J. M. Berrie
is the greatest
horror playwright
in history

because
he wrote
the truth.

Neverland
is a dream.

And I just woke up

Personification
of emotion
and complex ideas
is a really
clichéd practice

but,
Karma really is a
*****.

During the night of late October
Children rule the streets.
They form in mobs and knock on doors
demanding tricks and treats.

One such mob of ghosts and ghouls
was led by Johnny Smith
and what they did that Hallow's Eve
are things you hear in myth.

They ran the streets with iron fists
and toilet paper too.
They also had ten dozen eggs
I swear to you it's true!

The night began with simple pranks
of toilet paper rain
but Johnny Smith was far from done
he had only just began.

Legend says his eyes glowed red
at the stroke of midnight
and he transformed from little boy
to demon on that night.

Now, what happend on Hallow's Eve
in 1992
in the town of Madison
is absolutely true.

How it happened, there is debate
but the story goes:
that Johnny Smith and his mob
broke into Farmer Joe's.

Farmer Joe had lots of money
and was a bitter man.
He'd spend his days on his porch
yelling to leave his land.

Johnny and gang crept up the stairs
to where poor Joe was snoring.
They quickly tied him to his bed
So they could start exploring.

They searched the house top to bottom
trying to find his money.
But all they found were stupid pictures
Johnny wasn't happy.

He went outside to Joe's tool shed
and brought back gasoline.
They poured it around poor Joe's bed
and lit a magazine.

Poor Joe's house went up completely
with Joe still strapped to bed.
The gang ran out very quickly
seeking shelter in the shed.

It is said that too this day
Joe walks around his land
making sure no one comes back
and sets a fire again.

A woman
waits in line behind two kids
at the corner
7/11.

She watches them
take their candy,
get on their bikes,
and ride away.

She sets her Ramen
and antacids
on the counter

and half smiles
at the seventeen year-old
high school drop out.

Without making eye contact,
he tells her:
“$5.79”

She hands him the last
of her cash
with an apology.

As he opens the drawer,
she fumbles under her coat
and her trembling hand
pulls out the gun...

My sock
caught a snag
and a single thread
unraveled.

Without a thought,
I pulled the strand

And now,
I am left
with nothing
but a pile of cotton

I have a terrible habit
of dragging my feet.

One New Notification

A sudden vibration interrupts
Billie Joe Armstrong
just before the chorus
of Shenanigans' fourteenth track.

My Blackberry Pearl decided
to inform me
of one new notification
from Hotmail.

Annoyed, I hurriedly
scroll to the interference
to check what was such important
breaking news:

CNN Breaking News
--  U.S. Military launches missiles against Gadhafi's forces in Lybia ... *

With a slight grin,
I press *Resume Song
with a new appreciation
for Mike Dirnt.

Is it bad
to root for
Prospero

because he gave
you hopes
of conquering Death

and when he dies,
you still shiver
and check the time?

The Raven
is the most
misunderstood
creature in
literature.

He comes in the night
to give the truth
no matter
if you want to hear it.

It's in the air.

Perfect
revolution.

Swish.

The whole world
watches in anticipation
as this young team
topples the Autocrats
in thrilling fashion.

However, they are far from finished.

This is just
the first
of many opponents
they will face
in this tournament.

But tonight,
they are celebrating
in Cairo.

An abandoned mutt
sits under a flickering streetlight
in the blowing snow
of January.

His white fur
blends effortlessly
with the blizzard.

The glow
of his sad eyes
the only beacon
to alert his presence.

Like a lighthouse,
he sweeps his head
from left to right
as if calling
to the ocean
to return a lost lover.

Except the ships are cars
which pass by him
as ruthlessly as the waves
mocking the forlorn lover
as they wash nothing
on the beach.

I call to him.

His eyes dart
in my direction
and for a split second
the melancholy eyes
are hopeful.

Upon seeing my face,
however,
hope fades

and he returns
to sweeping
left to right

like a lighthouse
searching
for a lost lover.

Rumors are swirling
about what that little shepherd boy
is doing with those sheep
on the other side of the hill.

He has been watching that flock
for far too long
and no one has seen Old Jed
for quite some time.

He said he would come back
for his sheep,
but I have a sneaking suspicion
Old Jed is dead

and that little ******* shepherd
keeps all the wool
for himself.

I find it hard
to Master bate in public
with people looking.

He sits at Starbucks
because that's where he
is told he should be
to become somebody.

They say:
“All great thoughts hit
when they are expected;
while you sit with
pen and paper.”

So, he sits and
waits all day til,
overcome by languor,
he heads home.

The wind and rain are blinding
but the light is getting brighter.
He stops to write it down -
then it hits him.

The driver in the car
can't see either.

It is like
one of those
little toy dogs
that you don’t
notice
until it is too late

and you stumble
right over it.

I live vicariously
through anonymity.

The convex mirror
LCD flat-screen
deflates apprehension and
balloons confidence

I jump feet first
through the looking
glass slipper; which
will turn to pumpkin
just before dawn.

I am not Cinderella.

I am just another
Guy Fawkes impersonator
with “V” tattooed
on my heart-strings.

Just another harbinger
like the Plutonian bird
perched upon a pallid bust

sent to whisper:
“nevermore”

Around the corner,
a blast of blue
comes screaming
just outside the coffee house.

A small boy,
no more than five,
is a beaming
chocolate goatee
from the local ice-cream parlor.

A woman chases him
with the exasperated look
of a mother on a date
with her son
.

Her eyes still red
from her four hours
of sleep,
but her smile:
as big as her son’s.

She catches him as he stops
at the smell
of fresh chocolate chip cookies
emanating from the coffee house.

Her motion is quick
and calculated
as she turns him around,
zips his jacket,
& kisses his forehead.

She takes his hand
and they are off.

I assume they live happily
ever after.

I found myself shackled to my seat
from the opening.

They transported me;
Took me to a place
I had never been
and never expected to go.

The opening act was shocking.
I know that I wasn't the only one
because I saw others shocked too.

Between scenes, we were in total darkness,
Forced to listen to Lady Gaga
and the National Anthem.

There were no concessions.

The second act stole my breath.
It felt like drowning
except I wasn't.

I really wanted something to eat though.
It was like torture, but not really.

It was an extraordinary rendition
of the United States.

It’s hard
to concentrate
when the hum
of incandescent
lightbulbs
grows louder
and the pure
white screen
in front of you
becomes brighter
after an hour
of sitting
stuck
in writer’s block.