

DonnaIf I had a name: It would be made out of clay So I could shape myself Any way you wanted me; And if I had to, I would call you "Donna", For fear of speaking your name. Then we could take the clay, Build a little boat, Hop in, and sail away To a happy place, And to shores where no one waited for me. In this happy place There would be a kingdom There, all its denizens would say "Look at lovely Donna. She's quite a sight to see." The kingdom would surround you, And take us to their leader. He would say to me, "This lady you calDonna


The Church of HangmenI came to find her musings were sweet As we spoke all the words that strangers would With similes all polished, trim, and neat And figures made of pressure treated wood Slowly, everything became more true A breeze swept us up and made us footloose We buckled down as we took off our shoes And cackled as we threw them through the noose The noose that made my mind idealize As I gazed at it and pondered my life If death were just a wound to cauterize I would likely spend my moments with strife And beat around the bush to snap my neck And slip on her to keep my form erecThe Church of Hangmen


The Queen of WindsSometimes I would hear a burning echo It would bounce off the walls and leave a singe On the dry wall, with little else to show And meet my ears to mask a creaking hinge Then one time when a silent evening reeked Of tired grievance making not a sound That creaking hinge may have billed me as meek Had my former strength even been around That creaking shifted to my rooms facade And suddenly the air turned into lead A lady entered softly with a nod And spoke not to my eyes but to my head And had an avant-garde message to send "Speak softly stranger, I'm the Queen of WiThe Queen of Winds


Tower Two: The King of WallsIn the pantry there is scarcely a treat Since my stores and wishes sought to retreat In the living room, there is less to do Since my greatest prospect skewered me through In the basement it is too dark to see So I guess its fine that I lost the key In the attic there is a sanguine ghost It thrusts its fists against every post When those beaten posts can't hold up the roof It sags and I grow ever more aloof In the talking walls all the wires scoff Lights flicker brightly, dimly, then turn off From underneath the house the swollen pipes Spring massive leaks and vomitTower Two: The King of Walls
Fight The Sky

things that hurt me at 3 a.m.stop leaving me stop hating me stop playing me stop manipulating me stop advertising stop philosophizing stop bleeding and dying and trying and STOP crying and stop lying and stop whining and stop starving and carvingthings that hurt me at 3 a.m.
and saving my feelings and sparing me things and yanking my chains and pulling my strings stop sparing my feelings stop pleasing your demons and spraying your semen and preaching your jesus and shooting up needles and spacing in alleys and launching all volleys and flogging your mollies and poisoning dog
Devious Comments
--
--
If I didn't personify everything with a will, it probably wouldn't give me so much trouble.
Thanks for the add to your new site. I want to read and delight your
literature art with my girlfriend: it will be better because she knows your idiom much more than me.
--
...And as she said those words, I watched the color drain from the world around me, and the soundtrack of white noise faded back in...
The Disturbed One...ME
Previous PageNext Page