Sitting upstairs in a little shop,
I decided to write and never stop.
I'll write until I get tired,
or perhaps until I get fired...

But who knows, all I ever do here is mop
and sometimes clean the marble tabletop.

So I'll write until I get hired
or until someone decides to become a buyer.
Buy my silly stories or my serious ones
or some of my poems full of wondrous puns...

And I'll put out some crazy flyers,
maybe ask favors for Michael Myers.

He'll wave in your face with a gun -
well, I do hope he'll be having fun -
and you'll have no choice
(unless you don't want to lose your voice),

(Meaning you'll be dead, you know, done
kaputz, sleeping with the fishes, the sum of none...)

to buy it. My writings can melt a block of ice
with the warmth it emanates not once but thrice!
So read them at least once,
or you'll be labeled a lazy dunce.

Untitled (Anonymous)

...to me, she seems a peer of goddesses,
the woman who sits facing you,
and hears your sweet voice
and lovely laughter.

...it flattens my heart in my chest
when I see her only for a moment.
I cannot speak,
my tongue is broken.

...a subtle fire runs under my skin;
my eyes cannot see, my ears hum.
cold sweat pours off me;
shivering grips me all over.

...I am paler than the winter grass,
I seem near to dying...
all must be endured.

Higher and Higher

Floating just above the treetops
we silently gaze at the canopy and run our fingers through
the soft corduroy leaves.
Plumes of silk solemnly drift by
ignoring our half-hearted attempts to touch it.

The fire is lit,
and we float higher, and we climb
into the clouds, surrounded by their cotton,
stringy fibers and tranquility.
Fragrances of vanilla slowly creep up on us
and gingersnaps climb into our pockets.

The fire is lit,
and we float higher, and we climb
higher and higher and higher
and higher and higher and
we never stopped.


Injured Albatross, calmly
waiting impending death,
gawking at the others
flying above.
No food, no sustenance,
no miracle.