Nipped In The Bud: Almost Divine Retribution

 

That bitch of a muse doesn’t give a shit 

If you don’t know where you’re going 

With the poem you’re working on; 

 

She just wants to know where 

That shitty poem came from, so 

She can strike you dumb to the core 

 

Before you make an ass 

Of yourself again. 

 

 

 

 

In Memoriam

 

Patchwork footprints 

 

Belonging to those 

Out of the way 

 

Spirits who breathed 

In small pied patches 

 

Of an everyday world 

In tatters 

 

And left swirling, 

Swaths of uniform black 

 

Holes scattering the slightest 

Distance behind them, 

 

Mere light years away. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stillborn Breakfast At The Milk And Honey House

 

And they will come punctually, 

Those dumb, flimsy fly-by-night 

Nest-building mourning doves, 

 

Yet still smartly refreshing 

As the first spring showers, 

And will start melodically 

 

Cooing into our groggy ears 

From the rafters outside 

Our bedroom balcony, nesting 

 

Their fragile eggs and keeping 

A futile eye out for the first signs 

Of any crowing poachers already 

 

On standby, strung out 

On nearby telephone lines, waiting 

To punch the clock and smash 

 

The tender shells of those 

Never-to-be fledgling pilots before 

They are able to sense whatever 

 

Just hit them. 

 

 

 

Tsundoku For The Quasi Insensitive

Whenever you feel 

Your heart doesn’t 

Look at all 

 

Like an open book, 

Take one up by chance, 

Then take another 

 

Closer look. 

 

 

 

 

 

Narcissistic Alter Ego Syndrome

 

The more 

I thought of it, the more 

I wanted it, so 

 

Much in fact it became 

An obsession without end, how 

To explain it perfectly, naturally

 

To no end.