It sneaks in, pouring like warm honey
through the cracks of
my window shade.
The city streets stretch–
and slowly liven as
icy dew forms
upon my soul,
for I too must rise
and shine for another day of
absolute horseshit at literally the most
you relentless nag.
but I swear I’ll quit today
if that bubbly,
know-it-all bitch, Denise,
doesn’t stop squawking about her wedding.
I want to frame your kisses,
write them down, keep them in deep pockets
and tightened in jars.
Much like a starlit sky,
warm summer sand
or the wowest we’ve ever felt (x infinity),
if only I could keep them (these magic moments),
I’d never have to wish for them ever,
not even once,
Connecting the dots on his neck,
my lips making constellations
in the celestial sphere, exposed,
we smoothly spread in the vault of heaven
Some are lucky enough to
the blind cacophony of
aahs and oohs,
into the Ultimate Verb
Eros, Philia and Agape
One soul, two bodies,
both with hopeful intensity
that transcends physical appetite.
My best friend, equal, alike in virtue,
we know passion without necessity of reciprocity.
Pure, this is love that consumes and surpasses all else.
This morning in the shower I wrote a poem about being a linguist. I am not a linguist, but this is what would happen if I were one.
If I were a linguist
who uses her tongue freely,
I would be cunning and write a poem about
driving a lexis
and wearing a diphthong.
There’d be something in there about synnning
and taxes and that’s why
I’d be awkward and have no friends
if I were a linguist,
so I wouldn’t be much different from who I am now,
if I were a linguist.
Your predatory plans are flawed,
my insatiable omnivore.
I want the dirty girl hiding behind that sweet face,”
you say, salivating.
Cornered. Unsuspecting. Prey.
You think you will
take me down and
and devour me alive.
I think you forget
this is not my first time being hunted.
Powerful and poised,
primal energy patiently
waits in the shallows.
Her time is coming.
Precision in motion, timing personified,
she has chosen wisely
and remains hidden
until her moment to shine.
Her subtle confidence
communicates strength and exudes knowing.
The following haiku was inspired on a recent flight when the woman sitting next to me gave the flight attendant the finger:
ripped jeans, snake-skin heels,
rocking that Joan Jett mullet.
doesn’t. give. a. fuck.
And now I shall present my SkyMall favorites from this particular trip (it changes every time):
From the creators of vajazzles and pejazzles, BootDazzles!…but this time with feathers.
Here’s a little something for all those folks planning to be alone for the rest of their lives.
Finally, my favorite of all the SkyMall gems–Hiccup Stick. It’s a stick. For hiccups.
OR just hold your breath.
Here is a video of testimonials for Hiccup Stick. Ladies and gentleman, I invite you to please keep in mind that it is a friggin’ STICK.
So what you’re saying is that I could go into my backyard RIGHT NOW and collect some sticks and sell each for $6.99 because of the hiccups? You’re joking. I’m wasting my life here, trying to make something of myself. Screw writing. Hiccup Stick, I am your new competitor. People, I will hunt you if you choose Hiccup Stick over my stick. I will sell my personal stick to you for one dollar cheaper, deliver it in my bathing suit to your front door and if you’re hot, for $4.00 extra I will give you a kiss on the cheek. Bonus feature? My stick was created by THE LORD GOD OUR SAVIOR. Just imagine, the Holy Trinity up in your mouth, helping you get rid of the hiccups.
I accept all major credit cards. Buy NOW.
I want to hug you
on Bahia Honda beach or
in Baltimore on an autumn afternoon.
We can hug in Central Park,
or on the glass skywalk
over the Grand Canyon.
It frightens us both,
but I want to hug you there
in snow or spring
or on state lines so
we can be in two places at once,
or four if we’re running west.
I have this feeling,
together we can do anything
and wherever we go,
I want to hug you there.
Sing to me, O Muse, the cause of
a squeaky bra on the day I
presented my pimped-out PowerPoint
of which I was once so proud.
Not pearls, heels nor shaky laser pen
could take the attention from
these blushing cheeks
as each step bore the betrayal of creak
O, bra most exquisite!
What awkwardness thou hast provided
whilst supporting my superior bosom.
Continue not this costly crime against me,
for our intimate time
together has been not long
and I do not know if you can be fixed with WD-40.
Thank you Elliot (brainsplats.wordpress.com) for the Versatile Blogger Award. I wrote him a haiku about Baltimore and then forced four scientists to do the same because Elliot enjoys both the occasional haiku and the HBO series The Wire. I wrote the last one. I didn’t give specific instructions, making this a little more interesting than I thought it would be.
Haiku–Charm City Style
W. North Ave, 1100 blk. Photo taken by my friend/the creator of charmcityvacancy.com
Perfume to my dog.
Loves to rub his face in it,
dog park, human poop.
Danger is at hand.
Street-walker prowling about
as I am harassed.
Rushing to our cars,
the thrill makes us feel alive.
Locked doors, safe again.
Scattered chicken bones
stranded along the sidewalks
of west Baltimore.
“Don’t be afraid, babe,”
he says, holding a syringe.
I walk more briskly.
Normally I don’t do awards, but if I did, I would give this prestigious award/shoutout to Madame Weebles because she is a funny, sarcastic, smart lady and I like her taste in hot dead guys. Also, Mr. Weebles is from Maryland, so he is probably a hip dude.