This procurer of underage tail
made the Post, and then later, the Mail  
Let us sing our refrain
for recruiter Ghislaine:
we would like her detained without bail.

While her In-N-Out burger went cold,
Madame Maxwell was looking quite old.
Let her smile for the Times;
and then pay for her crimes
after all of her secrets are told.

depression is like
a house on fire

and my life is the house
and the depression is the fire

all my time is put into taming the
fire, and
sometimes i catch on fire

sometimes i just sit and watch it
as it dismantles my
home

and sends sparks up into
the air.

A child named Michel
plays in the middle of the street
He cuts my childhood in two
Lined by identical brown cottages.
Michel is now unlucky,
Sitting in a body bag
In a basement
Blood still pumping from his
Surgical defibrillator
Now Michel will live forever
Perhaps until the flying cars and until pigs make
Their vertical descent to both heaven and hell.
Now the house is a quiet house,
I only realize how loud Michel was,
Once he stopped altogether.
His parents sleep heavy,
Like their lives are over,
They are dead, dead, dead inside.
And so I smell the death
Which perfumes their shared residence,
In my guilty conscience,
I am glad that Michel is where he belongs.
Dead.
Michels parents preferred a way of life,
Where you just know that Michel had to know
his chance at death were plenty.
Michels parents took him up to the attic,
Where Michels father would **** him,
And mom would take pictures
Watching quietly.
I know this because our windows are parallel,
Because I saw Michel
Pale face across the middle of the floor,
Pleading, why won’t they **** me?

America’s presidents: well deserved

(recall that cowboy Hollywood actor?)

React in vain while your meltdown is served:

let it glow—like a nuclear reactor.

Energy freed: progressively conserved,

in Uranium for all who backed her—

though some who bought it may become unnerved

and see her as less than a benefactor.

That fat singer
Is getting
A divorce.

Not surprised,
She's the size
Of a horse.

Not interested
In who
She screws

Just wish the BBC
Would report
Some news.

I never have to check my phone and so I watch the candleflame dance
Fingertips grow numb to the soulless rocks glass
My cigarette whispers secrets to a callous night
And I think my cat died
I’d check but I can’t take another hit tonight
Unless it’s off a pipe
She’ll still be dead in the morning
Silence hangs about like an ugly hotel painting that’s been inexplicably bolted to the wall
If I were to put a **** out on my chest to punish every thought I had of you
I’d spell out your name
A thousand times

Al Shabab having terrorist fits
while Nairobi is taking the hits.
An attack calculated
by gunmen, frustrated
for lack of Somalian *****...