A Day Late, A Demon Short

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Tentacles aren't my thing,
But you're my baby, Cthulhu.

He'll Be Back

first-ever cyborg

felt winter's chill, laid back down,

and switched himself off.

Bathroom Monologue: Bald Propaganda

He does not die. The world only dims one shade of greatness.

He does not bleed. The world dampens.

He does not suffer. The world forgets joy.

He cannot cease to be. Everything else ceases to matter.

When he comes back, it will be as though he never left, because time may as well have given up until he rings again.

Bathroom Monologue: LIVE from the Shoe

There was an old lady who lived in a shoe. She conceived what can only be considered an implausible number of children for a woman who lived in a cramped one-bedroom, but there they all were, living in abject poverty, thirteen people living where only five toes belonged. Yet this poverty did not last for long. Not in the age of Youtube.

One video was all it took for her soleful family to viral, and for CNN and Wired to herald her as an economic genius, making shoe-life work in a bad economy. Warren Buffett invited her to lunch, and she hosted the first-ever TED Talk from a Footlocker, on the wisdom of laces and how to expand your personal spaces. Before the end of the fiscal quarter, she was a real estate tycoon, able to flip any property into a spacious dream house.

She only started as an old lady who lived in a shoe. She was a visionary, and I believe she invented the Tardis.

Bathroom Monologue: What were they building?

Two jars of rarified air

Two jars of common air

One jar of the wind untamed

The unused speech for Richard Nixon if the moon landing failed

The left knee of an acclaimed diplomat

My seven favorite episodes of Gigantor from when I was six years and two months old

Three locks of an Amazon leader’s hair

Four handfuls of earth from the Underground Railroad

One pinhead of angels

My father’s unconditional love

My mother’s borscht recipe

One willing test subject/heir

Bathroom Poetry: Progress

Think this.

Feel this.

Do this.

Think this.

Feel this.

Do this.

Think this.

Feel this.

Do this. 

Progress.

Bathroom Haiku: Lot Gulls

Pecking at your tires.
How long before we admit
they are “lot gulls” now?
 

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas (At War)

This was posted under duress. My full apologies for this thing existing.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,

The Pentagon sent to me:

Twelve drumlines drumming,
Eleven specialists sniping,
Ten sergeants sleeping, 

Nine generals posturing, 

Eight drones a-flying,  

Seven SEALs a-swimming,
Six guys a-laying, 

 Five useless things,  

Four polished turds,  

Three French leaves,  

Two armored cars, 

And a cartridge in an MRE!

Bathroom Haiku: Evil Dentists in Love

It's not a toothache.

Needs a filling in his heart,

can he borrow yours?

Bathroom Monologue: Will Kill

Twitter will kill Facebook will kill Youtube will kill television will kill the movies will kill radio will kill live theatre will kill fiction will kill the serious novel will kill poetry will kill philosophy will kill actually going outside will kill sleep…

will kill conscious imagination

will kill reason

will kill dogma

will kill politics

will kill independence

will kill unity

will kill the natural order

will kill chaos

will kill nothing.

Bathroom Haiku: Ningen

man face, whale body
cryptid swims with arms and fins
what songs does it sing?

Bathroom Monologue: To Hate

To hate from afar is easiest,

swaddled in ignorance

and unchallenged venom. 

It’s hatred at close distances

that reveals how vile the whole business is. 

One son screaming he hopes his mother will die,
one protestor saying a gay soldier burns in Hell,
one pundit telling a foreigner his ideology leads to terror.

One grimace,

one pinkening set of knuckles,

one muzzle flash.

If only all haters
could sit beneath the stairs
as they tossed Saddam over the rails to hang.

Bathroom Haiku: Horrorku Romantic Ad

Single white male, tall

seeks fem, MUST be resourceful

kinks: Asphyx, Closets

Bathroom Monologue: Nice Life, Ugly Poem

Life’s a character study,

full of short stories,

little of it novel,

all of it poetry (though poetry’s unpopular).

A genetic serial,
a historical fiction,

the unauthorized true story,

its binding invisible,

pages dog-eared only when lived by a dog.

Some editions issued in audio,

available in green paperback,

and quotable spare change;

the e-book’s cheaper, but it’s not the same as going outside.

If living the biography’s overwhelming,

crib notes will be made available via headstone.

Bathroom Haiku: Richard Simmons, for Mike Houlding

beast of energy

will explode if smiling stops;

he sups on your sweat

Bathroom Haiku: Living Cities

take arable land

sprinkle people across it

and watch buildings grow

Bathroom Haiku: Answer

He answered prayers;

unfortunately for us

the answer was, "No."

Bathroom Haiku: Nanomachines in Autumn

the nanomachines

showed sentience by stopping

to watch the leaves turn

Bathroom Haiku: Baba Yaga's House

 living witch abode.

in search of ideal victims:

Home Depot workers.

Bathroom Haiku: Basilisk, for @tsbazelli

life of the party.

so many beautiful friends;

they are very still.