A Switchback's Rest

the early-buried have plenty left
while glee goes into dormancy
boredom creeps with slow fingers deft
droops our lids and makes us sleepy
life goes on with endless deaths
as the flavor drains completely
if fame and wealth have too much heft
live between cracks discreetly



we snap up the parts like pick up sticks
here they come down now, raining in bits!
a horror happened above us it seems
another mass shooting by one angry teen?
well no matter they're always up to something up there:
Each bloodbath brings new bones to decorate our lair!



When devils delight on the daydreams
we'll be too busy to begin
so set a million angels to dancing
we'll bowl them over like so many pins.
We're sharpening our edges now
know this fight nobody wins...
except for good old Sister Death:
Let's greet her polished grin.




we remain a speck of grit
ten of twelve parts arsenic
our blood don't clot
it sparks and spits
like lightning arcs
they fixed us with
sharp teeth bone talons
these claws can rip
that's why we paint our fingertips
sleep: Noise don't mean a thing
close your ears to others' screams




agape this wide-maw'd whale
is a miscible traverse and rappel
three of nine times we make it well
and on six we bring our hell
we assault these edifices like salty foam
lay siege on steepled onion domes
this life will not be monochrome
a slash of green suits every home



o happy days are lambs to slaughter
empires are being rearranged
if we weren't part kraken's daughter
we might think it strange
everyone still has such hope!
we laugh as if deranged
their eyes all glaze like happy otters
—or cattle on the range



what a perfect oubliette!
a crevasse beneath snowy crust
the walls are frozen slick and wet
this one's fate starves in the dusk!
a broken neck would be quicker yet
but he'll be bones before he's dust.



in other words on other knives
we peer into his sightless eyes
we pull his leash and hear him croak
smiling at our little joke
this whisper-man mumbles of time
and stumbles down the steep incline



keeping our ears up in the loury gloom
we sniff and screw up our snout
as we scour this tenement from room to room
we worry they've all gotten out
silent and quick we bring certain doom
and if we can't find them we'll pout

Do What You Love

each one teach another
there's no good reason to be kind
draws rings around his nosey
with a pocket full of knives!
we scrimshaw his cheekbones all spiraly
but we promised he'd be blind
so we hang his eyes between our legs
a little humor helps us unwind



forest lakesides slick and slimy
roads like scars criss-cross the land!
a spiral jetty for each eyrie
a bear's fat wallet in every hand
these elders most retiring
give of their wisdom all they can
when even the boulders begin perspiring
we will return them to ash and sand



Polypemon was an amateur
and Torquemada loved no snakes
if we repeat their work a tad
it's only by mistake
we like to take a memory from each
and arrange them in our den
they called us monster once before
and that mistake's on them



crafted this precious fruit
from our nurtured suffering
this apple is very bitter
and it carries a poison sting
pangs of regret and shame and rage—
white flesh within green peel
one bite and all joy in life is gone
and your wounds will never heal



disconnect at the articulations
creak crack snap them in half
flexible and tough like dried leather
grows more supple as we chew and gnaw
blood feels right running down our chin
getting all over our neck and chest
we howl

What Fun?

a clit or us?
that's quite a quandary
a quimly musk?
or perhaps tea tree...
pairs perfectly
with eucalyptus!
to be fair I have heard
if it smells like fish it's a dish
and if smells like cologne?
oh my word...
just leave it alone.



We won't live in this parallel universe
so prefer the orthogonal!
where the flatland friends cavort
shadows, slips, and shades eternal
where we must go to abort
razorwire-wrapped fists raised bloody in refusal
NO.
a sentence, an existence athwart.



four hundred and twenty is not quite enough
but we should still pause for an afternoon puff
three hundred and eighty is slighty too much
we'd be spin around and back to zero with us!
combine them to salvage a small bit of luck
eight hundred is just an upright infinity plus!



a tiny fog a midnight mist
frosty air bites at our face
damp curls round us like a velvet fist
holds us fast in close embrace
these flavored memories we most miss
oh what we'll do for any fresh taste!
but we must heed what rigor insists
— Never dance twice in the same place




one can own nothing if one has no value themself
as if your body were mist everything just slips through
we're all mostly empty space after all, it's true!
is that why you want to leave our planet so blue?
to fly out to where you feel as if you had gravity too?




shavings sawdust whittled from
this octopus looks just like us
curved chisel sliced open our right thumb
we didn't cry or make a fuss
corkscrew curls soaked up the blood
tiles did not get slick or make a muss
and pain is relief in this world of drudge



we wake to see what's inside the bust
remove it from the pedestal upon which it perched
our singing sickles severed the trust
all in the name of our giddy research
oh the arousal of secrets — our curse!
it won't ever leave a bridge unburned



Everybody's an actor, darling
we're none of us much at all
a small collection of habits and feelings
differential, discrete, and small
heirarchy exists for power
position is all that matters
considering fairness, what a joke
as if everything fair wasn't shattered!

Elements of Conflict

Step right up now, place your bets
in one corner, soaking wet
with third-degree burns from spilled tea.
Over there her missus be
curled up in fetal agony
a baseball bat next to shattered knees
Oh what's that? Who won the fight?
they're both dead now, bonne nuit, good night!



in the cool breeze downcoming
with the ever-growing night
she rides a wave of suffering
red and green her running lights
strews broken glass in boxing rings
prowls about and looks for fights
oh this flying octopus
is bloody, wild and dangerous!



Two measley nothings
versus two orders of magnitude
let's do the fun things
math lectures can be boring and rude



This poem won't be pretty
but it will be elegant
kindness is irrational
and so are we: We a runt!
take a look! they're shining now
our two sickles gleam, you howl
a fountain of blood so hot and wet
then we dance in the rain so we forget.



we like to pull the legs off mice
we bury our victims in the yard
mounds like enormous molehills dot
the lawn, indistinguishable from the sod
we claim that those who visit us are
enlightened by our wisdom and heart
but there're some hands sticking out of that cauldron just there
bubbling warmly over the hearth



The only point to anything is whimsy and killing time.
meet your Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs and you're free to write some lines
telling stories, singing songs
dancing merrily along
what higher vocation could there be
than to live as if you're free?