so it’s all a pack
of filthy lies, truth being
of them most docile?
for us to decide
which angels and which demons
we are bound to wrestle?
hope does not reside
in the cathedral, power
not in the castle
we each with our cross
or perhaps our albatross
bear witness, struggle
wake to lift the weight
each day piles deep, these torn hearts,
our strongest muscles
They have dealt my hand wrong.
A “Queen of Hearts” made to love a “King of Diamonds”
There is no room for an “Ace” in this deck
Happy Pride!
The killer dubbed The Pudger
has, it seems, struck again–
and police are no closer
to finally catching him
The victim was just seventeen–
her body scattered over miles–
though she disappeared nine months ago,
in her photo she still smiles
Authorities identified the girl
from recovered hair and teeth–
her head was found, nearly intact,
washed up onto the beach
The report was inconclusive,
even with the torso found on the shore,
but estimates by the medical examiner
say she had gained fifty pounds, or more
The Pudger victims have always been
young girls, lean and strong–
they say to make them gain the weight
is why he keeps them all so long
The latest victim is number eight–
we pray she will be the last–
but The Pudger has the biggest appetite of all,
and his hunger grows so fast
I can’t listen to your story.
It will confuse my story
that I barely hold together
with spit and constant combing.
If I get lost in your story
I’ll lose hold of my story, ‘
trip over orange traffic cones, ‘
and fall into the empty void.
I’ll fall, story after story,
down down down.
I won’t remember having a life
or even my own name.
The girl with the yellow hair found a place to rent on Emma Street in Key West. she had arrived & things were working out & she was happy. she got a job at a restaurant & met her boyfriend & moved in together & he was good to her. there were issues she mentioned but aren’t there always. friends & family came to visit & they drank rum & posed for photos on the beach.
The girl with the yellow hair sold the beautiful art she made on the pier. she pulled a cart behind her bike & had a system for setting up an attractive display. she was ambitious & her purses were over the top with so much detail. it was hard to charge enough. tourists didn’t want to pay. she was in her element with her designs. her knee started hurting & she did research & leg work to get a knee replacement but there were drugs in her system & no one knows how or when they started. something to do with managing pain.
After learning all I could
from the wild things in the wood
again I mingle with polite society
commensal coexistence suits me fine
tightrope walking the ultrathin line
between butterfly and barbarian
camouflaged in a little black frock
easily blending with the vulnerable flock
the right people at the right parties
a ladylike sip of Woodford Reserve
contemplate sinking my teeth in a nerve
less blood, more pain than a vein
with feral never far away
for now, I hold the beast at bay
but soon, I’m bound to bite.
