this night

im afraid to fall asleep,
because i might just dream of you.
its been a long night already,
and im not sure im prepared for more.
couldnt we just pretend its all ok,
and fall asleep like we know we ought to,
together.

haiku 43007

there's a lot that says
that this just cannot work out.
but i say it can.

faces in the dark

we stayed awake one night,
and sat in the dark
occasionally talking.
i made faces that you couldnt see,
and imagined you doing the same.
i smiled every time i did it,
and every time you talked to me,
and every time you reached out
and touched my arm.
i wanted to feel that grip
forever,
even though i knew it couldnt last.
and i wanted to feel those eyes,
reaching out for me
across the darkness,
looking for the person
i couldnt be in the light.
i felt more myself in the darkness.
and i hope you felt more of me too.

to run

i wanted to run away.
i never did.
and i doubt i ever will.
but i still imagine it,
and it has a hill,
and a couple sheep,
or goats,
and someone to keep me company.
beyond that all is vague.
but i wanted to run
to somewhere else
and someone new,
even though you
always made me feel at home.

name

she always called me by my middle name.
i called her "toes".
she had nice toes.
and she never wore closed toed shoes
if she didnt have to.
there were other things about her
that i really liked.
like her smile,
and the way her hair smelled
when she'd collapse on me
and it would be in my face.
my favorite thing was her laugh.
not her toes.
but still i called her "toes"
because it seemed a better nickname.
even if she never really liked it.
i dont like my middle name either.
maybe thats what did us in.

solution

all i ever asked her to do
was leave me the hell alone,
and even that should couldnt listen to.
now im stuck with her
in my thoughts after the lights
go out,
and i cant keep her voice
from shaking me
in the shower every morning.
she always says the same thing,
and its never been what i wanted to hear.
tomorrow i begin trying
to drink her out of my mind.
or at least drink someone else into it.

sunday

i promised her id cry when she left,
but when the time came
i stared blankly out the window
and watched her car disappear around the corner.
then i made a sandwich,
and wondered if i should feel bad
about eating right then.
i couldnt decide if the pain was
hunger or something else.
i ate that sandwich
and fell asleep on the couch.

apology

i just wanted to see her tongue ring.
i swear.
the fact that she showed me her thong is immaterial.
i wouldnt have even looked,
but im a man,
and we cant help these things.
im sure genetics are involved somehow.
but i digress-
no i did not remember the paper towels.
should i go back?
i didnt think so.

katie's haiku

i thought about you
today out in the sunlight
you still make me smile

a poem about life

he fucked it up and waited to die

millenium- december 27, 1999

It approaches,
Silently,
And some say that
It will kill.
I’m not quite sure
Either way.
I’m just out to
Have a bit
Of fun, maybe
Getting drunk
Along the way.
Beyond that,
I have no thoughts
About the
Millennium,
New Year’s Day,
Or anything
Of the sort.

cut

i cut deep into my leg
to make the pain go away.
she didnt have to leave me,
she didnt have to make things
sound so fucking difficult
between us.
i wasnt that wrong for her.
i wasnt the one who
made her hate herself.
i wasnt the one who
gave her nightmares,
and caused her to wake at night
scared that she wasnt alone
in her own bedroom.
i was the one who
tried to prop her up,
but who ultimately
let her down.
i was the one she blamed,
and now i blame myself
as i cut deeply into my leg
to make the pain go away.

christmas ghost

i got a ghost for christman once
it was small and came in a little box
which was odd cause it was a ghost
and ghosts dont have to stay in boxes
if they dont wnat to, but this one did
it stayed in the box til morning
and then i ripped it open
and my new ghost popped out and said boo
and i laughed
cause it was such a tiny ghost
and the boo didnt scare me
and then the ghost cried
cause i wasnt scared
and if he couldnt scare me
what good was he as a ghost
and i laughed some more
cause crying ghosts are funny
and the nest afternoon
my mommy took the ghost back
and returned it for a full refund

jumper

i stood atop this lonely bridge
and contemplated jumping off
into the water below.
the water was shallow,
and looked cold,
and bounded this way and that
from rock to rock,
only stopping to swirl for a moment
before running away downstream.
even the water has more to do than i.
even the water finds purpose.
even the water wants to get away.
i want to get away.
i look down into the water.
i cant see what looks back at me,
but something creates that splashing
from below the churning surface.
i want to know.
i want to dive
from this bridge.
i want to fell myself become
that splashing.
i want to head downstream.
i want to belong to something,
and the water will take me in.

freckles

she had freckles
scattered across her chest
that i couldnt help but notice
when she took her shirt off.
she was self conscious then,
of the freckles,
but i liked them,
and i liked the way she held her arms
over her chest to cover them.
i wanted to wrap her up
in my arms
and kiss each and every one
of those freckles
to make her feel
that she could trust me.
but instead i smiled,
and she smiled back,
and let her arms drop
away from those freckles.
i loved her
in that moment,
and still do.

creature of habit

i walked to the store today
to buy a muffin
and some cheese
i like muffins and
i like cheese
the muffin had blueberries
and tasted more
like candy than a muffin
the cheese came in a
cylindrical wooden box
about two inches tall
and five across
i bought bread to go with my cheese
at another stand down the street
it was fresh and left
flour on my hands as
i walked with it

the kiss

a Blank Stare, and
Sheet of Paper:
Three Simple Words
to Change a Life.

Eyes can be Deep,
Windows it’s said.
Truth, also Deep,
Frightens at Time(s).
a Smile starting
to Creep across (Her Face).
an Eye Twitches.
Patience Whispered.
Three Simple Words,
Resonating.
He Smiles –
leans in:

– A Kiss –

Reciprocated;
Ideal.
Three Words,
Resonating.

limerick

there once was a man from nantucket
who thought he would stand on a bucket
but he fell with a thud
and left lots of blood
in a spot on the floor where he struck it

moon

moon-
you look down at me
with your big eyes
as i sit cross legged
here on the ground
with several stciks
and a book of matches
trying desperately
to get this fire started
with only this wet wood
from this afternoon's downpour.
it left me wet,
the downpour,
and now i am quickly growing cold
in my wet clothes
and have nothing to warm me
except the potential of this fire,
and perhaps you,
though as i struggle with this wood
and my ever dwindling number of matches,
i forget that you are there,
and notice only that the wood
and matches remain visible
because you look down at me
with your giant eyes.

blazed

he had been waiting all day for this moment
alone with a ziploc baggie
a steak knife from his aunt's kitchen
and a cheap cigar
he stole from the gas station across the street
he carefully cut a line
down the side of that cigar
making sure he got it straight
so it would be easier to roll back up
he peeled it apart along this line
turned it over
and dumped it out
now it was just the shell of a cigar
meaningless and empty
like his life here
away from home
he unzipped the baggie
and with his fingertips
again carefully
filled the paper back up
hed bring it back to
lead a better life
than the one originally planned
he filled it
with as much as he thought he could still roll back up
and then more patience and more precision
putting it back together
along the division he had created
and when he had finished
he admired his work
could taste it on his tongue
even before he reached into his back pocket
for the lighter
flicked along the little metal wheel
drew his breath
and watched it burn

for love: thunder

it was hard to see tonight,
through the windshield,
as i drove home in this storm.
tonight the sky opened up
and let fall,
everything it had inside-
rain and hail and lightning
in sheets and forks.
and i drove home
through puddles
and anything else
lying in the way.
it was hard to see
through the windshield
because of the storm.
you told me you loved
someone else,
and i left,
and it started to rain,
and now the puddles are deep,
and i can hear them
ripping my car from underneath
as i drive through them.

in london (though russian in spirit)

it is raining here tonight,
and i remember a night in london
spent mostly on the stoop
of a hostel.
i remember as much now
as i remembered the next morning,
which isn't much,
but the hangover seemed to think
that i should have remembered more.
i remember two bottles of vodka
shared between us three,
you other two both being girls,
and i swear to this day that
the small one was cheating
and not taking as many shots
as she was giving me.
i remember that the vodka was painful
going down.
i remember that it came back up later,
more gracefully for me than for you two.
i remember that i at least managed to
lean over the railing,
rather than depositing
all that was in me on the doorstep.
i remember a broken bottle
at some point,
and i remember chaperoning that bottle
down the sidewalk a ways,
so that it wouldn't hurt anyone.
it seems ironic that it wasn't that bottle's glass that inflicted damage.
i remember someone calling me gene wilder.
someone told me the next day
that i had been threatened;
i still wonder if it might have
been by that gene wilder gent.
i remember the dizzying trip
inside, alone, though i have no
recollection of you two leaving me.
i remember the maze that was
the inside of that hostel-
too many sets of stairs,
they all looked the same.
i remember finding a bathroom,
room enough for just one.
i remember sitting down in there,
fully clothed, just looking for a seat,
and resting my head against the
now closed door.
i remember what must have been later,
being retrieved by jason,
knocking at the door,
leading me back to a room i
wouldn't have been able to find.
i remember the morning,
miserable morning,
and it was raining.
raining in london.

a meditation on shaving

i have resolved to quit shaving
because it is no fun,
and i look ridiculous afterward,
and because it often hurts.

now i have whiskers
maybe a quarter inch long
in a haphazard design
over most of my face.

i feel better having forgone shaving,
though the whiskers sometimes itch,
and sometimes tickle others,
and sometimes collect food and stuff.

but i feel better
even if i still look ridiculous,
because now at least i can blame
the hair for the mess in the mirror.

docked

i sit here on this dock

and feel it sway beneath me.

it threatens to break free

from this shoreline

and float out to the middle of this pond,

taking me with it.

i will gently float along

and bare my feet

so that i might feel

the water move beneath me and my dock.

this dock will become my raft

and i will explore the world,

viewing the shore around me

from the middle of this pond.

i will float aboard my raft

with bare feet and kicking legs,

spinning in the middle of the pond,

watching the concentric circles

my feet create

slowly fade away to solid ground.

God of the Snow

Why do you pretend to know
When you have no clue?
You mock the weaker
But we should all be mocking you
You say you’re an adult, but when
the time comes you run and hide
And when I spoke the truth
You told me I’d lied
And all I want to know now
Is what makes you such a FUCKING GOD

(your so vein… I bet you think this song is about you)

in darkness, my mother

i shall worship the darkness,
the night,
the womb,
our mother,
for her power to bring all men prostrate before her.
she instills fear,
and clamps down
with cold damp hands
on those who dare confront her.
i shall worship the darkness,
the night,
my mother,
she who never abandons me,
she who is always lively,
even when not with me.
i shall worship the darkness,
my mother,
who feeds me starlight,
and pours milk of moon
deeper into me than i would let it go.
i shall worship my mother
in darkness,
and she shall always favor me.

remnants of a once lit world

i sit and look out
at the horizon.
horizon is a funny word;
i would not know it
if i was down among the trees.
but i am high enough
to see above those trees,
mostly evergreens,
their highest points
creating the hills i see
from up above
that world.
to my right the hills
slip away
into the clouds.
to my left
they make peace
with something even tempered.
and straight ahead
that giant sticky candy ball
that is the sun
eats them up
with a lively hunger.
soon only darness remains.
i still have my hills.

KatieRif (5:01:44 PM): WHOS YO MAMA
KatieRif (5:01:46 PM): ??
SwishdaO (5:02:09 PM): margo.....?

haikus 109-113

haiku 109
i have not written
a haiku in quite some time
so i will tonight

haiku 110
the dog is loudly
chewing his bone on the floor
while i stare at him

haiku 111
i thought of you then
after our walk through the snow
in that white garden

haiku 112
when i was lonely
in the dark out in those woods
i would picture you

haiku 113
she said to breathe deep
to take my mind off the pain
but i cried instead

evidence

she loved coming home
to her oversized bed,
she loved coming home
to wrap herself in his arms.
she flopped down this time,
face first into the pillows.
she took a deep breath,
she had been away too long
this time, she needed
a night at home,
in surroundings she understood.
she breathed deeply again,
had to, as she was so deep
into the pillows that
perched atop their bed.
a third strong breath,
and this time no mistaking.
that smell was not her own.
she stayed deep in those pillows
and cried herself to sleep.

I lay in my bed
In silence
Enjoying
The silence
She walks in
No more silence

If the road less takn
Was taken by everyone
it would be the road always taken
therefore the road less taken
should not be thought of as
a sad lonely thing
but as something that is special
pure
less taken

All day i had thought about:
sweet buttermilk
tangy honey mustard
smoked sliced turkey
crisp lettuce and
mayo.
I opened my fridge and saw
my lettuce was frozen.
death to the lettuce

in boots

the sun came out
strong,
reflecting brilliantly
on the snow,
blinding from every direction.
it would not melt
the snow,
not strong enough for that,
but i was warmed
as i held your hand
and we crunched about
in boots.

an ever tightening spiral

i saw a hawk appear
overhead,
lower than i expected
hawks to fly reconnaissance;
and i paused-
as i walked through this field
not wishing to be a part
of his decision to
leave this place.
i did not look up for him,
but instead followed his
shadow around the filed
with my eyes.
he flew in a pattern,
an ever tightening
spiral,
and it was hard to make out
his actual location
with the sun
hidden from my view
by the trees.
nothing in this field moved,
but that shadow,
simply floating in
and ever tightening
spiral.

i am a bitter night

the ocean closes in on me tonight
wave by wave.
i hear them crash
upon the beach.
the shoreline stretches
around me,
land seems so distant
now.
this patch of sand
gets progressively wetter,
this onyx night
gets progressively cooler
as the wind picks up
across the waves.
they rush toward me,
the winds,
as everything else seems to do as well.
there is no life left here.
the waves make the only sound i hear.
the moist air that assaults
my being
is the only proof of life.
i am going to stand
my ground
here on this beach
tonight.
i am going to persuade the moon
to release its grip
on these waters.
i am going to sit upon this sand,
damp, alone, unprotected.
shivering, aching, longing.
i am going to sit on this sand
until the water backs away
and solid earth takes me up
in a warm embrace.
i will sit here 'til sunrise.

love poem?

i sit down to write a love poem
and can think only of one thing;
that time we spent running down the mountain
that took all day to climb.
on the way up i struggled
and you pushed me on
despite my best efforts to sit
and watch you disappear
over the crest without me.
you kept me going,
and when we got to the top
i understood,
because it was beautiful
having you there with me
to look down on the world.
we pointed to where we though our houses should be
and im sure we were nowhere close.
and we sat for a while
in the breeze
as it threatened
to blow us back to soild ground below.
and after a rest,
and a chance to squeeze you
atop a mountain,
we ran all the way back down,
arms out and screaming like fools,
passing those on their way up,
who looked like i must have at that point,
struggling and resigned
to failure.
and downward we plunged,
merrily, earthward,
unable to see so much
of the world,
and of oursleves.

darkness

the candle glows behind me,
lighting me up in a shadow against the wall.
it is the only light in this room,
and i use it to make myself feel larger,
by moving toward the flame,
seeing the darkness take over more of the room.
that darkness is me,
the light only visible outside my edges.
i stare at the wall
opposite the candle.
my shadow twitches with the flicker of the flame.
i remain steady,
and bring darkness
to this room.

lost.

she slipped out of bed
and felt the cold on her ankles
and toes
as she made her way
across the room.
she saw little
in the dark of the room;
shadows against a background of black.
she moved quickly,
sure of her steps,
a way she had come before.
she padded softly through the door,
down the hall,
and into another silent room.
she stopped.
all shadows
on this side
of the house.
waiting.
eyes adjusting.
breathing.
she can hear her own breathing
and little else.
leaves move outside the window though
every time the wind passes
through them.
waiting.
she lifts her feet
lightly
as her knees grow tired
from standing so long
in one spot.
she can see a bit now,
her eyes adjusted to the dark.
and she knows.
this bed is empty,
and will be for so much longer.
she cannot see them,
but the walls are painted blue,
and she can feel them closing in
in the darkness.

haikus 104-108

haiku 104
i admired his skill
the glass blower at the fair
he made fancy things

haiku 105
listening to art
alone on a bench in the
modern museum

haiku 106
a tangerine sits
in the middle of the desk
lonely and orange

haiku 107
she slips off her clothes
every night before she
slides into her bed

haiku 108
the uniformed man
led him away in handcuffs
towel on his head

haikus 99-103

haiku 99
how can i haiku?
with so little time and space,
poetry suffers.

haiku 100
she shits there lonely
watching the tide wash away
and counts the sea shells

haiku 101
eyelids are drooping
its time for my midday nap
i sleep with lights on

haiku 102
peanut butter cup
my favorite candy for
a haloween night

haiku 103
haikus come easy
sitting in a darkened room
alone on the floor

haikus 96-98

the girl that i love
sits cross-legged in the sand
doodling with fingers

she spells out her name
it is lovely and fluid
water washes in

her toes are submerged
along with her signature
she is beautiful

poem for a rainy day

when it's too hot outside, and too sunny
(and it can be too sunny, so sunny it hurts your eyes,
even to look down at the ground),
when it's too hot, and it can hardly ever be too hot
when the clouds cover up the sun or if it's raining,
it's those days that i like to stay indoors,
and lay there on the tile floor, face up,
sometimes with my shirt pulled up to about where my third rib is,
just to have some more flesh exposed,
to feel the coolness of that dirty floor.
but on rainy days i'd rather go outside,
and feel the weather, not just look at it through the windows.
i'd rather know how fat those drops are, and feel
them through my hair, and i'd like to kick
at puddles, watch them break apart and scatter, then run back
to where i stand, watch the watertry to take back the space
my shoes have stolen. i want to have cold water running
off the ends of my fingertips, and clinging to my nose before
it drops off. i want to know that nature appreciates
my presence and actively aims to soak me as it soaks
everything else. i don't want to be shown any mercy.
those are the days i like to go outside.
i want to feel whole in the rain.

home

he walked alone, down city blocks,
past empty stoops, in the rain.
his hair was wet, and cold,
as was the rest of him, and he walked.
he looked down, not ahead,
looking at the puddles before he stepped in them,
and fought against the urge to lay down
in one and give in to the cold wetness.
but still he trudged ahead, with wet feet,
and a shirt soaked clear through
looking for that apartment with the
familiar white light lit up out front.
he knew she'd be there waiting,
probably looking out through the glass
that made up the front window.
he'd see her face, her smile and little laugh,
then the way she'd come to the door,
and insist he come in and immediately change,
because "oh my god, you're soaked."
home.
he walked alone.

untitled

few things are nicer
than seeing her smile
that next morning
when she rolls over
and realizes where
she's at, and why,
and the way she
says "hi" while that
smile is still on
her face. they should
make memories big
enough to keep those
things forever.

laverie

this laundromat provides good inspiration.
one can look out onto french streets
through the big glass window.
of course the words get in the way of some details.
they are yellow and blue (the words)
and appear backwards on the window
as i look out from the inside.
i was alone for a while in here,
to sit and listen as the washers hum and chug;
with water and clothes and soap, the three elements
intermingling to make the sounds.
i had company for a minute, but now she's left.
but when she was here she was a black woman
with braids, jeans, and a black t-shirt.
we looked at one another once or twice, but never spoke.
she got here while my clothes were on "lavage"
and left just before "rincage", but really
it was only for a matter of minutes.
the dryers stare at me; big hollow eyes
at about tummy level standing up.
they are all closed, but none of them are on,
just idle, and staring.
every once in a while i'll see someone i know walk by,
just then he didn't look in, but some do.
still alone, i sit and look out past blue
and yellow letters at rue magnanen.

haikus 7-11

my haiku for you
needs little introduction
but's a masterpiece

a follow up yes
but surely no less brilliant
seconds taste good too

now a muse on dogs
why must they shit in the street?
to step around sucks

i find numbers bland
they take time to remember
and look boring too

and now, conclusion;
oil makes puddles look funny;
gross when i drink them.

haiku #95

the dog- hes barking
can he not shut the fuck up?
i will go beat him

haiku #94

i spin a yo-yo
below my middle finger
it doesnt return

haiku #93

picture driving home
quite under the influence
blue lights flash behind

haiku #92

haikus are supposed
to deal with nature and such
mine will deal with me

haiku #91

i take my sweet time
writing haikus afternoons
because i am bored

haiku #90

if i go swimming
and disappear in the depths
come rescue me please

haiku #89

butter is better
on toast than anywhere else
this i must proclaim

starfish

I found a message in a bottle
washed up on the shore today
along with an old, dried up starfish.
The message said something about
shuffleboard on a cruise ship.
The starfish said nothing.

counting pennies

I’m sitting on the bed
Counting pennies
And thinking of you.
I’ve got nothing but time,
And ninety-five cents-
A nickel short of whole.

death of a chair

I. The Captain’s Chair

The chair had been in the apartment for months. They called it “The captain’s Chair.” It had once belonged to a former roommate, one they called “Captain Kid,” but since his departure the chair seemed to belong to no one. The chair looked to be in decent condition; it was a recliner in working order other than the fact that it didn’t know when to stop reclining. Maybe that’s what did it in, the constant agitation caused by the chair continuously flinging them over backwards. Regardless of the circumstances surrounding it, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon the chair met its demise.
It came in the form of two men in their early twenties. Chris and Matt they called themselves. It started innocently; Chris simply nudged the chair and watched it tumble backwards. Then, even before this narrator could get a grasp on things (danger: cliché approaching), the shit hit the fan. Chris savagely pounced upon the chair, ripping at its arms and reclining footrest. Matt watched at first. Then, caught up in the moment, he joined in himself. He flipped the chair over, its bottom side exposed, and sent a series of dropkicks into its back. The room was caught in a massive storm of fury. Stuffing flew, wood and metal were flung across the room, and shouts of “Fuck you chair!” were heard many houses away.
No on will ever know what caused it, this senseless act of violence. Whether the chair looked at Chris the wrong way, or whether it was just the time in a man’s life when he needed to destroy something, only Chris and the chair will ever know for sure.
What’s left of the chair still sits out behind their house. A legless, backless, armless mass of wood and metal and cushion remains in the spot it landed as it was flung from their deck in a celebration of victory. The chair is glad it wouldn’t burn.

II. Tossed

The chair was in a very fragile emotional state. It had been tossed out the back door, off of the porch, only to be left in pieces on the lawn. But the chair couldn’t have been simply tossed out; first it had to be ripped to shreds. The people, in a rage, had stripped the chair of its back, its reclining footrest, as well as its respect and dignity. Now the chair rested on the grass, crying and bleeding stuffing into the yard.
The dew came at night, and the temperature dropped. The chair shuddered, lost more stuffing, and tried to fall asleep. The chair had trouble dozing, kept waking up after nightmarish flashbacks to the beating. Images of drop-kicking feet and ripping hands swirled about the chair in its dreams. Finally morning came to relieve the chair of its unrest.
Dogs came by that day. The dogs stared at the chair, circled around it sniffing, and barked confused messages to one another. One of the dogs started gnawing on what was left of its arm another lifted its leg near the rear section. The chair braced itself for the worst, but was saved by the dogs’ owner. The dogs trotted off, knowing that they’d get their chance at the chair.
That night the people came back out, smelling strongly of beer (a smell the chair had learned to recognize as trouble), and chanting an ominous tune. They came toward the chair and lifted it off the ground. Back up the porch they went, raised the chair above their heads, and once again heaved it down upon the lawn. There was a cracking sound this time, and what was left of the chair rested on its side, now crippled. The people cheered, before returning to the house and beer.
The sun came up again, and the chair did not resist. It was still on its side, comatose, when the men came to carry it off. They spoke Spanish, and the chair did not understand their words as they lifted it into the truck. The chair joined forgotten objects from all around, and felt better about its end. They were all going to a better place.

washed up

there’s an old boot lying in the sand
half buried, toe up, and wet clear through.
brown leather wrinkled, sole separating,
the water ebbs and oozes as it will.
the laces are still there, marching halfway up,
then retreating into wet sand, ends frayed.
the tongue wags in the breeze,
missing ankles and other stabilizing forces.
the tide rises, comes to claim the boot,
and I watch the sand pour in.
somewhere in this ocean the other boot stays tied.

sonnet #2

i made my class write sonnets. i told them id bring mine. collaborative efforts if i remember correctly. done under the spiff s. mann pseudonym.

Why can’t you smile, asked love, in dark of night?
Why can’t you smile, you have nothing to fear?
I love you more with each new splendid sight,
I know I love my precious sweet, so dear.
I love to hold you close in warm embrace,
And listen to the words you softly speak.
How I caress your smooth delicate face,
And slow I brush your eager lips so sleek.
I hear your words as you capture my thoughts,
And lock them away, forever to keep.
To what, a woman’s care, like yours, I sought,
In saddened worlds of silent tears to weep.
I wish to hold you close, in the night air;
Eyes in gaze of gaze of sweet lover’s stare.

now deep blue oceans

Love is a fickle game rarely played well,
Even so I ask you to play along.
I once have lost, and felt ever so wrong.
If we win once alone I shall not tell.
Now I have fallen and only for you,
And I call out your name every day.
To forge through these times you must go away,
I shall win this game before I am through.
But now I have found new rules to follow,
Once broken I now have found a new way.
The future’s now bright and I see a new past,
Now deep blue oceans, not pools so shallow.
A brand new night while the light has been saved,
I’ve found love and it shall forever last.

#12

I feel my love for thee I must proclaim,
But I’m shouted down on granite forum.
What once was love has now been turned to shame;
Long since humbled, I shall stand before them.
But you my dear shall be worth all the pain,
For I know true love is all but true bliss.
And as the lonely wind calls out your name,
Your lonely name shall in turn call out his.
Sorrow I say is a proudly bold word,
And I shall tell you that it is my name.
But my real name you have once before heard,
In midst of false pride I know it is shame.
So forgive me before I forgive you,
And I’ll echo your name sweet love so true.

bugs

again, from the archives. this one was a poem from way back, written with prepositional phrases. i think it is strong enough to stand alone though.

Bugs

Through the air
Toward your head
You slap around at it
It comes toward your leg
It lands on your knee
You squash it flat
It goes up into bug heaven

the hole

also older than a mofo.

The Hole

This endless hole
I didn’t know
It was so deep
But now I know
That this hole
Is deep enough, though
I will be dead and so
I wouldn’t even need to know
OH NO!
SPLAT!

brer rabbit

this ones extremely old. dug it out of the archives.

Brer Rabbit

There was a tar baby that Brer Fox made
They dressed and then a trick they played
A trick on poor Brer Rabbit

They caught him and threatened to chop off his head
He would rather be dead then in the briar patch he said
But they didn’t know this was his habit

They said they would make him into a stew
“The briar patch is what I’m scared of, not you!”
So they threw him in the briar patch

“Brer Rabbit is gone,” is what they thought
But they never really had him caught
And all Brer Rabbit did was laugh

wheeled into this world

i was born in a wheelbarrow
in the back of a pickup truck
halfway to the hospital
cause pops thought hed have to wheel the moms in
cause she was to fat to carry
so he brought the wheelbarrow
it was red
and dusty

Rough Ride

Thick, hot dust mixed with a cakey paste and topped with the sickly sweet smell of warm manure brought around his senses and added a churning stomach to the lose spin in his head. His legs felt weighted down and bolted to some warm surface, bending his body into the awkward “L.” His hands were chaffed and pressed tightly into a smoth knob so that the bindings made them one with it. He pulled against the ropes and brought himself forward into a sitting position. The steel door in front of him revealed a wash of foggy color that was his face, badly smeared with make-up and covered in a lopsided red wig. The buzzing in his head that prevented him from piecing together the puzzle that lay in his cloudy reflection, was suddenly augmented from outside and he watched his reflection fly away only to be blinded. Instantly he was again on his backing facing the brilliant stark sky, flying forward, his legs still bolted to that warm surface, who now reveled its powerful muscles in strong ripples as it jerked about. His stared at a swirling sky as this body was jerked backwards and forwards. The beast beneath him jerked hard to a stop, and he felt the hard leather knob jab into his groin. His squeezed his eyes closed and opened his mouth, praying for the relief it would bring if he could only force his stomach out of his mouth. Between flashes of purple and black he began to see brief snapshots of faces and places.

The street he worked regularly, looking for the suits that, unknown to them, would feed him tonight.
His knee twisted sharply with and audibly pops, unable to move freely in the restraints.
The alley he wandered down,
Again the knob jammed into him, this time causing him to bite down on his tongue, filling his mouth with a rich metallic taste.
The Cop he saw shoot that guy in the head, on his knees.
He felt the sting of the saddle against the back of his head as he animal leaped into the air. And Newton told his head to keep moving until acted upon by the hard edge of the saddle and it remained him briefly how the butt of the gun had felt in the same spot.
The beast twisted hard and he felt his leg rip, muscles burned and screamed for release as his whole body slumped to the right. The restraints had apparently loosened, and he found himself dragging across the ground, his hands still bound to the saddle. The restraints would not give, so his right shoulder did, and for the first time he allowed himself to cry out. He felt warm juice splatter from out of his mouth and across his face. He opened his eyes again only to see the underside of a bull set in front a stadium that was merely a speedy blur. His pants were ripped now and he felt the ground digging into his flesh, ripping it open, tearing away chunks. Some benevolent being finally showed mercy and his bindings burst releasing him to the ground only to feel a hoofed foot smash through his forearm while another crushed into his stomach as the bull passed. He was left there unable to breath as blood filled his mouth. Finally he was able to once again drink deep breaths, but this relief only allowed his mind to refocus to the intense burning sensation that perforated his entire body. He felt his consciousness slip. He hadn’t known the man, hadn’t cared to know the man, didn’t want to cause problems, and didn’t want to ask questions. Right before he blacked out he remembered the cop’s warning.
“Keep your mouth shut, if you mess with the bull you may just get the horns.”

Happy Hour

A cop, a pickpocket, and a rodeo clown walked into a bar. Seriously. One after the other, though they didn’t look to be together. The bar was starting to get crowded, happy hour and all. And from where I sat at the bar, smack dab in the middle so I couldn’t be ignored, these three characters aroused much of my suspicion. My reflection in the big mirror behind the bar was failing to keep my attention, though at this point my eyes were doing some rather interesting things. So in come the three amigos, who aren’t really amigos at all, but who I’ve grouped as such for the purposes of this little narrative here. And they aren’t wearing signs around their necks identifying them or anything, but I think I know a cop, a pickpocket, or a rodeo clown when I see one. First, the cop. This guy was easy to identify. He was short, and we’re talking like 5’4” here. Yet he walked with a swagger that didn’t match his stature. He strutted in like he owned the place, in his unnecessarily tight black t-shirt and matching black jeans. Not a fan of this guy, so of course he came and sat right next to me at the bar. I scooted my barstool over a bit, no need to rub shoulders with his kind, and turned a little in the other direction. I couldn’t turn too far though; I had to keep my eye on the pickpocket, or old Sketchy McGee as I named him. I didn’t dare turn my back to this guy. He had on a fleece jacket in 65-degree weather and was sporting it bravely with baggy shorts and flip-flops. Now it may not be common knowledge, but truer words I’ve never found to live by than these: never trust a man in flip-flops. Plus his hair was gelled, another black mark on his character, and he was looking around the bar all shifty eyed. Now in fairness, I too may have had some shifty eyes at this point, but my hair was all disheveled, and my toes were hidden from public view. I moved my wallet to my front pocket, I couldn’t be sure when Sketchy McGee would strike, but I knew it would be fast, accurate, and I would be the one and only target. Third came Bubba, the rodeo clown, he had the perfect face for it. He was a skinny guy, perfect build for hightailing it around the rodeo ring with a big bad bull hot on one’s heels. Plus he was wearing overalls, the rodeo cowboy’s leisure wear of choice. His boots had paint on them, which could only means one thing; he had borrowed them from his house painting brother due to the fact that he couldn’t afford his own on his meager rodeo salary. And here he was at my bar to drown his sorrows in a mug of my favorite ale. God help him if he happened to drink the last Pabst. That tallboy had my name etched into it. He approached the bar and ordered a Miller High Life. Ah, the champagne of beers, a fine choice my overalled friend, especially since you stayed away from my Pabst. Another for me. I wave for the barkeep and reach for my wallet. My back pocket is empty! Damn, I’ve been foiled by that shifty pickpocket, who is now conveniently nowhere to be found. I shake my head, wave the bartender back to his other pressing duties, lay my head down on the bar and take a nap. It’ll be dark when I wake up.

you asked for it, you got it. the chicken poem. in its original form.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

The chicken crossed the road one day
It was an ugly site
For when he got to the other side
He had a terrible fright

Forgotten was his pass
To keep him from being dinner
Maybe nobody’d eat him
If he was a little thinner

He had the perfect life
As the perfect form of poultry
He had a lot to live for,
His hen was awfully sultry

He didn’t want to be eaten for lunch
So he crossed the road again
And all the way across the road
He thought about his pregnant hen

Yes, she was due to lay some eggs
They were going to be twins
And then all of a sudden from nowhere
came a Mercedes Benz

And when that chicken saw the car
He almost had a cow
Then that lovely Mercedes symbol
Hit him right in the beak KAPOW!

And splattered all over
On route sixty-six
With his hen giving birth
To a couple of chicks

Was Charles the rooster
All silent and flat
Soon to be dinner
To a thin alley cat

So now Charles is dead
His hen all alone
While the alley cat picks
The meat off a bone

The moral of this story
To me is really quite plain
Look both ways before you cross
Or expect a buttload of pain

Like Charles the rooster
All silent and flat
Soon to be fried
For a fat lady that

Went to KFC
For an extra crispy breast
Instead she got Charles the rooster
And of course you know the rest

That fat lady went home
And sat down to her table
And so this concludes
Our noteworthy fable.

By: Spiff S. Mann
December 17, 1995

my alliteration poem for freshman year of high school.

The Big Bad Beast

Tiny Tommy Taught his teach
How to broil a big bad beast
She thought to try it out tonight
But her head the big bad beast did bite
The big bad beast bit Tommy too
But that ‘tard Tommy told the teach what to do
The big bad beast rebuked their brains
But no other people had pitiful pains

This perfect poem composed by:
Derek P. Chelf
May 1, 1996

a cooperative effort here, from like 11th or 12th grade, a mock epic poem, incorporating 20 vocab words, which are in bold. a masterpiece.

Sunny Funny Bunny Shine
(The battle of the Oil)

There was a time when all the world was fine,
Men felt good, and the women so divine.
Children were happy and pets were loyal,
Until the battle of the cooking oil.
At the Pizza Hut, on a slow, working day,
A trick on a girl, we were quick to play.
We would spray oil on the back of her pants;
Customers would give her a stare quite askance.
So out comes the oil, with sprayer-like gun,
Now she’s the victim of our machination.
We couldn’t hide it, we’re laughing so hard;
Forced to invent a fantastic canard.
“We’re not laughing at you,” I told her sweetly,
But plotting our next act quite discreetly.
Nascent suspicion creeping in her head.
“I promise we didn’t do it,” I said.
But her inuring expression rebuffed;
Boldly, rife temptation of evil cuffed.
Hop, hop, hop, hop, you luminous fellow,
Deep within, an Easter Bunny bellow.
A white façade, a natural disguise,
Piercing bloody fangs, and red beady eyes.
Situations fraught, with dangers galore,
And of this evil being, plenty more.
How could he influence our honest coup?
Our innocent plan, mixed with Hare Voodoo.
Slowly now, I heard a voice from above,
Leading, guiding, my mind, to benign love.
A penitent silence was all she heard,
Meanwhile the situation being stirred.
Easter “Judas” Bunny gives us away,
The master of evil has lots to say.
“Forgo the rest, believe intuition,
It was them, to affirm your suspicion,
And now you must act, and quickly I add.
Terminate their cabal, destroy each lad.
Start with the leader, obtuse as he is.
Kill, kill, kill, kill, defunct(ify) the wiz!”
“ Yes Master Bunny, but restive am I,
It seems rather harsh to go kill each guy.
I am loath to destroy each man’s own breath,
But I will if you say, to each slow death!”
Onward she marched toward her mighty foe,
To obey her master, and to winnow
Those who had wronged her, behind her turned back,
But as she stepped on, she saw what did lack.
Her motives were wrong, forgive, and forget,
It was all in good fun, a dare, she’d bet.
Anger retreats, as does the Vile Bunny.
For the first time, she found the prank… funny.
All’s well that ends well, as does our story.
Peace has returned, and mercy is glory
(ous).

He remembers that last game he ever played. It was his junior year of high school, just before the Christmas break. He scored eighteen points and pulled down nine boards, both team highs that night. He was pissed he hadn't put up twenty and ten. He fouled out with three minutes left to play in the fourth quarter, heard the whistle, turned and headed for the bench. No sense getting upset, he knew this was his finale. Might as well bow out gracefully.

He had already failed three of his five final exams for the semester, he'd be officially ineligible by the time the next game rolled around. He'd play this game, then go home, that was his plan all week. He'd pack up his shit, or at least the shit he couldn't leave behind, for his Moms to trash, and go figure out which one of his boys he could stay with for a while.

He didn't plan on going back to school, what was the point. He also knew he wasn't gonna be allowed to stay in his mother's house if he wasn't taking classes, she wouldn't have that. He was pretty sure that she knew he had started dealing, and if she thought that was all he'd do all day she'd throw a fucking fit and yell him right out of the house and down the driveway.

He watched from the bench as his team lost that last game; by three points, they didn't shoot free throws well at all that night, gotta capitalize from the line if you're gonna win ball games, this 16 for 28 shit isn't gonna cut it boys, the coach said afterwards. He didn't shower that night after coach’s talk, just grabbed his shit, left his uniform on a bench in the locker room, and walked out into the cold ass night air.

He went first to his girlfriend's house, she hadn't been at the game, and he didn't want to talk about it. How many points did he score at least; twenty-four he lied, he didn't know why. He fucked her, 'cause he needed to, laid there in the dark for a while, then did it again, again because he needed to. Then he had to go he told her, he had shit to do tomorrow. He was home by two o'clock.

His Moms was laid out on the couch when he got home, with all the lights on and the TV too. She looked asleep, but her cigarette was still lit, hanging from her lip, and she'd inhale occasionally. She didn't open her eyes as he walked past her, but she did blow smoke in his direction. "We lost" he mentioned on his way by. No response, and into his bedroom he trudged.

He shuts the door, opens a drawer or two, throws the contents onto the bed, gets a bag from the closet, not quite a suitcase but a good sized bag, puts the shit on the bed into it. He hasn't packed clothes yet, so he gets a trash bag from the kitchen, under the sink, and throws some clothes into it. He ties the top of the bag into a knot, throws it out the window into the yard, grabs the other bag and heads out the front door. His Moms has gone to bed. It's 4am, and it’s fucking cold outside.

He remembers the first time he made love to her, though neither of them called it that. It was late one night, in her parents’ house, an empty house for the weekend, and he seems to remember that they were both drunk. Maybe that's why he did it.

It wasn't supposed to go the way it did, but alcohol and adrenaline had gotten the best of him before. It started with a kiss, she kissed back. Then hands, four of them, exploring, same as usual. Then his hands stopped for a moment, decided that clothes got in the way, and went to work removing obstacles. Now they were two naked drunk kids in the dark, running hands over parts of each other they'd never seen in the light.

Then he went to work on her, he enjoyed making her happy, and he knew his way around. She had said to him the first time, "Let's find my G-spot". It had shocked him a bit then, but proved helpful in the long run. But now that he was drunk he had to admit that he was getting sick of this one way street all the time. Maybe that's why he did it.

She was a virgin, he knew that for sure, and even he wasn't as experienced as he led his boys to believe. So maybe it was frustration, youthful exuberance, or just too much fucking alcohol. At any rate, he let his hand stop and he climbed on top of her. She said no, but he was a don't-take-no-for-an-answer type of guy. Plus, she didn't really know what she was talking about, how could she reject anything if she didn't even know what she was turning down. He knew; blank happiness, rivaled only by that almost deadly dose of heroin he let himself be talked into once.

It wasn't too hard, she almost didn't even resist that much. She was saying no, but…. The nos and stops got less frequent as he continued, then faded into moans, and he faded too, lost in what he was doing. When he finished he laid there on his back in the dark, thought he heard her crying once quietly, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, thought "fuck that bitch," rolled over and went to sleep, still naked, sweaty on top of the covers that she had bound herself up in.

He'd wake up with a killer hangover, but all these years later he didn't remember that.

Ode to a Schoolgirl

I loved a schoolgirl once
When it was appropriate to do so.
She drank Cokes, with a straw,
Always a straw,
And wore socks
That ended just below her knee.
She was beautiful, to me,
And I was nothing to her.

Schoolgirls never went for me,
Even in my better days.
I’d wear my jacket
With the collar turned up
And drop dead cigarettes
In the gutter.

Now I watch schoolgirls
From this bench across the road.
I’ve got a bottle in one hand,
Something with a kick.
I stare every now and then.
I can’t help but stare.

I see a box
with hinges
theres a shelf on the syrup
spinning around
with a tree in the pocket
of my pants
WONDERING what is
poking out
I SEE IT
spinning
poking
wondering

I see you
walking from a distance
syrup hanging out
all sticky
I see you walking
(the last line is optional, and i think i like it better without it)

He remembered back when he was younger, that time he had to swallow a bag, trying to keep himself out of jail. He had way too much on him that time, and once they ID'd him as a swallower he was headed straight to jail anyway. The lawyers counselled him the way they do, and he got really fucking sick in that cell before he eventually gave in and went to the hospital. Confessing kept him locked up for a while, but he got out one Thursday afternoon, with nobody out front to pick him up.

He got back his Zippo lighter, gold with his initials on it, and his money clip too, also gold, just his first initial. They kept all the money he had when they took him in, but he had credit on these streets. Back to his supplier, a little older, a little wiser, but with only one way to get back on his feet. He slept in parks those first couple nights back out, before he made back eight hundred. A new apartment, one that didn’t know his face, but back to the old neighborhood to make sales, and business stayed strong.

For two years he stayed out of the way of those damn cold blooded bastard cops that put him away the last time. By that time he had a new car, another new apartment, evicted after a fight with the landlord from the last one, and a new daughter, who had his eyes. He still swore to straighten up one day, but even he couldn’t argue with numbers, and he was making good ones, selling to some of his old boys from high school, and even one of his old bosses, from way back when he had an "honest" job. Then in November, one night when it was too cold to pay as much attention to all the shit around him that he needed to keep an eye on, they caught him in the spotlight, the one that rotates around on top of the driver's side mirror.

He ran, as fast as he could in the cold, dropping little twist-tied baggies in the bushes as he cut around corners, staying close to the apartment buildings, in the shadows the best he could, eventually tripping, in a spot where the ground apparently dipped down a bit in the dark. They were on him then. He felt a knee in the middle of his back, a cold baton on the back of his neck. He tried resisting, but it meant nothing. Handcuffs next, and they said they had found all those little baggies. The read him his rights; he knew them already, by heart. Then they pulled him up, in a way that hurt his shoulders, hands behind his back. They threw him in the back of that car, lights flashing, and the only thing he could think was how good it felt to be in out of the cold. His eyes were glazed, he was out of breath, and he could feel where his knees still hurt from his fall.

He remembered back to when he was younger, that time when he had swallowed a bag, and how bleak shit looked once they had pumped his stomach. He got through it all that time, maybe he'd get through this. Then he remembered his daughter, and prayed for her all the way to jail.

it was an egg. he was pretty sure. though he didnt know why the hell it was here, on the shoulder of the road, in the middle of the desert, in the middle of fucking nowhere. he knew why he was here, and he still wasnt happy about it. theyd better fucking come back and pick him up. this shit wasnt cool, and it wasnt funny anymore either. but he knew his friends too. he knew they wouldnt turn around until they got somewhere, and lord only knew how long that might take. theyd eat, just cause they knew he was hungry, then maybe theyd come back, taking their own sweet time, pick him up, and not stop for food again for hours, cause they just ate. but at least now he had this egg. and he was pretty sure it was an egg now. he had picked it up, was fondling it, rolling it around in his palm, and it wasnt a rock at least. it was a fucking egg. and he was gonna crack it on somebody's head. he wondered if it would crack. was it hard boiled? tough to boil and egg in the desert. but maybe it was boiled, and it had like rolled out of a bag or something, maybe when somebody pulled off to pee in the desert. and now somebody was short one hard boiled egg. or maybe it wasnt a traditional chicken egg. was it the egg of some giant reptilian beast? with fangs, and scales, and big bulbous eyes? he bet it was. hed throw it at them when they came back to pick him up, and some little scaly green thing just now ready to hatch would pop out and bite the shit out of somebody's nose before scampering out into the desert sand. and hed be able to say 'serves you right' and itd make for a kick ass story when they all got home, back east. but he was still stuck here, in the west, and for all he knew their headlights were still pointed east, hours ahead of him by now. should he try to hitchhike. in what car? there hadnt been one yet. just dust, and egg, and a tumbleweed or two. he was hot. he didnt like hot. everything was sweating. he didnt wanna be that guy, with sweat stains in odd places. bastards. hurry up. this walking in the desert thing sucked. he was tired. maybe hed sit down. hed get all dusty though. he didnt care. he sat down. the egg broke. he saw a cloud of dust headed his way from the east, a chrysler's grill leading the way. he watched the contents of the egg seep into a crack in the dry ground. hurry up. im hungry. fuckin egg.

the biller and dan
play soccer on the x box
all fucking night long

all i wanna do
is play some fucking football
before my bed time

but no, instead this,
writing haikus on bloggers
the fury rises

and so i will end
threatening the two of them
with killer spiders

(which ive tucked into
their mattresses, and given
permission to bite).

again, i feel the need to reiterate that this is indeed fiction, so dont go making assumptions, those two of you who read this shit.

it was a blustery day. ok, so im lying. it wasnt blustery at all. i guess there was a slight wind out of the southwest, though i dont know which way southwest is, but it seems that thats where breezes come from, so im gonna go with it. and it was spring, may maybe. and this young gent was getting out of school for the day, and she asked him if he wanted to come over. and so of course this was one of those like butterfly in the stomach moments, one of those where you have to say yes or be forever scarred cause you blew it and she was hot moments. so he said yes, and she lived close by, well kind of close by, but after all wasnt the walking with the girl part one of the best parts anyway. so they walked that way. and nobody was home, work or some such shit and all, and so our protagonist here (the young gent) is at this point getting excited right, cause maybe he'll get to make out with her for a while on like her parents bed or something, which is solid at his age, something to brag about later. and so for a couple minutes theres awkwardness right, that 'we both wanna do the same thing, but dont want to admit to it right away' awkwardness, which takes a minute or two to get over, but which she fixes by sitting down next to him on the couch, and so now hes gotta kiss her right, cause she kinda made the first move? so he does, and she kisses back, which is good. step one- check! now for step two, the bedroom thing. so after a minute he just kind of gets up, and asks her, 'so wheres your bedroom?" and she looks at him kinda weird, and it strikes him how ballsy this question is, and he wonders where it came from. but she gets up too, and walks past him, and grabs his hand on the way by, and pulls him back to the bedroom. and he sees the pictures on the way by, the family pictures, full of folks he doesnt know mostly, but shes there too a couple times. and then there they are, but its not her room. 'this isnt your room' he tells her. its her parents room. wow, he figured itd be tougher to get her here. the parents room. step two- check! and she hops up on the bed. and he does too. and then hes not sure how it happened, but theyre both there and theyre both naked. odd how it happened, hes not quite sure. and then he remembers afterward, and how the awkwardness was back, but again he was unsure why. and he remembers she told him, 'you probably shouldnt stay. somebodyll be home pretty soon' and so he left, and walked back to the school, by himself this time, and called his parents for a ride. hed see her at school and hed talk to her, but still that awkwardness, and nobody noticed, because teenagers act like that, weird for no apparent reason. all on an unblustery may day. maybe.

ok so he really didnt have a snaggle tooth, he is just a complainer, the doctor says he does it for attention.

i am a sabre toothed tiger
with big fangs
and one snaggle sabre tooth.
okay, so the snaggle tooth
gets me teased by other tigers.
but my mama says it adds character.
i say it makes it hard to look fierce,
and without that, what good is a sabre toothed tiger.
plus its hard to rip shit to shreds,
and again, what are we tigers for
if not for ripping shit to shreds.
but at least ive got a lot of character,
at least according to mom,
and one big snaggle tooth.
grrrr.

my new ending, since apparently the whole three-leg thing isnt all that popular.

...and so we get back to the house, and i can take off my ninja mask and check out my horrible mashed hair and the kick ass red mark across my forehead from where i tied the shirt/ninja mask so tight. and im staring at these two things in the mirror when she calls me into the kitchen, where the puppers is sitting on top of the table, staring at us contently, ass still wagging despite the fact that its sitting down. 'what' i ask, secretly a bit peeved she made me leave the mirror. and she points, and i see that the little happy puppy is just peeing like a champ; this huge puddle is enveloping the whole table and is now like spilling down onto the floor too, but it looks so happy, the puppy, that who really has the heart to tell it to stop, or even be like kind of mad at it, so we both just watch the puddle get bigger for a minute. and then she turns to me, and gives me a great big sloppy kiss on the cheek, and looks at me with a great big goofy grin, and i just figure that all is right with the world, even if the kitchen table and floor are covered in this little puppy's puddle.

under cover of darkness we snuck off. roughly six doors down and around one corner, the pile of puppies played in their pen. wed see them swating each other with little paws in the afternoon, hear them whimper late at night. at last we had had enough. it was time to steal one and make it ours. so we dressed the part of course; midnight bandits set to quietly snatch our prize. i dressed in black from head to toe, all the better to sneak by. the head covering was a bit of a problem. i was going for the whole ninja mask thing with a t-shirt, you know, where your eyes look out through the neck hole, and the sleeves tie in the back of your head to keep the thing on, but i kept getting my head stuck in an arm-hole, and then of course i couldnt see anything and id almost fall over and have to take the whole damn thing of and start over again. but finally i got it right, and after admiring my handiwork in the mirror of a well lit bathroom, we headed out to creep and steal. she of course had on a similar outfit, but since mine was more exciting we need not go into detail on her attire. well, so anyhow, after taking that nice long gander at myself in the mirror, and flexing once or twice, to see if wearing black made me look buffer (it did) we headed out. a bit of a problem at first as i couldnt see a damn thing due to that whole light-to-dark transition and all, but so after standing in the dark for like 10 minutes i could at least make out vague shapes, and so down the street we headed. good shape for those first six doors. then of course came the corner, it too was fine for a moment, but then the car came and totally caught me off guard. so i was stuck, right in the high beams, half way between stand-there-and-hope-they-dont-see-you and run-like-hell-and-hide-you-jackass, so basically my arms up in running position, but me not moving, kind of like a deer in said headlights, and so the car like slows down and stares at me in my ninja getup, but keeps going at least. she was in the bushes hiding of course, cause shes smarter and quicker than i. but we did finally get to the fenced in yard where the little puppies were stationed. and i could see them, even in the low light, wagging the little tailless asses in anticipation of play time or something. and so i went to hop over the fence, you know, it wasnt too high, so i figured i could make it with a little hop with the hands on top of the fence. good idea, except for that whole foot-gets-caught-on-fence-top-and-so-i-plummet-to-the-ground-thing. i landed with a big 'oof', which concerned me for a minute as it was really a big 'OOF!' and was almost loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but apparently none did, as i saw no lights, and so everything was cool. so by this point im kind of battered and bruised, and sweating profusely, cause all this black shit in the summer is fucking hot, even if it is dark out, and im pretty sure theres suspicious people about, what with the car driving by and catchng me diddling myself and the loud 'oof' and all, so i just ups and grabs me a pupper, the first one around, who gives a little half bark as i lift and swing it towards her on the other side of the fence. she takes said pupper from me and immediately stars to make little baby puppy noises and cuddle with the thing, which i decide is a bit unnecessary at this point and i tell her so, at which point a rather sizeable dispute breaks out with name calling and overly loud 'sssshhhh'es and me about to panic cause dude the cops have got to be on the way by now, at which point it occurs to me how good i must still look in the ninja suit, and so i kind of smile to myself as she cntinues to let me have it, which would really make her mad, me smiling, but which she cant see cause of the whole ninja mask, which makes me smile more, cause seriously how brilliant was that. well so finally i apologize like forty times and she succumbs to my whimpered pleas to please lets get the hell out of here, and we make of down the street again, this time with puppy in tow, and now no cars to light me up unannounced, which is good. and so we get back to the house, and i can take off my ninja mask and check out my horrible mashed hair and the kick ass red mark across my forehead from where i tied the shirt/ninja mask so tight. and im staring at these two things in the mirror when she calls me into the kitchen, where the puppers is sitting on top of the table, staring at us contently, ass still wagging despite the fact that its sitting down. 'what' i ask, secretly a bit peeved she made me leave the mirror. and she points, and i see that the little happy puppy has only three legs. so we named him tripod, like everybody else with a three legged pet does, and he now lives in the back yard. his ass still wags a lot.

she came bursting out of the front door at a run, both hands over her face, but tears streaming out around them anyway. she was mad, more mad then anything else, she knew better than to be crying because she was sad. she didnt get sad anymore, not over him. been there, done that, it had never made her feel any better. but she was mad. fuckin pissed was more like it. she had hung up on him, and he had come over anyhow, in an attempt to be sweet and clear his name she guessed. she wasnt having it. she tried telling him to leave. he didnt listen. he never did. he was one of those 'bitch dont tell me what to do' types. she didnt know why she was still with him. she was pretty sure she didnt even like him anymore. he was more frustrating than anything else. but something wouldnt let her leave. was that love? not being able to leave. or was she just a coward? scared to be alone. she hated him now. didnt want to see him ever again. he had fucked up. so she ran. she was halfway down the street now, slowing some. her hands were off her face now, except when she wiped tears. she heard him coming now, heard the truck backing out, a slight screech of the tires. what the fuck was he thinking? hung up on, and run out on, and still hes gonna fucking follow her. she kept running. she was really pissed off now. shed fucking show him. she ran faster though, hoping to maybe just get far enough away to avoid it altogether. but she knew that wouldnt work, she could hear his truck speeding her way. fucking bastard. fucking stupid bastard. goddamn cant listen to a fucking thing. thats why this relationship is in the toilet to begin with. stupid stubborn mother fucker. here it came, his truck, f-250, big fat fucking tires, and one ugly fucking bedliner, toolbox too. and here it came, almost beside her, and she could see his head hanging a bit out the window as she turned her head back his way. she could her him screaming at her as he caught up. he was pissed too, screaming 'fuck you you crazy bitch' and the like. he was gonna speed on by, cursing her as he went. and then hed call back in like an hour and a half and apologize. well fuck that. so she turned, and flung herself in front of the truck. he saw too late, but he couldnt have stopped anyway, thats how she planned it. hell be fucking sorry now dammit. fuck an hour and a half.

i came;
i saw;
then i turned around and ran like hell cause what i saw scared the shit out of me.

he used to sit up at night and watch across the valley to see where the lightning struck. but only on stormy nights. when there was good lightning. otherwise hed sit in bed and listen to the thunder, curling himself up in the comforter, trying to feel himself in the rumble. in the mornings hed head out across the valley, and up the hills on the other side. hed hop out of his little truck, the one with all the dents, and no tailgate, and two busted out taillights. hed hop out and inspect the hill, looking for any sign of the lightning bolts that looked so violent the night before. hed find things every so often, maybe a burned out bush or two, sometimes a shitty little tree with its trunk split wide open. hed stare at the charred remains for a moment or two, sometimes taking a couple of pictures, then hed hop back into the front seat of that tattered blue pickup, and hes just sit. hed sit there and look back out across that valley to where his house ought to be. hed think of the lightning, wonder why it never seemed to come to his side of the valley. hed think of the rain, where the fuck was it. he could always see it in sheets from miles away, but it never seemed to get to his house. thered just be the rumble and sheets of lightning, never bolts. he was upset with the storms. why couldnt they pay him some fucking attention. but he never said anything up on that hill. hed just sit for a while, then crank that truck up, sometimes more than once, stubborn piece of shit, and roll it back down the hill. he tacked the pictures of bushes and trees to an old cork board in the kitchen. hed pray in front of that cork board every night, then hed go lie down in bed, and hope to hear the rumble.

more fiction.

i think this is a story worth telling. this is how she left me. i dont remember what the weather was like, christ who remembers shit like that really. it was probably cold, it was in the winter after all, but fuck, maybe it was one of those 70 degree days. not important though right? so anyhow, she called me, and gave me that 'i think we should talk' shit, that shit that makes you tense all up, like either 'oh shit, what did i do and how did she find out,' or 'what did she do, and do i really wanna know.' she said shed be over. so i hung up and waited. i tried for a while to convince myself shit was all good right, but of course with that whole tense feeling and all in my midsection, i couldnt just sit there right, so i paced. not back and forth like in a shitty cartoon or some shit, but id go to the bedroom, look around for something, never sure exactly what, and it wouldnt be there, so id try the kitchen, then the living room, then the bedroom again, but always pacing you know, trying not to think about whatever the fuck she was gonna tell me. but it didnt work see, i couldnt get my fucking mind off the shit, and so im just all wound up and dreading everything by the time she gets here, and the doorbell rings, and like i wanna panic, but thats a shitty idea, so i guess ill go answer it right, but even with my hand on the knob i think about like what would happen if i opened it and just like took off past her as she said 'hi' and ran like a mother fucker, like forrest gump dude, just took off and didnt come back til i got hungry. but that idea sucks too. so i open the door, and there she is, and i dont know why, but im surprised, and im sure she sees it, or senses it at least, cause then she gets all weird too, or maybe she was weird anyhow, and shes worried about whether im picking up on it or not, and so anyhow theres this whole weird vibe when i open the door, and i want to just slam it shut, and i even start to shut it i think, but she puts her hand out and stops me and says 'hi' like i knew she would. so we go sit down, and i turn the tv off, and she kind of looks at me wierd too, like 'you never turn the tv off, whats that all about,' but i leave it off and try to smile at her. it comes out all wrong and i can tell now that shes flustered too so i guess now ive gotta speak, right, so i sort of stammer, 'so whatd you wanna talk about?' and so she takes a second and says to me, 'theres somebody else.' just like that. what the fuck is that? so i kind of look at her right and all i can think to say is, 'for who, you?' and shes confused and nods, and i just sit there. just fucking sit there. just sit there. and this is seriously whats going through my head- 'dude, youre just fucking sitting here. dont just sit here.' and she says, 'well...' well fucking what?! 'well fucking what?! what the fuck am i supposed to say to that? uh, good for you. congratufuckinglations. what the fuck?' what the fuck. so i just sat there. she got up and left after about five minutes of me just fucking sitting there. after twenty-five or so i turned the tv back on. and thats pretty much how it went. like i said, it was winter and all. not a whole lot one can do about these things. so that was four days ago and ive been drinking alot. tomorrow i buy a gun.

wild bill wasnt really that wild
he rode a broomstick
with one of those fake
horses heads attached
and a string to hold onto
he even made the sounds himself
neigh, whinny, neigh

so ive always wondered
what do aligators think about
and so i asked one day
not an aligator of course
cause i cant talk to them
but this dude i know
who is all about aligators and shit
and he told me this;
aligators are complex beings
they sit all day and stare for prey
but they yearn for things too
like a warm dry towel
and food they dont have to kill themselves
and you wouldnt believe it
(and i didnt)
but they have little aligator dreams too
little aligators are just like
little kids, says he
they all wanna grow up and be firemen
they all want ponies
on christmas morn'
and they all wanna be
just like papa gator
who aint as mean as he seems to you
and me

so i drive
on the way to the video store
listening to kick ass funk
like the gap band
or early commodores
or the ohio players
you know
kick ass shit
on the way to the video store
pounding the steering wheel to the beat of the bass
singing out loud
veering into other lanes
with the windows down
and the ac on anyway
with the trunk stuck shut
and one tail-light out
all the way to the video store

they dont have the movie i want to see
but its okay
cause i got my funk
and its got me
on the way home

unlike you dear friend
i have important people
who owe me money

this site will soon be all haikus.

she said, 'give it time';
i said she could sit on a
fucking pineapple.

another haiku masterpiece from yours truly, lord pork chop.

a haiku.

things take time, he says.
what things, asks the girl, nineteen.
big things, like this one.

and another.

the pig is cold, oinks.
the cow too is cold, and moos.
i'm cold quietly.

no more haikus today. tomorrow perhaps.

this is fiction.

they sat in the back of the theater of course, cause nobody turns around in the movie theater, so the only time they had to worry about being seen was when some fuck with a bladder the size of a ping pong ball had to get up to pee. they sat there watching that trivia shit for a while, waiting for the movie to start. then the lights dimmed a bit, and the previews started. well, first there was that roller coaster shit, where you roll past popping popcorn and cups of coke so cold they sweat, but then the previews. her hand slid over, but he slapped it away, it wasnt all the way dark yet, there was still that little bit of light, which stayed on til the actual movie started, and he wasnt gonna be comfortable til that last fucking light went out. plus, it was kind of like the mile high club; you know, it doesnt really count if the plane aint off the ground. so he made her wait. she sat there kind of half patiently, sipping out of his gigantic coke, the one that cost $3.50; he sat there eating his $2 junior mints. he had the condom in his pocket, and reached in there just to make sure. the preview was showing a car chase, then a boat blowing the fuck up, a dude with a parachute; james bond type shit. she was sulking now, and every once in a while touching his leg, trying to creep her hand up his thigh. he kept slapping it away, giving her dirty looks, which he was sure she'd see, even in the dark theater. he was glad this theater was one of the ones with the armrests on the seats that moved, the ones you could put up out of the way; you could lay down if you wanted to. he looked around, no one else on the row. good. she was touching his leg again. christ, fine, he'd let her this time. he took a junior mint out of the box, threw it at some dude four rows up, missed by a hair. dude turned anyhow. he pretended he didnt know anything about it. dude turned back around. she was unzipping his shorts now. the little dull light was still on. fuck, how fucking long were these previews; a horror movie now. unzipped, it was out. she was laughing quietly. not at it he thought, at the situation, its a fucking movie theater for christs sake. he'd only known her for what, three weeks, and they were about to fuck in a movie theater. she was hot though, so that was good. what the fuck was gonna happen if they got caught. holy shit, thats her mouth. the little light went off. feature presentation.

this is my new blogger. you may all post. though i have decided it will remain literary in scope. poems, short stories, brilliant original quotes (forgiveness is for fools, get the fuck out of my house), and the like. simply email your good friend lord pork chop at magicnumber12@yahoo.com you shall be connected with permanent access, until you fuck up, at which time i will revoke your access until you prove you can be trusted again. that is all. begin here.