In comic books there are no panties
i can tell, because all the lines
are invisible, or go BLAM
or POW
Or SNNNNKKT.
In comic books there is no sex
I can tell, so much spandex
turns everybody off. because the imagination
needs to wonder.
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Freedom
Two frogs leap into a murky pond
legs push water behind them
they dive toward cool mud
rest & wait for the sun to set
They’re too big for the bass to eat
too small for the raccoon.
They find safety in the middle –
a grand compromise indeed.
Days go by, and by, the sun rises
the sun sets, they eat a thousand flies
The leaves start to orange on the sides
when the raccoon smiles,
two legs hanging out.
Writer’s Prompt #3: Resistence
- Write down three of your favorite things
- Write a story of a 13-year-old member of the opposite sex who obsessively needs and wants those three things, but must not (for whatever reason) have them.
- Repeat your first line at least 5 times. In context, allow it to shift meaning.
- You can not use the word obsess (or any varient)
For the Lady who lost her donkey
Though it might be crass to say you lost your ass
I’ll look askance and then take the chance
at your hurt and your vibrance and sass
in searching to help you find your equine whelp
i found an old monkey, a bigoted honkey
and a burbling bumbling half-zombie junkie
i found an old monkey, a bigoted honkey
and a burbling bumbling half-zombie junkie
still your fine ass, the head of its class,
was gone boozeless without any clues
so I took a pass, and for the sake of you lass
I ran to the museum only to see’em
of course he was there, brushing his hair
before a painting of a sweet mausoleum
he said, death is sweeter, and life more completer
if they go the long miles to bury you with style
and let you be the cool corpse of leisure
SO I smacked your ass, and said “Your kind lass
is waiting for your at home.” He took his comb
three strokes real quick, “Ok that did the trick
Now let’s head back for the lady. Though she drives me crazy
I’ve missed her all day.” And that was all your ass would say
til he was in your arms again. the rest of the story is hazy.
Explaining who we are to a dear friend
Imagine a perfect glass floor.
Imagine an endless supply of marbles.
Imagine that the floor is endless.
Imagine that one marble falls from nowhere and lands somewhere on the floor.
When it hits, it strikes another marble, and another and another.
Each of these marbles in turn strikes other marbles.
Now imagine that you are the space around the marbles.
Every marble that drops, changes the shape of who you are.
Every tiny change precipitates and endless series of other changes, none of which are completely predictable.
Very quickly, you aren’t at all who you thought you were.
Soon, it’s hard to remember where you started.
The marbles keep falling.
Rolling. Bouncing. Striking each other.
Changing the space around them.
Writer’s Prompt #2: Restricted by your family
The title of this piece is, “My Family Defines Me”
Your name is Sidhartha.
Your Mother’s Name is Mary.
Your Father’s name is Lao.
You may or may not have siblings. If you do, they are all rabbits. If you don’t, they are catholic.
You live by a river.
You make silk.
You believe in something, there are only three possible things to believe, but you can only believe one:
a) Beauty
b) Love
c) Truth.
Write on McFluff. Write on.
The Owl’s Bridge
Moonlight is a holy thing
a sacred event that bows the eyes
to a pious dream.
The pine creeks beneath
the leather shod foot
Stars are obscured here
and there behind the small
of darkling clouds
A breeze speaks the last of day
a chill saunters the spine
Water is the transformation
the endless now
that drifts below a ever-changing surface.
When the old owl sobs a scream
it is the proclamation
that the present is his.
He, and only he
tells the story of this rotting bridge
to the other side
Demeter releases her bees
I see her blond hair
watch her on the bench
separating men from their souls
with a smile
she might harvest them
but she has no need
I marvel at her hand
pulling strands of gold
from her eyes
sanctifying a hundred marriages
as they walk by
she might not harvest them
she has no desire
I gaze on her lips
read the words as they roll
to the rubbish barrel
seduce the bees
they zip away to a sweetness
only she can know for sure
she might release them
she smiles
the secret life of isopods
he did not know if he
were tree, or a bug
under the bark
he asked himself
why do i crawl?
why am I so araid
of sunlight?
he knew that he was flat
and his soul
segmented
when the hummingbird came to him
and danced there on his flesh
he wanted for everything
that was him
to become everything
that was him
he did not know
if his breath
would fill the emptiness
he did not know
if his flesh was wooden
and reaching
he tried
lord, he tried
but it is so dark
beneath the bark.
Echo… Echo…. The Rebirth of Letty & Elizabeth
Perhaps, Letty thinks
she is a duck.
Her words never echo
even in the vast vacuum of this new premises
If she has benefactors
(but she doesn’t)
the cash would make the loss
of words much easier,
she thinks.
And old lover flatters Elizabeth,
and Letty is hurt. For not reason.
His dick was limp as his soul
and she was glad to be rid of him.
But Letty was sad when she absently brushed
her left hand over her right forearm.
He says to Elizabeth
he needs 3-4 thousand pounds.
She yells, “James needs chocolate,
Pronto.”
He rolls his eyes, and shows Hannah Webster
around the new space.
Letty hears Elizabeth invite that disheveled ass
Marcus to dine with her.
In the lady’s room, after their new desks are full
of office supplies, Elizabeth says
“Letty, he interests me. I know he tries to seduce women
for profit and most probably pleasure.
But he he interests me. Did you see the photos
of the orphanage?
He helped put in heat and sanitation.
And he flatters me.”
Letty hugs her, and confides
“I have still not told James.
that I hate him.”
Elizabeth hugs her back.
In the ladies room, the voices almost echo
again.