shane-hunt
American
Well... I attended Juilliard... I'm a graduate of the Harvard business school. I travel quite extensively. I lived through the Black Plague and had a pretty good time during that. I've seen the Exorcist about a hundred and sixty-seven times, and it keeps getting funnier every single time I see it... not to mention the fact that you're talking to a dead guy. Now, what do you think? Am I qualified?
I reflect upon our shared moments
much the way
an alcoholic
stares into an empty tumbler
realizing
he can't afford a refill...
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
The needle-tip,
a bee sting
giving rise to a hive.
A sickening delirium
coursing mercurial under eyelids,
tapeworms and tendrils
weaving wildly:
teeming, churning tides breaking over
greedy teeth (a needy mouth
flaying flesh ferociously,
a fevered wolverine
whipping through a petting zoo).
Each agonizing second
slowly sliding by,
tacky molasses on cloth
covering a table in an innocuous
American home
bruises on mother's face
fade (eggplant to jaundice
to the crimson of the setting sun
dying behind the horizon
line {chopped across a counter-top
like a broken promise...}).
All the lives we compromise
trying to cage a swarm.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
The grace of God was painted
on the canvass of your soft skin,
but you don't see it.
I try to touch it,
but you secret it away
like a scar,
or deformity.
I pray for strength,
but the devil propositions
where God charges admission...
no one knocks a free ride.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
Reflection
will distort this moment—
(an oasis
in the desert of memory)
the simple
wonder of the instant diminished
as gemstones
depreciated by display upon
a gold band.
Focus fades
in inching instants
(a shutter
slowly closing over a lens)
and we
imperceptibly surrender
clarity
to these evanescing essences of
youth and reminiscence.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 9:35 PM UTC
... ravening wolf's
blood-caked maw
explodes
plumes of condensation
to evidence exertion.
He guards his ****
with a dogged dread,
for I
am an
unfamiliar
predator.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
My eyes fly
to the swatch of sack-cloth
abandoned in a corner of the floor,
no doubt considered
for use in a patchwork at some point.
I wonder if it mourns
its shortcomings.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
A querulous cry
from my peckish feline
failed to rouse me from sleep:
thus,
teeth entangled in the meat of my palm,
this hideous beast
bucked conventional wisdom in
deciding to bite a hand
to prompt a feeding.
Concurrently
I am considering the adage
of there being more than one way
to skin a cat.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
She spilled lengthy prose,
believing words would
bandage her inadequacies.
Enrapt,
I tussled
loose threads
of her rhetoric
in a feeble attempt at intimacy–
not realizing
Andromeda would love anyone
who had pried her free from the rock.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
Millions of matchstick men
brought their hot heads
to an ocean of kerosene.
Who's to say who sparked the inferno,
when we all show scars
from standing over the flames?
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 6:29 PM UTC
You speak of salvation.
After the chaos I've caused,
my redemptive acts
merely clear a few stones
from the path of an avalanche.
What sort of deity
would deign to
sanctify me? Where is the sense
in granting forgiveness
when I still hold myself
accountable?
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC