Paltry Poe-ish Poem (or The Writer’s Choice in Darkness)

In the darkness of the hollow,
In the wistful of the day,
Comes a gnashing of the Daemon
And the trouncing of the Bay.

Leaves a mark upon the features;
Plants a hook into the soul.
Wants for loathing or self-hatred -
Wants for wrecking of the lull.

Choose the sinews of the monster -
Horse of death, devoid of light.
If you mount its mangy hackles
It will drag you into night.

Little solitude can linger
At a time depression fraught.
Either gallops gloom of gloaming
Or a crafty concept caught. 

Makes for drowsy or for writing.
Curl it in or fight it out:
Tender tears to taint and tarnish,
Fiendish fierceness flail and flout.

Choose the dark and dangerous Daemon - 
Vapor’s Muse of shadow’s glare.
Touch its fissured flesh of genius,
Share its mind, but have a care.

Whirling skirmish with a dark muse.
Wrestling pen, now paper stained.
Bleeds a vicious prose or poem;
Heals the heart and mind, once pained.
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Migraine

down for the count
up for the bill
water, more water
swallow a pill

head full of broken
shut your damn lips
type in my logon
man this pain rips

check my to do list
throttle a yell
keep the damn light off
Lord, i'm in hell

responsibility
headache is killing me
punch out this deadline
now make a b-line

sunlight and dizziness
throbbing and sleepless
poetry rounding
forehead pounding

oh for a temperate dark quiet room
to wrap me in stasis, a comforting tomb.



Church-Lady Perfume

A stench that was once a curiosity – old fashioned “church lady” perfume.  Of course that’s a fragment, but so is the memory.  I recall a tiny, smooth bottle with a glass stopper, filled with what would become two dissonant memories. Continue reading

The Sweeper and My Persian Rugs

The endless breath of memory until my lungs explode
and shards of passion and longing burst like fireworks
into my subconscious where my cleaning crew
rush to sweep self-loathing under rugs.
But the Persians are already stained and cannot hide
anymore mountains of repressed guilt and shame.
And besides, says the Sweeper, do you really want to forget? Continue reading