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He sent sensitive
documents to a stranger
thinking it was me.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
No one waters them.
Tiny cells plead, but TV
seems more important.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.
Vegans, stay away,
lest your firm resolve melt from
tender smoked brisket.
Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.
We all complain there’s
no place to plug in. One by
one, our laptops die.
Haiku, like bonsai,
needs care and pruning. A mind
unfocused kills both.
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
While I throw pennies
into a coin jar, Bear Stearns
gets a big bailout.
When a righteous man
is caught with his pants down, it’s
likely he’ll get spanked.
posted to my Twitter account
I need sleep, but I * need to work but I need sleep * to work can’t think straight.
Heating system dust -
particles of previous
occupants’ lives, selves.
From an estate sale -
pendulum clock. Westminster
chimes now count my days.
Like a hick I tilt my
head to see the top and
ponder tossed pennies.
Flushing Meadows Park
once a site of hope. There, a
globe pledged future peace.
On a cluttered Queens
balcony he stands, watching
the complex decay.
‘Beware!’ Caesar was
told. Like teens in horror films
he didn’t listen.
J9 can’t sleep since
her mother died stays up and
writes heartache in tears.
We drive to where his
girlfriend’s dad says the haunted
tunnel is. We freak.
Midnight ghosthunting
at a tragic landmark seems
like a cool idea
The Director’s Cut
in her hands M reads snuggled
with her Uglydoll.
Luminous suitor,
the moon dimmed by darkness’s
seductive regard.
After the illness
taste dulls on the tongue, food just
fuel to run this husk.
Reality makes
me sick. Going through laugh track
cop show withdrawal.
He had a dream but
his murder was our nightmare.
It’s time to wake up.
Bloody mess of a
play that has you laughing at
clots of gore and death.
I stop posting in
the blogosphere. No one reads
me. Do I exist?
She PhotoShops her
self covered with blood spatters
loves puppies, is sweet.
Sleep gently takes you,
like the lethal injection
you cannot resist.
If you had to pick,
what sense would you sacrifice?
Impossible choice.
Sad orphans ripped from
the forest stretch out their limbs
pleading, ‘Take *me* home.”
Urban mall jungle.
Shoppers prowl for deals, fangs bared,
credit cards dripping.
“She hurt my daughter,
so I wanted to hurt her.
Can’t you understand?“
Viriconium,
Gormenghast, Majipoor. Dark
journeys. Twisted dreams.
Fever like a sun
burn - every surface blazing -
yet chilled to the core.
A blowtorch melting
a block of ice from within,
pain made transparent.
Heavy blanket weighs
you down, yet cocoons you. Why
bother to crawl out?
A-Depp-t cult classic
fairy tale, gothic icon
all rolled into one.
I scratch itchy skin,
thinking of lepers losing
pieces of themselves.
We longed for The Mist
and 1408 like kids
dreaming of Christmas.
They saw a film on
how poultry is killed. They cluck
as I eat hot wings.
Busyness is best
to occupy, medicate
you. Endings are hard.
You’ll never again
feel pain, joy both at once. Be
so at odds with life.
Trees have never held
leaves as late as November.
Frost was wrong. Gold stays.
When we run out of
batteries, we sacrifice
the TV remote.
Thanksgiving creeps up
fast, like a turkey farmer
wielding a sharp axe.
Brought in the ficus
tree. Fallen leaves fly about.
Wind whispers, “snowfall.”
I forgot to bring
the jade plant inside. One
by one its fat leaves fall.
Sadako folded
a thousand paper cranes and
hoped for miracles.
My daughter asks why
I hate Paul Tibbets. He was
just doing his job.