inside my soup cup, a fly swims the backstroke,
dives from the spoon to my tongue and I choke
scream as the porcelain saucer tossed broke
and out from the waitress's eyes rises smoke
chef bombs me with eggs, curls drip yellow yolk
run as he yells slobbering ~ this cook may stroke.
a guy on a bicycle falls breaking a wheel spoke,
the busboy laughs at him - the man sees no joke
red bloodshot eyes rage - he ***** slaps the bloke
pile-drives and jabs with the three stooges poke.
dogs trailing cats chasing toads in a stereo croak
stop to mark the ground but the busboy they soak
standing as the hostess throws a bottle of coke
she pegs his forehead and ricocheted glass broke
seeing the ice for his lump I jump up - then spoke
of the green head flies in the cubes gag and choke
chaos erupts - a food fight hits and flying dishes broke
police cars roll, folks scatter and I duck behind an oak.
a play on 'what's that fly doing in my soup'
you eat up lines that she dishes
seeing steak on the plate of ****
the wine you shipped top shelf
but her caviar is just counterfeit
she painted pictures she flashed
with you as the star of every bit
whispering tales of the airplane
carrying you for heights two hit
an email and message paper trail
screams out a capitalized tissy fit
as the silk spiderweb knots break
and you sniffing the perfume of it
now people point fingers sharing
every ***** lil detail the ***** spit
sipping foam latte with a cigarette
tossing your reputation into a pit
get a belly full yet?
I don't like spiders and snakes but...
Steel verses steam water's strain
odes dissolve the waves to ship,
humanity barely buries the slain
in consciousness blood left drip.
Battles we enter as pathos seize
enemies seen with false minions,
warships hunt in distant degrees
as we battle currents of opinions.
Muse off upon sorties with guns
poetic rhymes left below to sink,
shattered bodies blood left runs
lives staring at foam in the drink.
Creativity of world will dwindle
as the sweep of sand and waves,
blasted back by a cordite spindle
where was that peace all craves?
caterpillars in cocoons
cling to tobacco leaves
chopped to fill cigarettes
...and a butterfly grieves
fried green caterpillars
go ahead strike a match
inhale the bug part fillers
exhale wings and flick the ash...
will an extinction of kaleidoscopes
be the aftermath?
many insects take residence in tobacco fields...
did you cook a cricket today?
dressed to mask this scowl
painted it bubblegum pink
poured my three finger shot
of 100 proof rotgut to drink,
no ice for a chaser required
as all my inhibitions shrink
naughtiness envelopes me
willpower slips off the brink
my sights set, the target you,
you shall be mine with a wink
in the armor that you sport
feel me slide passed a *****
craving the heat of naked flesh
races pulse, stimulation in sync
resistance is futile, ***** the rules
time to feel with no time to think
now to crush a pesky conscience...
chained to an aluminum pole
on the corner of nightmares
and broken daydreams,
salted weep rusts purple pillowcase
-eyelids swell sobbing
from hell's red pepper pavement
laughs echo and voices pierce the brain
like scorching fire bolts and
hot spasming muscles burn
darkness circles tossing shadows
as mumbled whimpers bounce off
naked walls covered in chipped paint
~ body shakes - limbs wrench.
cold chills trail fiery sweats
triggering goosebumps to parade
down my spine and skin
ache puddles as
pictures storm my brain
in black and white blinks
flashing places -not people
~ no smiling faces
hands round the clock face
every sweep ticks in stereo
marking body cramps-
trip off rooftop and
the building just stares
falling - sleep grips too tight,
whisper goodbye and not goodnight
stop the clock-tower chimes
ringing 'ding **** the ***** is dead'
to the beat inside my foggy head.
they say if you hit bottom in your dream... you died
tallying up her glass house hits
from rocks thrown in the past,
a gusted breeze jostles curtains
with the bone-chilling icy blast
like droplets from the falling rain
the shards all spill down shattered
from windowsills without a pane
the clear broken pieces lay scattered
along with breaking me into sharp-edged bits
you stomped every single thing that mattered
when it rains in open windows
and the doors slam, do bridges burn?