A Small Error
I realize, though, in a nut shell,
That I did not rise from hell,
And am actually alive and well.
Pure, Pristine Little Pumpkin
and a land of moderate and dull cultivation
profited under the unheralded motivation
to something seldom-sweeter
under a one of a kind melon-leader.
to me, you’re an Armani vest–
it’s not till I’ve put my shoulder through you that I look my very best.
Soon they’ll be using your face as a Warshak test,
and I’ll be etching this poem on your coffin’s crest.
No Love Lost
watch the balls go whizzing by you,
like knowledge in the bayou.
one racket’s not enough–
if i were you, i’d consider using two.
Little Penny Weatherbee
ever sensing she would never be
than the estimable queen
In an effort to escape the blowing scorn,
i foolishly bolt from the car and into the storm.
in bolts of lightening i see human forms.
To Bob, the job seemed to fit him,
it kept him from thinking about that night and what hit him,
why it had happened, and why he was the victim.
I find my mind does race,
blindly, entwined, encased
in the grimy binds of limy waste,
Your essence swoons
a renascent plume
of sentiments one could not assume.
it seems you have the gall of the most daring men,
but you should know I’ve stolen more balls than a veterinarian.
To Sit and Ponder
If to sit and ponder,
wits permitted, left to wander,
not a minute yet they’re on her…
Ingesting not in jest the living’s intestines,
jaws the churning pistons of festering undead flesh-questing engines,
an unblessed region infested with lurking legions of heathens…
Quite a Quandary
On every Halloween that has come upon me,
I’ve simply wrapped myself in ragged laundry
and staggered about as a rabid zombie…
the gnome on the end
was shocked when he found him
“riddled” with bullets
and blood all around him