The ghost plans a jailbreak.
Pinpricks of itch are felt in unscratchable places.
Toothpicks to the temple-
bookmarks of dying dreams.
Figurative fingers squeeze the liver, now the spleen.
The heart and the brain begin their acquaintance.
Give it up.
Give it up.
Category Archives: poetry
Are you talking about that little girl that was murdered?
Leland,
she was yours
by accident of birth.
But your stunted love
sprouted to garish green jealousy.
Control was all.
Sully her
so she’s no good for anyone.
Then consort with Bob
to kill her for what she’s become.
May you char on a slowly-turned spit,
and heal each day anew,
in Hell.
Dismissible
The ones that speak softly,
blushing their diffidence
without fakery.
Waiting out the loudness.
First, sometimes last, to leave.
Speak when spoken to,
unless principles, passions arise.
Uninteresting, dismissible, no fun.
We won’t remember you,
and may not invite you back.
Caution to the winds
You spoke softly,
your sentiments not seeking sympathy.
I led you away from the table dancers,
the wearers of lampshades.
I could talk into the night.
I think you are dangerous,
and your body wants to dance.
I wait for your whisper,
and, given half a chance..
Bad Laura
Oh God. Please. Not this day.
The mossy ceiling fan slows,
and blows the dark down the hall to my room.
And I know he is coming again.
I’ve named him Bob, you know.
His dark is charmed.
Bestial.
Always, I cannot move,
or even see him through the soot.
And he climbs upon me and pants.
With an insane laugh,
he eats at me.
Handles me hard.
Tells me I am bad.
Bad bad girl.
Bad Laura.
And he says
until next time.
And he knows I will not tell.
Because then they will all know.
I am dirty, so dirty,
and can’t wash it off.
Carpe Diem
So.
Not for a while now
have I felt that I could
point the way,
suggest, show interest.
So, let’s seize this day that’s given.
Let’s walk by the water.
A movie and popcorn.
The second hand store.
Please, take my hand.
Are you still mine?
Come with me.
I promise.
The Exile
Clarice walks above and below us.
Lives in a dream,
exiled from this plane by an unknown puppeteer.
For her, great fears
that would kill one of us,
but high insights and ecstasies too.
And now, she melts in silence.
What did you see, Clarice?
What did you see?
Afterword
Will you tell me, Father,
what the sky looked like
when the Angels fell?
When one of power
sowed the great discord.
The First Lie.
Kin against kin.
Weapons in Elysium.
Did the black flock
blot the Sun
and foul the Earth?
And did She banish them
forever to the Nether?
On Twitter today, this poem..
Ideations
She called me.
We went rushing
in two cars.
His promise was empty, though.
Passed out,
half on the floor,
half on the couch.
She smacked him in the face,
gently.
Put a cold cloth on his forehead,
and he sputtered awake.
We searched the house,
emptied all of the bottles.
Haha, he said.
I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets,
and left.
She left in morning.
Until next time.
Aremyfeetofftheground 