FEASTS OF GRIEF

Wretched, a remnant of before
you left me
What do I care for your name?
Why shout it?
Should I bother with tears?
Or as many as you said my name
to equal the number
Why should I give
a damn now about yours?
You were dying
when you were lying
Now you are dead.

I am here living,
or at the very least standing –
breathing low before
your marred headstone,
watching nature at her best;
her nocturnal creatures draw close
towards your grave.

In my mind they feast
but sour memories and grief
make them unmentionable fiends –
that wanted to make a macabre feast
of your bloated body,
and I let them – brittle bones now
rattle in the dust,
still all I can see is anger.
I hate you right now.
You are dead
where all the dead are at long last
at peace.
Laughing to myself
beneath my tears,
my eyes fill with images
of your drunk days
and slurred nights,
‘Did you ever love me?’
I wondered ceaselessly.
Does it matter now?

Poets say, ‘the dead have no cares
for anything, ‘they are, after all, dead.

Unresolved issues?
As many as throwaway tissues
and I am spent.
Damned right there are issues!
There will always be a legacy
bequeathed me;
uncertainty here for me in the living,
a breathing reminder
that you once lived in this world,
and while you lived I died, faded,
a mere shadow, bent, broken –
a servant in waiting
awaiting your orders,
waiting for love or a sign
not found inside glass,
poured from a heart
instead.
I brought you
what you craved
I thought I brought you happiness
and filled the hole as black as my life today.
All I brought was your next drink.

FESTIVALS

Fattening our already swollen bellies
Every small bite, a delicious morsel
Scrumptious and fine, gouge your teeth deep down, we little one
Tough tendons will sharpen your fine muscles
Invigorating showers of blood, fat, sloughed skin will paint our naked skin
Vultures will swoop down shortly.
Ah! Quick! Swiftly gather our nightly booty
Load down your arms with all heavy, serrated, gouged, thrashed limbs
Save your tears and prayers for our snow-capped mountain peak open-starry flat.

STALKER – A SHORT STORY

As is my nature, I lay cocooned in my bed covers. In the deepest of sleep, I ignored the indifferent outside distractions.

Carried by the sub-zero winter winds, ice pellets hit the street lights and covered all the gated houses. Black metal gates, sidewalks, and the once black and yellow streaked roads glossed over. The bare trees and their branches were swathed by inches of coarse ice.

The windows were lustrous as I slept insulated within my sheets and blankets, the winter world an oblivion to me.

I sat up instinctively. I had no reason why. I was not awakened by my sleeping dog that remained at my feet or roused by the house alarm.

He is here again, camouflaged by the night shadows; he is the dark tree without movement. He whose eyes that I have never seen. Bold in defiance, I turn to him; my body, immobile, shakes in horror. I dare not move out of bed. I must be still and pretend to sleep. Draping myself with my bed linen, I lay back and shut my eyes. Preventing any further noticeable trembles, I compress my legs together. I can feel his presence, but I cannot see him. I never see him. I only feel him.

He knows somehow that I have sealed my eyes, clinching them shut. I just want him to go away. I try and compose myself – it is no use. Covering my mouth with my right sheeted hand, I scream out, knowing that he is laughing at this. How can it be that he can see me? How could anyone see through the inches of ice that adhere against my window?

Crouching into a fetal position, I smash myself down against the mattress and shudder in panic. I tremble, pleading in whispers for his flight. The ice droplets continue pouring against the roof; I can hear the pound, bang, tapping of ice against winter clay as my heart beats- thumping excessively. I feel sweat washing down my neck length hair onto my spaghetti strapped shoulders, and the coldest of cold shivers pierces my spine. Desperate to release their unnatural hold, I feel every muscle in my body tightening. I tremble. I wait.

Miss Muffet

On a dim lit city corner,
Stands Miss Muffet,
Black leather pants
Not much else.
My black Ferrari humming,
I whip out my wallet
For there she was
Miss Muffet, dark brown hair
Sculpting bare breasts, stands behind
Luminous smoke, exhaled.
Miss Muffet, elevated in golden sandals.
The stars are out
The city’s moon is full
And damn it, we are going to fuck.
I am hard and in charge.
Miss Muffet, will she make me cum?
My fat wallet
Five thousand dollars,
A glow in the dark condom.
I approach Miss Muffet,
She looks pissed.
Cold glass descends, replaced with
Money.
Into a quizzical smile
She bends down
And shows me her tits.
“What do want lover?
I can make you holla.”
I am horny so I agree.
Painted leather legs cushion my seat.
We are at the hotel, its swell.
Brown leather chair encompasses
A black lace thong.
I pull out a twenty
To embrace her bare flesh.
Breasts exposed
Body is vulnerable.
I kiss her leg
A response
My shake,
Her grin
I slap her ass.
Sweated hands mold and
Roll to reveal moist skin.
Bronzed legs, snaking,
Arch and touch her head,
Sixteen more twenties
Her pants would fall.
I am horny so I agree.
I reach for wallet
A sudden jump
Her tits press my back,
Golden naval ring rubs spine.
Shivers disperse.
Brown leather entwines
My muscled neck.
I grab sheets,
Catch a breath
Naked knees crush spine.
I plead for release.
Miss Muffet laughs
Spanking my ass.
Spanking? No,
She rides my ass.
I love it.
Heart hammers in ears.
More air is needed.
Miss Muffet giggles,
Kneading my ass.
Whispers of enticement,
Nuzzling at my ears
The belt releases
I am turned on my back.
I’m hard and rigid
My dick twitches.
She teases, she dips,
Clawing at my chest
Miss Muffet makes me spastic.
She wets her lips
Cupping her tits,
Thrashes her head.
Miss Muffet creates a fist
Strikes my chin
Like a light bulb,
I blow out.
I awake
A maid stands
Before my toweled body.
Miss Muffet has vanished.
We search
My wallet has vanished,
Money all gone
So too my enjoyment.