A Moth

Fluffy on top,
goo in the middle,
short lifespan,
mother moths grow fat
with eggs
then they can no longer
fly.
Mother moths are so delicate
and dry.
I crept upon the little fat
mothers
crawling about the lawn.
I became angry,
grabbed a stick,
and impaled them
one
by
one.
I am so sick
I am so mean
I am unattached from puppet strings!
This is all my own doing,
I killed the bugs,
the ones I love the most.
I murded the future moths.
The mothers were performing
their task.
I have ruined their lives
and what do I do?
I sit there observing
the crushed mother moths.
Their eggs fly out like
little dust specks...

Spinning into Tizzy

Do not allow yourself
to forget.
Always remember who
you are.


These words are placed here
as more of an encouragement to me.
But I do not know where I am going.
I am driving myself mad by excluding
myself from people.
It's all my fault.
If I try to convince you otherwise,
then it is all a lie.
It's all my fault.
I got myself into this hell.

Out There and Floating on a Raft

Raffia in a traffic-stand-still.
We no longer hear the buzz of monitors.
Our faces capture the glow of the setting sun.

I write out poems containing
groups of people because I am
lonely. In my head I picture
myself surrounded by humans
that enjoy my company,
that laugh at my jokes
and allow silences to be taken
as a peaceful conclusion
rather then an awkward
occurrence.
Alas, these are reveries.
I wish dreaming could
lead me to better times.
At present, I am stuck
in a house and forgotten
by the outside world.
I barely exist in the minds
of others.

I am what my title explains,
out there and floating on raft...

Incapacitated

The bedroom stunk of horrid flesh,
moisture leaked in from a different guest.
A tongue as the pendulum swung
from ear to limb,
dizzy asylum neighbors crawl
about the metal floor.

Lurched inside the thicket of my brain
contains ill remnants of a radioactive train
that flew out of a narcotic buzz,
landed in my post-apocalyptic slugs.
She withdrew her maggot demeanor
toward a swiveling fan
growing out of an October scarecrow man
belted down to a hospital bed.
The IV tubes are empty,
crusty blood clogs at the holes entry.

Enclosure

I am never exposed
but light nor shade,
my poison teeth remain
frightening the lookers away.
I take my life for granted
each time I cross the street,
encounter a bulldozer in
my night's dreaming sleep.
Catacombs are my fantasy,
a golden reward for the poor,
the flamingo wants more.

Explosive Device

Demonstration cannot be spelt
without demon.
Lemon and demon do not rhyme
yet they have the very exact same letters.

Sitting at the desk in a schoolroom,
the teacher takes off his winter coat
to reveal a bomb strapped to his torso
on top of his button-down flannel shirt.
The rest of the class reacts and screams,
all the doors and windows are locked.
The teacher announces this is the last
scientific demonstration in class because
we all shall die with a flip of a switch.

This teacher is a smart man,
he rigged the school to create a dead zone,
cellphones cannot receive signals.
He's unplugged the telephone service as well.
He is fully prepared to kill us all.

At the Gallery Indigo of Night

Switching sidewalks
left to right
licking an ice cream
wind sweeps the hair
from shoulders
solidarity is key
to being free.

Skipping stones
till eight at night
feed the duckling
before bedtime
and stare at the ceiling.

The imagination is
a canvas.
The mind is always
re-stretched, gessoed,
new layers of paint.
Be your own gallery.