Merrily on High

dear mingo,

it's been long enough & i forgive you for shoving your face in my coconut cream pie.
what a pervert you are anyways, but man the world is still turning so i'd just as soon
eat my cheerios and scream "happy new year!" than ponder why my cat just died.

actually, they're due to create a new curse word because everybody is just getting
tired of hearing the same old sh-t. i won't question nobody especially when i aint
the one wearing a carhartt and some muddy boots.

please stop by your sister's soon and let her know this hinga has been meaning
to call her for some time now. hehaw merrily on high, and xmas is here.

your oldest pal,
the seagull

RAT'S NEST

5/21/13

Rat’s nest—so tangled and grotesque

Rat’s nest—such a sloppy unfit mess!

Rat’s nest—digging deep into my heart

Rat’s nest—a certain trap from the start!

Rat’s nest—forever I shall warn

Rat’s nest—happiness always torn!

Rat’s nest—those red ends split

Rat’s nest—clean it up a bit!

Pastry World

“baker, baker—

give me some sugar!”

screamed the young lad on his

way to his mother’s flower shop.

“try a cup of this,”

said the baker back,

throwing a cupful of lust and

pleasure in his face.

“gimme more, gimme more!”

the boy said so eager to

take in more worldly sugar

for his heart to digest.

“sorry,” said the baker,

“we’re sold out of that sugar.”

she knew she’d hook him good

then left him hanging on solely hope.

“I’ll try for some next door,”

the boy proceeded—right as

that angry baker shut

him out of her pastry world.

All Petered Out

sorry to say, but next time you bring me down i'm gonna ship you off to red china. it's nothing personal, but i will be an old man--i'd sell my soul to the elephant . . . please dont send me anymore grandfather clocks. ZING & "the war's going fine--aint it paleface?" says i, but then proceed to put the barrel of a bazooka with Pety Cringe's name engraved on its side in the face of the senator's pet. say hi to your doctor.

see you
Zeke, all Petered Out

PS- i will remain a rablerouser from your wardrobe, thanx

Counterfeit Sonnet IV

the turbulent times in which I write might make one stop & think what we would do if all reality fell down the drain. today this heart aches, for it lost something golden & new spring has sprung, flowers bloom, my love has lost its color. trying hard to revive devotion I once knew I weep to think of glories that are missed like a morn frost.

4/30/13

Flames gushing from my head stings me all around;

I extinguish them, but not successf'lly, making a horid sound

Trying now to stay awake & not dormantly forbid

the love for him you've had this time with such secrecy you've hid

O, flames, so bright! such golden beams streaming from mine eyes!

To all the tears that have tried to come 'tis a grand disguise.

THE RISK OF FIRE

To reduce the risk of fire
I warn you not to hire

Any gals to change your tire

On the road to kingdom come.

To reduce the risk of fire

I warn you not to buy her

Any flowers from Meijer

On the road to your apartment.

To reduce the risk of fire

I warn you not to wire

Socks on the flutist’s lyre

On the road to the high school dance.

Trap Door

2/22/13

“open wide, don’t bite”

says the creepy trap door.

stealing & breaking my heart

was its goal for sure.

the liquid thoughts running down

my mind in jumbled fear

defeat the strength I’ve tried to keep

through all my lonely years.

in every step I take today,

my mind still not awake

I try so hard to wrap my thoughts around

the reality that’s now so fake.

your tracks can be found

still on the surface of my heart.

that trap door you closed me in

still burns today, from the day we tore apart.

all around me

all around me

with scoping eyes

I see the dawn fast coming.

all around me

with listening ears—

so quietly the birds sing.

all around me

with dapper looks

the lunch lady confronts me.

all around me

in grim charade

I know today is it.

all around me

questions arise, saying:

“but if this is it, then what will that be?”

the answer is all around me.

How are we?

-          Doing, well it just goes to say that you are too corporate & if you ease up maybe I wouldnt shit synthetically!

-          Looking, great from an industrialist approach—sure thing that your ol’ buddy mr. perrywinkle may be proud, seeing such bland colors; but then a small approach to things smells like vinegar.

Messy Desk

messy desk, so sloppy & unfit!

the red label on your fast-blast didn’t work on me, man & don’t you even ball end me w/ your super hard shell ®!

14 knives, all pointing towards me—7 shades of gray, darkening by the second, lunging for my throat like a hothead housewife.

messy, messy desk—pig slop, chunky junky—give me a break, boss!

Half A Dozen Dead

Half a dozen dead;
all involved wounded.
The battle seemed so diligent
and then quick to be won.

Half a dozen dead;
hearts racing, soon was
All of the romance forgotten--
with just hope to act on.

Half a dozen dead;
that chilled stale syrup
cast out along with memories
so beaut'fully bitter.

Half a dozen dead;
with heads hanging low,
My patience and pride left in vain--
all else to wither.

State of My Innocence

The ride home abstract as history

Leaves me wanting more than your touch.

The cold chills my bones

Then I remember that summer hasn't come in three years.

Three years almost thrown away,

But caught by your kid brother along the way down.

When might the skies turn vibrant with those colors again?

When might this civil battle cease?

I see it from time to time,

Climbing over the damp grey walls of my life.

The quick glimpse is scolded,

And with a bite as hard as a crocodile, I crawl back to you.

Chronicle I

I gaze out the window, looking upon small pedals,
Trying so vigorously to bud;
The hues of violet and yellow,
Bright against winder's last grey days.

I grab a pear from the bowl of fruit on the table--
Bruised from your touch.
So quickly it is tossed out the door,
Along with everything else I've come to know.

Part of myself exits the home with the mixture of apples and pears;
The only thing I can manage to carry is my tome of memory,
It's random blank pages heavy on my back.

I do not want to forget anything of my former life,
yet while I stare at old notes and letters your signature seems foreign,
It is abstract as history.