kicks. Protease Inhibitor,
a PI with a devil-may-care attitude
and a knack for solving the case,
to the chagrin of the complacent white blood cell.
In addition to interfering with
fungal metabolic processes,
it also interferes with
steroid synthesis in humans.
Just for kicks, I manufactured and sold
injectable fungicides to MLB players
I once worshipped
in my innocence.