The Loose Hurricane

That fool of a Hurricane came along
wearing her precious
golden wig

her bitch stamp

tempestuous temptress
twirling
spinning
violence through
internal bricks and boards

I am a carpenter
a blood sculptor
The Queen

my masterpiece
in matching
patterns
nailed to the walls

my precious dynasty
garnished with
parallel features
inside and
out

muscles and brawn
My King
mixed with this
destructive
maniacal
windstorm

she rushed him
in her
giant waves

into her vast Ocean
her wet white body

then ripped and yanked
at my prized
creation
jerking
wrenching
until defeat ambushed
her
from behind

she resigned

and I was left
with my masterpiece
to clear the clutter
the debris

watching the Ocean for the
return of
my King.

 

 

Spread Your Life For Me

Raw behind the rib cage
bulging
ready!

Jaw extended
– attack –
to tear flesh
to expose
protected
delicate
four-chambers

for consummation

thick
red
life
quenches desire
for life to resume

thick
red
life
spreads itself across
empty
longing

a blanket
for a barren
wasteland

for nothing more
than
a
product

of a Hoarder and
an Unprotected
Heart.

Who Is The Empty One

The baby’s swing
swinging emptily
swinging next to me

blankly
watching the empty
swing –
back and forth
swinging steadily

the baby’s swing
swinging melodically
listening lethargically
as it swings next to me
the baby’s swing
swinging emptily

squeaking and creaking
and looking at me
watching me
sit so emptily.

The Stew

I am cut into pieces, boiling
in a stew. A quarter cup of the fingers have been
diced away along with
a chunk of the right breast,
both little toes,
the bones and muscle in the
right forearm, a kidney,
and the fallopian tubes.

Salt dances painfully on the wounds of
what remains of the body. I cry out for some relief!
There is nothing.
Anesthesia will not behave!

The stew boils about, my pieces
become soft and
flesh falls from bone. The crockpot screeches
with the heat – it knows!
But, I do not blame the crockpot. It
must perform it’s duty.
No choice for a hunk of metal!

I scream again! The pain! Where is comfort?
Where is solace?

Ah! Cooking wine!
Take care of my wounds.
Take the pain away…..
After some time, the alcohol performs it’s own duties.
I relax!

I hope the stew makes it to all those empty mouths!

The Castle

Back in the distance, just past “far-enough”,
a stone-cold castle stands proud and alone.

A few years back
the castle
was a warm home. The doorway smiled and
welcomed home family, the windows were
always bright-eyed – lighting up the insides with the
soft rays of the sun. People tended to the needs of the house while
small children ran outside
the castle laughing and playing,
the castle kept an eye on them and
laughed merrily along.

War broke out one day, amongst the people in
the home. The castle hid the children in closets, protection
from the screams of the people on
the other side of the walls.
The people were rigid and stuck in
a rage of powerful fear. They kicked at the castle, took hammers to the walls, and
ripped the coverings that closed the castles’ glass eyes at night.

After that day, the home was never the same.
The castle couldn’t smile and the children
didn’t play.
The people didn’t smile. They stopped tending to the
castle and made themselves sorely busy.
The people removed things, bit-by-bit. They barely spoke
to each other, they didn’t even notice the
somber castle.

It was early winter, dark and windy. Colder
than usual. The castle was anticipating the return of the
people to start a fire and warm up it’s stones, but the people
did not return. The castle waited. It waited through the fall of the
leaves, through the icicles and frozen pond, through the light rain that
fertilized the once abundant land….but the
people did not return.

They must have took something very precious
because the castle was never the same. It will not smile, or
brighten the inside with light anymore. It is empty and cold.
It locked up it’s doors and just stands, proud and alone.