breaking ice in my mineral water
lime spritzing the air and
dripping down my fingertips
as i twist it and sip its tang
hot sunlight radiating on my
body until the sweat glistens
at even the slightest movement
the rustle of well-worn pages
his sharp Adam's apple
rolls ever so slightly with a swallow
of the sparkling glass
the bubbles, like tiny diamonds
the hiss of the sprinkler next door
and the squealing chortles
of the neighbor kids running in it
chocolate melting on my tongue
chair squeaking when I recline

Happy is as happy does, but
I'm thankful happy's mine.

writing with a broken pencil
how pointless
when the only connection I had on Valentine's
was wi-fi
and don't the vultures in this airport know
only one carrion allowed?
and no fresh fruit - so no pairs.

it's terrible, I know
but puns are my coping device
and you [every bloke in my youth] should never have tried to juggle
when you had no *****
but you left
so I'm all right now

and I amused myself
with silly strings of homophony
until I found someone
whose puns are even worse
than me

because you can't take a joke
that doesn't belong to you

it's all mind.

dagger stilettos sever
the head off a clove cigarette
fallen from blushing plump lips
in a sharp, slightly stubbled face

so you hate him
because that's what we, humans,
do

golden ankles shine
from under a cloud of black
a flash of lightning blue in her gaze
intensity that frightens you

so you hate her
because that's what we, humans,
do

we spout that God is love
God is good
and perfect
and outside of time
not human

yet somehow
the Creator of countless suns
and sons
who shaped them in the womb
hates what he made

my bloodied, beautiful God
who made water into sweet red wine
who let ****** rub oil on his head
who creates, forgives, loves
does not despise anyone

humans do that

how convenient
to somehow believe it true that
God hates the same people
as you

I'm told foie gras will change my life.
That it's savory, exemplary
to die for.

Ironic.
Someone already did that.
A gavage in his throat...
plumped, fed,
suffocated by
his own fat
like an inflating noose
on an unwitting neck.

Ironic also that
his flesh inflates my girth
and feeds my gluttony.

"Stupid things...
don't even know they're dying."
Dying indeed.
A slow and painful death.
And how deserving of it, yes.
Stupid things.
Too stupid to recognize their plight.
After all, don't the stupid
deserve their fate?

Ironic how - to this day -
we still think we're so much
more evolved than
our forebears.

Evolution aside,
The Divine Rights of the Food Chain
still stand.

I do not understand it,
therefore it is less intelligent than I,
therefore I have the right to torture it.

I made it,
therefore it cannot live without me,
therefore I have the right to ruin it.

I own it,
therefore it is mine,
therefore I have the right to **** it.

Our strength grants us Divine Right, indeed.
May the kingdom prosper under our boots and be grateful, for
history has proven us such gracious and kind masters, after all.

Are we not?

SPRING
Like a bull, she charged the dandelion hill
Her child-sister a pack on her back, until
The braves swarmed from the wooded rill
She shouted to her comrades to lie still
Among the sweet grass and the dewy chill
Wild girl

SUMMER
She clutched the bark skin of Hawthorne trees
Skidding down, then pressing in her knees
Mop of chestnut hair blowing in the breeze
Which smell'd of hot soil and sweet peas
The sun above as close as she could please
Wild girl

AUTUMN
Page after page, her blackish eyes devoured
Tales of elves and warriors, from her tower
Where real-life through the faery-glass did sour
In presence of such phantasmal power
Of all the leather-bound leaves they flowered
Wild girl

WINTER
So it was, she crafted bricks of blue and red
Into cathedrals and creatures concocted in her head
Riled dragons to hear the tales they said
Climbed mountains others would not dare to tread
And did it all before momma called her to bed
Wild girl

I lost my marbles*
he cried, lingering
at the garden gate
hands in his pockets - what
a terrible thing to lose. I miss
him desperately from ten feet away. I wish
I could pluck star after star
and crush each between my fingertips
like a grape, dripping starlight
for him to lick
and shine behind his glazing eyes
and press the skins
into gems
for him to flick
with nimble wrist
like he did in our childhood
by the garden gate, where
we first met.