Thursday, February 23, 2017

The Body Betrays.

Never has a child demanded to be tickled
because it is an unfortunate attack on the body
to elicit a sort of joyous noise which to the
attackers ear sounds like a pleasurable note.
In fact it is a type of canned up laughter
the sort saved for the special occasion to visit
the cinema or some other such place were
farce may bring forth giggles and whines.
So when monster claws scratch at delicate places
and the laughter comes out against the victims will
it is not on purpose.   The boy is betraying the
victim but in the attackers ear he hears an egging on
to commit more crime.   In truth, the tickle is painful
it hurts, and it betrays a sort of warped bond
in the mind of the assaulted.   The laughter isn't real,
the joy heard from response is not what is factual,
it is a fabrication of nerve endings in silly little
places.    Never has a child demanded be tickled
but they anticipate that tickling could be coming
but that doesn't mean the oppressor has to do it.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017


Juxtaposed against a backdrop of happy greetings is a young man who will not be unheard.
Within his hands he carries a megaphone like a blowhard and demands the people listen to his soft indictments of their undertakings.
He is trivial in his maniacal melancholy, and he adheres to nothing that makes more sense than what is already done.
For on the other side of the world he wanders and raises a hand and says nothing of value.  there is nothing of value to be found after all, in the penniless misshapen gate of his walk.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

For Nigh

A group of men of varying statures
were tasked with finding hidden treasures.
Given to meandering off of their path,
the men took care to follow there map religiously.
In great red, inked in the center was a bold
 X, marking the location of fantasy at the end.

They followed the instructions at every new juncture
because a task was set aside at each to complete.
Soon they were told to kill one another,
and strange alliances were formed and tasks carried out.

What started out as a kindly expedition
turned deadly in search of that end.
The last man blinded by the blood in his eye
stumbled upon the treasure spot to
find that it was never even there.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

In the Backseat

Perspiration trickles down
Sweat beads, that caress
Like inspiration on goose pimpled flesh.
Responding to scary familiarity,
trembling hands go fumbling
to grasp at straps
and buckles and skin.
Taught reactions fraught with impulse.
Worrying about predatory familiarity
as whispers gush for secret places,
afraid for the thoughts that wish
for a four letter word that isn't love.
Simple kisses erupt in magma flows
that fertilize the broken soil,
for nature seldom complex's thoughts.
There's a calmness in the promises,
but crosses stare down
memories of forgotten lectures.
Exhale. Then inhale,
with balled up fists
and a cold streamed shower
to wash the sin away.
If human nature be worth it
to condemn,
then condemn,
for I partake for silence.