if i could get rich today

poetry

i’d send this all away;
i’d walk right out the door
and never look for more.

i’d grow my hair long,
my beard would be fit for song,
and all anyone would see
would be the slightest resemblance of me.

i’d turn into a bum,
and shut myself in from the sun,
only coming out at night,
to protect my eyes from the light.

and no one would give me a thought,
i’d let me reputation rot,
glad to have finally disappeared,
glad to have finally repaired.

running off the edge

poetry

but the edge keeps moving,
keeping pace with my every step,
refusing to submit to my ardent desire:
to throw myself off,
to fall off the edge,
to see the end of it all
as it begins again
and again,
each and every day.

if i were a killer

poetry

i’d never let you know.
i’d look you in the eye
and laugh at all your jokes,
while disarming all your fears.

i’d stand up straight.
i’d dress just right,
and always tuck in my shirt,
while never forgeting my belt.

i’d hold a respectable job.
i’d talk about it all the time,
and rub elbows with the elite,
while winning over your mom.

i’d be everything you wanted.
i’d be everything you needed,
and when you least expected,
i’d gladly slit your throat.

like a bad grape

poetry

you are slightly deformed
and while I consider eating you,
the thought of your strange projection,
bursting in my mouth,
is slightly sickening;
and though I know that in a dark room
i would never notice,
in the light, i just can’t do it.

so i will zip you up,
and lock you away from the outer air;
then i will forget you;
and in a few weeks, purely by accident,
perhaps i will find you,
and perhaps I will marvel,
and perhaps my curiosity will lead me
to take a long overdue bite.

SHAKE IT OFF

poetry

i’ve got to shake this feeling
but it won’t be shaken,
sneaking up again,
catching me at unawares,
just when I look away

THERE IT IS

laughing,
grinning,
feeding;

NOW IT’S HERE

IT’S ON MY BACK

clawing my shoulders,
scrabbling to hold on,
slowly burrowing;
forcing its head
into my head;
forcing my head
out of its head;
until soon,
all that I was
will be gone
and all that I will be
is parasitic.

what happens when i watch scott pilgrim…

poetry

let me first preface,
with an acknowledgment
of the total geek out,
shortly to follow,
but sometimes it’s necessary
to hear the songs of zelda
playing in one’s head,
as strength develops,
to the sound of my hearts,
and i’ll face another boss
and shoot my master sword,
then round out the game
by saving my lady’s day,
sending ganon back
to the dark world from which he came,
all metaphorically of course.