Nothing

Phlegm cleared,
pupils dilated.
An interrupted synergy,
speaking in verse - purportedly.

All the walls covered,
nasty off-green drips
collecting in puddles
on torn wood floors.

Equal parts
horrific childhood goo,
recollections fictional,
then modernist dilemma:
tomorrow's solutions
to yesterday's conflict.

We've achieved actualization
through stasis, stressing
semantics while
speaking of ought.

We, the kids who never
grew up, children of Dystopia.

KILL

The drooling idiot,

Salivating,

Waiting.

Premature hair loss.

Consider the wastebasket. 

Falling faster now,

I'm slouching to

the floor. 

I count my pools

of drool, 

one...

My face peeled

from the sea green

shag...

Two?

An ode to my

rotted, dearly

departed friends!

Drei.

Confessions of a Jerk

The endearing quality
of incompetence,
the staleness of regret
linger over a bowl
of ramen noodles.

The short answers
stick. History has
no time for long winded...

I, forgotten.

Will she remember me?

Hunched over a mass
of bad poetry,
scurrying, scrambling
for rich line to
purchase a smile,
forever and evermore.

Seasonal Allergies

The prognosis is post-mortem,
shivering trees, falling leaves
turning color, covering
footsteps shuffling toward a
bright, bloody sunset.

I've decayed tenfold in
the shifting cyclical.
The brightest to brown,
to pale frost and rebirth,
to the apple dangling
from mother's extended bough.

New life to grow in this rotted host.

To be picked and admired,
fashioned into beautiful
bright crowns for elated
children to dazzle and fixate.

My dying wish to instill
some sense of wonder in
wildly rooted saplings
sprouting from their
mother's bosom.

Only then will I know
what it is to live.

Cute Poem

Funny little blisters,
runny red noses
like weepy blush
from a bride in blue.

"the fork goes on your
left." a sigh escapes
from a long face -

Some are not made
for such order, nor
abdicated borders
dancing on dotted lines.

The upside down cake
was an honest mistake.
But you left the oven
on! Not so easily is

such negligence forgiven!
But how I will
love you when
you melt me

to the floor. How
you will scoop me up
and continue baking
most imperfect cakes.

The Plot

A toast to morose
circumstance and
bitter is its taste in
ceremonial splendor

as Death is mourned
in garb of black
as the crowd hovers

heads bobbing,
sobbing for piety.
Procession moves
on, funeral march

of flats sucking
sound from a
still swirling
world outside

the dense macabre.
Faces flash, white,
vacant behind veils.

Mouths agape,
swallowing waning
light of dusk.

Inside their bellies
does it grow. Hands
clasped, lips pursed,

empty socket eyes
look downward
toward a plot of
Earth. Gracious, warm

embrace wet
from which all
have spawned,

where all shall
return in decades,
and back again.

The Trials of Performance

Character building exercise
diagnosis: Dinner Theater.
Such succulent
conversation cuisine!

I slip cyanide into
the manicotti I am
damn determined
to finish.

Face planted, a squish
into my Italian dish.

Artistic Merit:
What's With Music
These Days? 
...A resounding snore

A gentle breeze blows
me to the ground,
thud onto the
turquoise shag carpet

Breadcrumbs dance
to shallow breaths.
red sauce, tube shells
cheese cling to my face

Whodunit, two
murders deep.
An audience,
blood, control.