My Favorite Killer

Dearest ones,
I wrote this little affair for an old buddy of mine to use, but he never did. So, I have taken it's reins back and am giving it to you now. I know the name gives it away a bit, but it's about that murderous fellow we all know and love, Ted Bundy. He is my favorite serial killer, in case you were curious. I don't know what it is about him that I like so much, but he rises like a titian in many of my poems and stories.
Maybe it's something about a bad boy that a quiet gal like me just can't resist......Y'know if you look past the rape and brutal bodily gougings.....

Ted Bundy BBQ


Those ladies in their Ionian death gowns,
I imagine they called to you,
singing the street number
of the lurid hellgates.
For you, the horns of reason
are velvet-muted.
You can talk talk talk
but it dilly-dallys in dead ears.
You slapped their footsoles,
smiling your million
and half-dollar smile
and you can howl
"Hell damn it all!",
you can wax lachrymose
up and down the highways and byways
but you must know, Spawn of Hate,
that the love of Justice is unanimous
and the worlds around you know it;
they know it well.

Merry Pre-consumerism Hell Day

Pre-consumerism Hell Day is, of course, a day of your choosing sometime in November when people begin the Christmas rubbish and happy warm-gut things and stuff and things. So that's happening. It's making me homesick and the wanting in my lower intestine to be with folks I miss is acting up in a uncomfortable sort of way. Dear Persons I Miss Who Are Not Reading This Blog and Will Never Know I Said This; I miss you. Wrap yourselves up in ribbons and trussing paper and send yourselves to me. I promise kisses and hugs and grins that manage, somehow, to curl themselves around my elvish ears.
I want to write love letters to so many people. My penning hand is tickling the smooth side of my favorite pen, the one that writes like silk and poetry and makes me want to sing everytime I use it. Boy Howdy. I need me some granola. Granola is my cure to all problems, stomach-ache? Granola. Head-ache? Granola. Broken heart? Granola. Just choose your pains.

Chicken Noodle Soup for the Undeniably Bored-Sorts Soul

I am happy. I am almost always happy. Not because I am one of those people who are happy for all the wrong reasons, I. E. 'love', the world being a place full of flowers and grinning morons; but because I currently have a full belly, a warm blanket, sweet tunes flipping through the air like over-excited dolphins and a crisp paycheck grinning at me from behind the eyes of my debt card. Nobody is fighting near me, my cat is contented like me, his soft black belly bulging between his splayed paws, my laundry is done and I smell like Downy. Look, the world is still the same, I'll never change it by myself. But that will not keep me from being happy over those things that just seem to slid over one another like hot butter over toast.
On another note, I've written a lot this weekend. Just couldn't stop. Woke from my stupor at twelve midnight, ate some Coco Puffs and went to bed. Now, who better to give my over-flow to than my sweet dears on the Internet. I do love you all. All I want for Christmas is you. And yes, I will call is Christmas, gall-darn-it. I will also continue to say 'God bless you' when someone sneezes because I am Free, I do what I want, Gall-dash-it-all!


Farewell to Various Things

Dearest Long John
along the banks
of the sweet-flow river.

Drink to me, baby
as my hips swing away
in that infinity motion
the one that carried
the children of the ages
the hooks of men's hands.

No more your hooks,
see what I did there?
Good, I always knew
you had the cleverness
I always seem to swoon about.

Maybe it was just that
you had little else
no matter, Little Leo
I needed little else
Don't you worry
I was the love-lorn one
Remember?
You'll be just fine.


This One Needs a Heart

It's late
even the man
inside the moon
has gone to slumber
in his reflective cage.

It's me up again
Pacing my dark cage
I've spent the night
asking the wizard for a heart.

Maybe not all at once
perhaps aorta by aorta
with a ventricle winding
it's way around the mess
like a wind-riddled weed.

Just as long as it's there
when I need it
when you're here.


Sweetie

There you go
riding away
on the two-tongued sea
where the dolphins
flip-flop and glisten
the right side
of a sun-stroked coin

Tell me what
you're running away from
can't be those flying fishes
that follow behind you
quick as night stars,

It can't be that eel
He's got an electric personality
be he's never done you a wrong

It can't be me
I've loved you all this time

What? It is me? Really?
Oh, Okay. It's cool. I understand.
I'll just be..going...now...
Bye then.


Pay Me Some Heed

Pineapple pie
upside-down
or down-side up

They'll call it a cake
But trust me, it's not
Lying is undeniably
their fine forte

I would know better than some
but no better than many
that's just how
this round stone rolls..


Sirens

Sing-song sirens
of an un-mild wild nature
Half-way between
beautiful and bird-like
But that's usually how sisters are

Noise-makers
with a song half iron
half florally arranged
With a nice sharp edge
that seems to end
forever on 'snicker-snack'

You should be wary of that one
that bobby-pin turn-about
might just knock you
right off your high horse
and into these winged-maidens
these seductresses of the earth
these the forerunners of death
un-mild wild
Sing-song sisters three.

Pink-and-Purple Lips

You know when some tosser gives you a good whack on the mug and from it rises the Fat Lip? And you spend the rest of the day singing this song, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdxZyzljpQE But that may be just me. Anyway, Fat Lips, I have one. Well, I had one leastwise, it has recently turned into the Fat Lips' ugly cousin; the Pink and Purple lip. Because I ran into the fridge. Yes, the fridge. And for the rest of the week I shall be wildly in love with red lipstick and holding my head at a strange tilt to hide the deformity. Mainly, because few people will believe the excuse, 'I ran into the fridge', because it's not exactly plausible.


Sad Salute to a Swollen Face

Commence crying
as thine eyes glance upon
what was once fair expanse
of full pink lip

But dry your tears
this is a great excuse
not to kiss
that persistent
neighbor boy.