Booby Trap

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

she drove the
309 expressway,
stockpiling bloody road-kill
into her station wagon
until it was full of
dead meat and
whirring flies.
then, she floated
her black dress and
long tar hair to a
moist 3 a.m. backyard.
that’s when we coasted
by with headlights on
her shovel hurling
stony dirt,
giving a proper burial
for mashed animals,
unable to roam free
without the risk
of man’s booby trap:
an asphalt snake
winding throughout the
countries.

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Road Hogs’ Procession

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

yield at the driveway’s end and enter the road as two blurred
headlights…grip the wheel…steer your days through the road hogs’
procession that’s out to get you and me…

no mother can soothe this nightmare…not even the police can save you…they can only pull you from the metal flesh mangle as a heap of smoky screams…better strap yourself in extra tight…20/20 vision won’t save you from blindside sideswipes…

here comes chew spittin’ caffeine buzzed 16-wheelin’ Manny spinning the traffic light gamble…he hits the green light and wins…

there’s an adolescent with his Daddy’s car, weaving a drunk stitch in and out of the double yellow lines…honk all you want; he can’t hear you…nothing can penetrate his frequency buzz…

Mother Nature seems to have slicked the tar with ice today and the DJ says a pitter patter windshield smear is on the way…cleansing the Earth and freezing the moment, she’s queen of street intervals…she owns your tires…

high beams suddenly expose a large orange triangular reflector…i trail these Amish and their dung dropping horses hauling rickety black caravans…better pass this religious circus…

now side by side a squirming horned-up fellow at a long red light…his left hand on the wheel, his right hand’s unzipping a passenger seated girl’s tight denim package…don’t let her face stroke you into a head on collision to God just yet, fella…

at all costs, avoid cars crammed with teeny bopper squeals, whirling their hair in a swear that they saw a rock star through tinted SUV glass…brake lights pumping and blinking for help, lost in their own township…

a fast food employee owns the road just as much as a wealthy country club member…no barbed wire or guard dogs can protect you now, old man…

spirits linger in the mirage, hovering over roadkill…i see them in the left nook of my eye along the Exit 26 crescent ramp home…

destination “get out safe” for all…

i bury the key in my pocket until it need be revived again…

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Wanted: Caddy

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

are you a flesh robot of flawless data,
void of emotions and a name?
able to haul immense bags and
see through clusters of trees?
good at reading the curvature
of man-made Earth
and configuring
wind direction and speed?
benefits include opportunity to
trample through poison ivy and
walk in a polluted creek.
are you able to dispense saliva
to clean grooves of
sand wedges and ball dimples?
can you determine precise yardage
to the pin and tell a novice
how hard to hit a 9-iron?
extra bonus rendered if
willing to take the blame
for 28+ handicappers…
are you able to hold in laughter
for watching old men pay thousands in fees
to incorrectly swing clubs?
are you able to get the final laugh?
free hotdogs & pretzels at halfway house:
a daily special if you can eat in
two minutes flat.

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Drifting

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

i puff on the cigar
and slowly cremate myself
with tangy tobacco.
ashes plunging to the pavement
will be my own someday.
so, roll me in a Havana, baby.
let’s breath in each other’s
cinder of yesterday’s picnic,
for tomorrow will be no
red and white checkered tablecloth
on trimmed grass.
walk along with me.
let’s watch the soundless gliders,
up with the cumulus and the falcons.
see them trying to escape it all,
dipping down solely when needed.
only if we could unite
with the exhaled smoke
and drift away
from this college fluster
that is turning us into
paper weights,
holding each other
down.

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Multi

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

look what they’ve done to you…
too much multi-tasking…
you can’t even sit still for a minute’s time
without wondering what to do next.

the ones you dig always run…
you get to enjoy them for a season or two…
you briefly taste the life
that you have always wanted to.

a statistic waiting to occur…
tractor trailers sway by on I-95…
they cut you off as you glance at
what the billboards advertise.

you went from holy to acting phony.
you don’t even know me.
and now i’m sitting here
thinking of writing your check.

friends were right all along.
i should have used that insight
and smashed the gong.
but now i’m sitting here
thinking of writing your check.

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Reprogramma

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

put down your magnifying glass.
let go of your stethescope.
break in half your journal entry pen.
disconnect the cable lines.

stretch out your limbs and keep
with the proper dosage.
yank out the plugs and see
as you drain the headache hostess.

you have never danced in this way.
a lost game piece finally played.
and it’s your turn to move.
do you wanna continue this?
do you wanna swap my disc?
chunky style and then smooth.

everything is cool now.
the mess has thinned out.
walking proud on vitamin stilts.
reprogrammed and enroute.

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Overwith

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

alright now…let’s do this.
let’s get…this overwith.
i felt…the click of your switch.

and i know…what’s to happen next.
’cause i read…the note you didn’t hide well.
so, which person are you going to be today?

floating…in your orbit.
gloating…forced to forfeit.
monday…seemed so perfect.

now i know…you’re just a great actress.
things you said…naked on your mattress.
it was bullshit…everything’s inverted.

so why did…you string me along?
interweaved…then dropped from your tongs.
you’re 22…maybe i’ve been wrong.

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Obituary Of A Bug

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

before i called it a night,
i spotted you on the
cinderblock wall.
you were larger than
a quarter.
therefore,
you were a threat to my life.
the previous
dinner conversation was
primarily about reincarnation.
i knew of some chick downtown
that collected insects,
but i didn’t have a cage to
put you in.
so, i picked up a magazine
with Green Day on the cover.
i didn’t like Green Day.
i rolled up the zine and
teased you.
“Come on, give me a challenge!”
you didn’t flinch an antenna.
“Well, i guess you want to die.”
i gave you a big swat.
you stuck against the wall
and then plunged onto my
white fluffy pillow.
“You fucker!” i hollered while
scraping your corpse off
with a men’s underwear ad.
your guts smelled like sour fruit.
i dumped your remains into a
trash can full of
candy wrappers and soda cans.
the next day, the janitor
took the trash and you
to the dumpsite
outside of my window,
the window you entered
my room with.
three days later,
a gigantic truck woke me up
at 7:00 a.m.
with a metallic clatter.
i paid homage to you
while the truck
drove you out of town to
be buried with other bugs.
and when reincarnation
turns you into a burglar
and you sneak
into my room again,
i’ll hit you over the head again
and write another poem.

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Solar Eclipse

By admin | Published: August 30, 2009

1:30 p.m.
the solar eclipse dimmed
everything
so you didn’t have to squint,
so you could see
hair falling out of balding men
and blemishes on faces.
the solar eclipse brought
mystical truth and
the carnival to town.
a ouija board spelled out
my future wife.
tarot cards read my nature,
and a palm reader gave me
my death date.
life like a river of sweat,
slowly evaporating.
a cute woman from a
town of blue bells
chimed my head.
we picked at cotton candy
to the reggae band.
one life, no love.
put my money down
at the roulette wheel.
i’ve not long to go
before i die laughing.
oh, please, someone
turn the vibrant sun
back to normal.

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Hassled and Tassled

By admin | Published: August 8, 2009

getting interviews but no call-backs.
getting deja vu lovelorn thorwbacks.
jetting the party earlier than i should have.
and betting surely that i really could have.

blasting off in my trapezoid spaceship.
i’ve got a head full of Canadian Mist.
a red angel and a cajun sandwich.
off we go to fight off the cyst.

building up my heavy nerves.
head straight on, no curves.
tassled in my favorite songs.
the force grabs me with its tongs.

immortal we trod as our own gods,
through the corporate covered skies.
the monitors are melting my eyes,
and Lucifer, he’s on extension five.

i am online and then i’m offline,
trying to stay on some kind’ve fine line.
waiting for the Lord to tap your shoulder.
filing you away in my folder.

if you suddenly change your mind.
invert yourself and hit rewind.

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