Category Archives: Poetry

Nest

There once had been nothing

beneath black wings,

flapping with all my might.

No wind today.

 

An egg lays ready to hatch,

but ruffled feathers

have been plucked before

it arrived. No wind, still.

 

When the shell cracks

and falls apart, squished

face has green eyes blinking

against the harsh light

 

and the beak-mouth opens

wide. Shrieks call out. Breeze.

The larger beak-mouth could

not reach for wailing

 

chick, numbed from surgery

and drugs. The one whose movements

were not hindered reached

for the fluff. There is wind today.

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Untitled

The breeze ruffles my hair
like an older sibling,
trying to tease.
The trees dance with leaves,
flitting around on their stems.

Petals from the Sakuras
land at my feet. They
are the rain. I see
why they are honored
every year in Japan.

The snows have passed
away from bright,
yellow light that burns
my eyeballs. I can’t see
the pink downpour.

The Cherry blossom trees’
flowers are gone,
proof that Spring
has come to Roanoke.
Weather be damned.


After Jason Todd

Nice family.

Fixin’ a pie.

All Mistah J

 

and I wanted.

B-man ruined it.

Puddin’s dead.

 

I had to run

for it, escaping

the flames.

 

Lived in hiding,

keeping away

from B-man,

 

had a girl

in a pretty

pink crib.

 

She grew up,

gave me granddaughters,

the Dee Dees.

 

Troubling duo,

twins in the fights,

always in jail.

 


Romantic Origin

You laughed

as we drove 

away. I busted

you out, Puddin’.

I busted you out.

 

You threw me out

our door, green hair

a brandished weapon.

I had to prove myself,

make you laugh.

 

I remember

seeing you the first

time. Grin

menacing. A rose

in my office. A note.

 

I caught him,

Mistah J.

He hung upside

down. Piranhas.

You didn’t appreciate

it. I fell from the window.

 

Puddin’ you made

me laugh. Arkham

had been my choice,

not yours, Love.

And you made me laugh.


Sections of a Former Psychiatrist’s Diary

Black lipstick

Red and Black

The babies snap

at the bone,

fighting over it.

Puddin’ planning.

 

Stupid B-Man

hurting Mistah J.

The hat never

comes off

blond hair.

 

Kicked out again

staying at Red’s.

Her plants terrify

me. B-Man

can’t stop us.

 

I missed my puddin’

Missed how rough

he pulled my hair.

The smacks when

I grab the wrong gun.

 

My puddin’s frustrated

Not even revving

me up helps his mood.

I hate B-Man

so do my babies.


Number 12/13

Daddy, I want new dolls.

I say. My home doll

collection is lacking.

 

No.

 

Dominatus gave me one.

He loves me.

 

He told me so.

 

He gave his adsero two.

I love them.

Thank you, Master.

 

They’re twins.

Long, blond hair

and silver eyes.

 

They’re beautiful.

These girls are frightened.

 

One pants.

 

I start the drip.

 

Don’t forget to wear

your scrubs.

Yes, Dominatus.

 

I wear them.

I don’t like it.

 

I dress one

like a Geisha,

her hair up

in intricate knots.

 

The obi‘s tied

in a knot of prostitution.

 

I like the other

one more. She’s

a fashionista.

 

I pose them together

and I take their picture.

 

My lovely twins.

 

Its time to throw

your bride away.


Making Love

Dominatus‘ new one

is done already.

She looks beautiful.

 

From the fifties,

my love.

 

I watch him work.

He goes over to his old one.

I watch him take

 

out his scalpel.

He slid it over the skin

of her throat seductively.

 

He was having sex

with her, using

his scalpel.

 

I love you,

my darling April.

You are my showers.

 

His voice was melodic.

The scalpel penetrated

her epidermis and slashed.

 

She now wore a red dress.