Repressive Uniformity

Across from me, sitting on the walk,
a man and guitar.
The strings look like phone lines with angry crows
picking them away piece by piece.
In the old mans hand, half of a purple pick.
When none survive to play and no means to learn,
everything dies. The strings broke,
and all of the old crows came tumbling down.

Inside Out, Mental Asymetry

One day you asked me why I get mad so easily.
One day youinquired how my moods change so quick.
You think it's an evil alter ego hiding in the other half of my asymetric body.
There is an alter ego, but it's the same me.
Don't limit the female mind to your own scene.
We are sugar and spice and all things nice indeed,
but we are also hungry wolves and blood thirsty leeches.
We depend on your strength to keep us alive, and we hunger for your support.
Don't try to figure us out--Your brain would explode.
Just hold me when I want you to, and hide when I crave chocolate
as equally as blood. Do this and you might survive.

Condensation Afloat

White feathers,
frayed string,
cotton balls torn to pieces,
melted marshmallows,
splattered bird poop,
odly white tornado,
pillar of smoke,
flour scattered on the floor,
baby powder on soft fresh skin,
come take me away.

Imperfection of Surface

Rippling waves mount no higher than a threads width.
Trees move like ghosts but remain constant.
The blue sky looks brown and grey,
strange film bubbles gather on the surface,
they move on their own as though they breathe
through the water too, like the strange black fish
darting under the water, just within sight.
Their fins look like wings,
but they are too small to be adequate for flight.
But the thing you see most in this glassy scenery are leaves,
logs and bags, with random candy bars
protruding from their mouths.
This surface drives the rest of nature away.

I'm Cold

At a little square coffee table,
in a comfy round chair,
her legs crossed at the ankles,
blonde little firefly drank her Colombian brew.
A little cream, a little sugar,
just enough to suit her taste.

At the counter, a deep voice sang musically
for a mint green tea,
nice and steamy, but with some ice
on the side. Long legs, cool blue eyes,
and a cane sweet smile.

With drink in hand, he turned and
found the firefly's glow.

A blush from her lit up the whole room with amber tongues,
pulling a grin from him as he sits down
and starts again: "How are you?"
"Well, thank you." "Lovely weather,
wouldn't you say?"
"It's a little hot, don't you think?"
The smile fades away.
"We could all use a bit more warmth in our day."
Ice dreams melt away.

Job Well Done

He stood at the entrance, rugged old door,
cracked, splintered,
just like their appearances.
"I'm proud of you."
She glared at him and took a hostile step forward.
He raised a white stop sign,
"No need to waste your efforts.
This job is done." He fell against
the crumbling wooden frame.
In his dark eyes he saw the shambles of the apartment.
A fist through the wall,
a bullet hole nearly hit,
bits of concrete and stucco scattered beneath her feet.
He had finished the job,
corruption, heartless, wicked, despair.
Vicious green eyes and thick frowning lips
with fists balled at her side.
No sound breath would ever be uttered
in her body again.
What devastation she would cause, what glorious gore!
He called to mind the famous saying,
"Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned"
and laughed. The poet was wrong.
Hell lived within a woman,
the fire was her eyes,
and here the blaze stood in all its flaming glory.
His job was well done.

To the Hopeless Romantic Devoid of Hope

First time sucks. Your heart stopped,

your breath—willow-wisp gasps.

Yeah, yeah, we all know it hurts.

You feel like bird fodder,

flower seeds that passed through acid juice

and meat grinders

on a non-stop route to the butt of all bad jokes.

I really like plate dahlias.

Congrats, the witch-doctor gurus say, this is the point

where your otherwise pointless life began! Screw them

(in all things except blood oranges and pomegranates of flame).

It’s all a gambit to make money.

Don’t cry for help, little girl.

Superman saves only in myth,

and unknown to the rest of society,

happy endings are never really bliss.

Jellylike trails on the road left by human sliminess obstruct the way.

What does crying change about the fact

your first love was a jerk?

So what, life chugs on. CHOO CHOO. Don’t get run over

or your body will break,

forget your heart, it’s not that vital anyway.

Just man up already.

There are plenty of toys in the sandbox and

trees in the forest. Here, I’ve got a million of these,

so take my axe and start chopping.

A good fire always solves cold feelings.