If I weren’t such a kidder,
you might have to consider
just where I went and hid her
now that I am a widder.
But now you can’t assume;
you’ll call for an exhume
and then you’ll storm and fume.
The widder grin doth bloom.
and so it all came to pass ~ the world stood still when I sh!t on your grass
so barked the neighbours dog ~ but I’d already seen him dragging his ass
What do you do
when you’re riddled with riddles,
swallowed whole
right down the middle?
Music blares,
but it’s not me.
’Twas a toot or two
from a fiddle.
What do you do
when your riddles get riddled?
When you’re all alone
and you fiddle your diddle.
Nothing comes out
but a little
piddle.
Compulsively arranged
and out of control,
thought after thought
has swallowed me whole.
Riddled with feelings,
I pick at my mind,
looking for answers
that no one can find.
Can you connect the dots?
I’m trying to justify
whatever still rots.
Riddled with riddles,
discarded
like an afterthought.
Something’s not right here.
Something became
a knot.
The
other eighteenth
centurion was rewired to beat whip-
ping cream by trans-
ferring it to one of free flood plain car-
rier amigo acid barriers and then em-
BARK-
ing on his var-
ied
own
creep dis-
cussing raw plans in a goop text where he adds
a spam
and melon
ball twist to a clutch-
ing figurine piece depicting
an angle between those sidewind-
ers required for
hooking spouts
with ambiguous traces of lawful fake
muse bots
spread-
ing
gas unrest using automated pest practices
that
put real intel-
ligence to sleep behind the Wheel of Miss
Fortune's even
grey-
er and darker than usual
Legion of Heavy Petting Metal Maniacs.
O, good. Just what I’ve always wanted to elect
a Senatorial candidate with a Nazi tattoo on his chest
What do you mean he’s dropping out of the race
~ depriving me of voting for one of America’s best
.
poor peanut
pretty
sheets crumple'd
in mitts
hern
reach'n fer
thuh board
head
shake'n
"please"
(((just))) make thuh
bed
i'm not allow'd tuh
phuk maid
thuh
not on fridayz
tip (edvard tap)
meanz
Lady Jane Grey
had a bad day.
Could you have been much ruder,
Queen Mary Tudor?
I sense the scorching truth doth lap my toenails ~ or am I being tricked
satan asked his chiropodist ~ who hath nicked him bad but truly licked
By
David Kavanagh
Unless you pay in bills, unmarked,
your aspirations have been parked.
Our lawyers have reviewed your case,
and determined they don't like your face.
Our agreement, then, we would rescind,
to leave you twisting in the wind.
The air is very still
with not a cloud in the sky
the air is the temperature of my skin
as Paris sits in unearthly quiet
I love the liminal world
in the last-watch of night
the coldest-dark before dawn
when the city’s not yet alive
A low-area-mist lies on the Seine
like a luminous veil of winter breath
with stygian, pooling currents underneath
that always remind me of death
the black cat always sits
on the quay wall of the bridge
it’s there almost every day
not completely, solidly black
so i think, luck-wise, it’s ok
I make a conversational mee-oww sound
each time we pass, but it never answers back
it just jerkily flicks the final inch of its tail,
like it’s giving us the cat-bird.
.
.
A song for this:
Nothing Can Stop Us by Saint Etienne
Levitating (Live from the Royal Albert Hall) by Dua Lipa
I certainly don't mean to intrude.
I hadn't expected to catch you nude,
and I don't mean to make a fuss,
but I thought it was only us,
or, perhaps, I misconstrued -
if I might ask, who is this dude?
Robot with a Heart
Would you stop and think,
and see a robot blink,
or shovel a bolt or nut
into a hungry gut?
Have you a heart or not?
Signed, your loving bot.
Me and My Shadow
Me and my shadow made quite a pair.
Only he would always be there.
Someone I could to tell my troubles to,
as the day wore on, his presence grew -
but when the sun went sinking down,
he packed his bags and he left town.
Cold and Dark
An image stark,
cold and dark -
I see only
an old man, lonely.
Would warmth and light
make it alright?
Funerals in Season
Funerals in season -
We know the reason.
We don't have to be told
we're growing old.
Today's Snail
Today's snails act differently.
One crawled up my stucco wall, you see.
Wouldn't it be a surprise
to see a snail roll his eyes?
‘Satire is traditionally the weapon of the powerless against the powerful.’ – Molly Ivins
A fly on the wall; a listening bug, if you will, ha!
Over conversational buzz I hover
oh, the grift and greed I discover.
Did you know the common-man-ripoff
is a state sponsored affair? (Gasp!)
Elite pockets; cold in the snow job
if not lined with heat of poor money. If
mouthparts spoke, I’d sip rot to tip truth; a spy
for the small fry, not for rooting media piggies
… for who would suspect a lil ole drone like me?
This droll dance I’ve got to teach you,
all you ghosts line up start chanting!
A tight move to the right twisting,
twirling with your partner shout ‘Boo!’
Shut down that dramatic boohoo,
get them all up start clamoring!
This droll dance I’ve got to teach you,
all you ghosts line up start chanting!
It could be their nightmare come true
still they’ll feel the beat’s enchanting.
Let’s go! Ramp it up! Big haunting!
Falsetto shrieks grow and cut through,
this droll dance I’ve got to teach you.
For years, without caution, I sought her,
and at last, it looks like I caught her.
I'd like to wear my tie loose
('specially as it's a noose)
when I wed the ropemaker's daughter.
In an hour, a raven passed me by,
and said, "how I admire your new tie",
and "in hard times like these,
don't think 'twist in the breeze',
rather, 'Today, I learn how to fly'".
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