Sorry about accidentally posting my poem to the communities that have nothing to do with poetry, or the form I was using.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Sew it up - you're dragging your dress again.
Cinch it up - it's falling apart in the wrong places.
Draw it up - make your intentions plain.
Dry it up - martyrs have no production values.
Tear it up- they could never hold you to it.
Soak it up - you're a paper tiger now.
Live it up - somebody will buy it.
Shake it up - it's anybody's paradigm for the next ( Read more... )

CHÉ CONFESSES

If they had only spoken of you in holier tones, but there was no sanctity in their inflections,
no blank stares, no empty eyes.

I never thought I'd pull the trigger
on an old man, but when his knees would not bend, I had to bend them for him. Old men are stubborn,

but the flesh complies, the blood obeys.
The young, they are easier to deal ( Read more... )

RED IN TWO PARTS

PART ONE: HAMMER

As the hammer forged her chains, she cried,
"Was I saved, only for the next rapist?"
In the factory, the workers fail
on command; their minds are not to function.

"Was I saved, only for the next rapist!?",
she raged to an unheeding wasteland.
On command, their minds are not to function.
Proletarian sweat dehydrates.

She ( Read more... )

They run the strings thru the scalp.
That's how they build the new you.
See in the dirty mirror?
How youthful your crimson yarns.

That's how they build the new you,
for reality TV.
How youthful your crimson yarns,
queen of the cutting-room floor.

For reality TV,
how would you like your lips sewn,
Queen of the cutting-room floor?
We use the yellowest wire.

How ( Read more... )

SPARK-EYED

The birds are burning scarecrows.
The birds are making popcorn,
which they catch and eat, in flight.
They perch on licorice wires.

The birds are making popcorn.
They use their flame-thrower eyes.
They perch on licorice wires,
Mocking the blackened scarecrow.

They use their flame-thrower eyes
to signal the metal birds.
Mocking the blackened ( Read more... )

MATTRESSES

Which card wins the horse
that carries the gambler?
The ace is marked down
for bargain-basement kings.

Dublin is getting
The tiger's root canal.
How do they build their
paper houses so tall?

The ace is marked down
for bargain-basement kings.
Hey, gingerbread man,
what's your cookie-cutter?

How do they build their
paper houses so tall?
I hear the ( Read more... )

In answer to the November 30/30 challenge, my first poem of November:

"Equalization"

It sputters a short-circuit breath,
like half-life phosphorous decay.
We lobotomized Edison.
We only call zombies righteous.

Like half-life phosphorous decay,
The zip-glamour of body bags.
We only call zombies righteous,
then cannibalize the bright-eyed.

The zip-glamour of ( Read more... )

SNEEZING BACKWARDS

I SNEEZED BACKWARDS, LIKE THE VACUUM OF SPACE,
LIKE THE LIGHTBULB THAT BURNS OUT IN YOUR HEAD
WHEN YOU SLAM IT TOO HARD AGAINST THE FLOOR.
THIS WAS HOW I TRIED TO DISPROVE MYSELF.

LIKE THE LIGHTBULB THAT BURNS OUT IN YOUR HEAD,
I TRIED TO DE-CONTROL MY SUBSTANCES.
THIS WAS HOW I TRIED TO DISPROVE MYSELF,
TO AVOID YOUR POP-PSYCH TOILET ( Read more... )

THIS IS THE MANATEE MOMENT.
LET ME FLOAT ON DIAGNOSES,
EIGHT HOURS IN YOUR DESPERATE PORT.
WHAT WAS MY HISTORY AGAIN?

LET ME FLOAT ON DIAGNOSES.
A HOLLOW LEG FOR AN OCEAN.
WHAT WAS MY HISTORY AGAIN?
A SALTWATER BIRTH OF NOTHING.

A HOLLOW LEG FOR AN OCEAN.
EIGHT HOURS AND NOTHING DELIVERED.
A SALTWATER BIRTH OF NOTHING,
LEGS SQUEEZED LIKE MAKING ORANGE JUICE ( Read more... )