Komodo Rats

KOMODO RATS

My stomach is cramping up,
suggesting I not go on this fool’s voyage.
My legs are all wiggly
and I’ve got pins and needless
making each inch an ache
but
my dick is leading this charge
and, apparently,
we march on his orders.
I am going to Jillian’s.

My calves stab.
My skull is screaming at me:
“Don’t go!
The trip is agony;
just imagine the arrival!”
My heart is working overtime
recalling Jillian’s last visit.
It skips, occasionally,
anticipating an attack
by Komodo rats
or whatever else Jill has in store.
This trip hurts
but I’m heading there,
dick first,
no matter what.

My eyes flash
imaginig what they may see.
My arms are numb.
This path is killing me;
I may break before I get there
and if I don’t,
I know I’m certain to fall
on the long walk home.

Plus Enforced

PLUS ENFORCED

I think what I like best
is your level of engagement.
The degree to which
you listen to others,
pay attention
to their unique avenues of expression,
and then respond in kind,
that’s the kind of thing everyone should do
but, in fact,
is only enacted
by the precious few.

So good for you.
Keep on keeping on:
Pay attention.
Be respectful.
Care about others around you.
It will pay dividends,
this thing you do.

Stay good.

Ing Prophecy

ING PROPHECY

There’s a song I’m gonna write next week
about heart break
and betrayal
and bad women
on dangerous days.

I’m gonna tell a tale
that will crush weak souls
but encourage the strong,
warning them against the pitfalls
of love
and all the damage it can do.

I have a million ideas
about a trillion scenarios
I’ll be put through
by you.
A million ideas
I am prepared to act on
- none of them any good.

I will begin the writing
next week
the very minute after,
I’m sure,
you choose to cross me.

Sweet Snaps

SWEET SNAPS

So exciting,
and inviting.
So inciting…
Only three snaps on her shirt are in place
leaving
much room
for imagination.

It is so easy
to envision
undoing those three sacred snaps
allowing free reign
to what lies beneath.

It will take so little:
a simple introduction
and then invitation
for further exploration.

The access? Easy.
She is asking for invasion,
requesting insertion
of my digitation
into her private places.
External presence
is her expectation,
I suspect.

She has left such shiny signposts,
blinkered hazards,
pointing the way
to treasure
soon uncovered
for the intrepid to explore.

Battle to the Bottom

BATTLE TO THE BOTTOM

Oh, that witty McSweeney’s!
In their recent article,
they poke fun of
indierock lofi titans
GBV
by comparing them to Al Queda!
How droll.
How shocking.
The underground publication
takes on the underground sensation
in what will no doubt be
a battle to the bottom rung
of civilization.

I am shocked
and intrigued
and adjacent to the action.
And I worry
what other behemoths
will Hipster America take on next?
Will American Apparel
get their comeuppance?
Will Billy Joel?

Who dares to challenge this monster
called McSweeney’s
from attacking its many enemies
and who,
pray,
will be mighty enough
to stop them?

Night’s Innocence

NIGHT’S INNOCENCE

“I trust you,”
he said,
the last time I saw him.
“I know you’ll do the right thing.”

“I believe in you, kid,”
he said, serious
sweet
sincere.
He meant every word,
few as they were.

He’d taken me in
for the subsidy
but I stuck around
because of that sincerity.
We lived in spartan conditions
and he spoke laconically
but said the things
I needed to hear.

He was the closest to a dad
the nearest to a friend.
He was what I had
when I had so little
and he had faith in me.

“I trust you,”
he said, before going to bed
and I robbed him blind.
I wonder if he’d be proud of me
today.

All the Symptoms

ALL THE SYMPTOMS

The headaches are going away.
The sleeplessness?
It’s wearing off.
All the symptoms:
the lack of appetite
the shortness of breath
the incessant sighing
are each diminishing
- slowly
yet steadily.

New patterns are dying
and old ones are reemerging.
As time goes on
and memories fade,
I am getting better,
healthier.
Maybe stronger.

Each day
puts me closer
and closer
to where I was
before it all began
and I got sick
with this common ailment.

Each day
brings me closer
to the start point
where I will dare
to again
catch it.

Retro

RETRO

That poem I wrote you
last month
about how your eyes
were pools of heaven?
Scratch that.
Forget it was ever written.
I meant something else entirely.
I rewrote the poem
and now your eyes are described as caverns
into something deep
and dark
and dangerous.

And the card I got you
the other day
with the two penguins walking away
into the cool tundra?
I’d like you to re-imagine it, please,
as if the penguins were walking away
from each other.

The things I said
in confidence
have now been unsaid.
The secrets I swore
I had never told another soul?
That’s because
as of now
they’ve been made untrue.

Believe nothing I told you.
I have edited the history
that we once shared.
As of now,
everything we were
is gone.
Everything we could have been
is erased.
You have become nothing to me
while I am simply nothing.

Life as we Know It

LIFE AS WE KNOW IT

I suspect that I may never sleep again.

The howls of suffering
the screams for relief
throughout the night
leave me little hope for the future.

I beg my wife to quiet down,
fearing it will only anger him
but she glares
and whimpers,
“when will he STOP?”

I do not know.
I cannot imagine
a life without his constant abuse
anymore.
Everything is about his needs
and desires
and there is little we can do
but attempt
to appease him.

It fails.
Most of the time,
there is nothing we can do
to please him
and we are left
alone, together,
quietly begging for death,
or a visit from the nanny.

Simply Heads

SIMPLY HEADS

In the dream
I was climbing to heaven
not flying
nor rising
but something more prosaic
and quicker.

While everyone around me was
slowly
willfully levitating their way
to the next level
I simply took the next step
on the stairs.

I got to the top faster than most
then rested prone in my lawn chair
waiting to greet my peers
in paradise.
When they arrived,
first simply heads
then torsos
then complete souls,
they had little time for me,
so excited were they,
ebullient over their effort
to reach such great heights.

There was drinking and dancing
and prancing and jumping
in the jungle
- did I mention it was a jungle?
Turns out the afterlife is a jungle -
a genuinely joyous rapture
in the final state.

I didn’t feel it
the way they all did.
Something about my strategy separated me
from the army of ecstasy.
I watched as everyone enjoyed
while I lay back,
restless in the evening’s afterlife.

I woke up sweaty
nauseous
anxious over what I done
Maybe I shouldn’t have
put that chili on my eggs.