You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'oddball' category.
Directed at me
all day it follows me from
room to room in heat.
Expected to know
all the dishes, servers eat
the entire menu.
He tours in a case
like an aged Ken, “mint in box”
they’d say on eBay.
My weirdness is as
apparent in my kids as
streaks in a fake tan.
Like cows with their cud
we would chew constantly, and
then we’d all swallow.
not sure what’s so fun
about a day when we’re all
afraid we’ll get punk’d
When I stay up late
my thoughts move oddly like lab
mice stunted by drugs.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.
Spring ahead and lose
an hour. What I could have done
in that length of time…
“Read my poem? Please?”
In real life I’d get blank stares.
Here, you’re back for more.
‘Beware!’ Caesar was
told. Like teens in horror films
he didn’t listen.
What’s that mean? That spring’s
a dominatrix, whipping
March ’til it submits?
Secretive. Works for
the CIA. Won’t say where
it’s been for four years.
Like the extra hour
when we fall ahead, this one
day a trick in time.
He drank to excess
so why am I the one with
the splitting headacne?
What of those born on
the 29th, their birthday
once every four years?
Grey army trenchcoat
or lime green sixties jacket
J can pull off both.
The Director’s Cut
in her hands M reads snuggled
with her Uglydoll.
Ransacks the kitchen.
Demands she needs chocolate.
Pacified by Dove.
“Can’t I vote for a
Democrat?” Republican
guy asked. “Mine all suck.”
In a misguided
effort I peeled off half my
face and left the hair.
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?
With short hair he looks
like a grey human baby.
He’ll never talk back.
The more I write the
more I lose my hold on words
that speak without me.
My fingers talk my
eyes listen my head makes it
up my heart hungers.
Commute through fiber
optic cable to a home
built by words not deeds
Island band’s Christmas
tunes with a reggae twist our
dinner serenade.
She PhotoShops her
self covered with blood spatters
loves puppies, is sweet.
God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!