She yanks the line!
She’s hooked me good!
Reels me in
To her hood.
Yanks me out
Of my skin.
Reels me into her sin.
That inner need,
That’s what sets us free
To feel so deeply and
To be in love… again.
I’m her one and only yanker.
A real time kitty spanker.
Spinning tales
Hook, line and sinker
She lifts me up wiggling in the air
And licks my stinky sphincter.
She’s the one who smells real phishy.
A feely dead head ringer.
Patchouli is her middle name
While she gives the finger.
She’s taken all my money
With her silly games.
Sure, her first she says is "Honey."
My head is buzzing -
It can’t be mine!
She’s descaled my mind.
Fileted my soul.
Cooked me up
Into her fold
I find...
I’m flopping on the ground,
Squirming uncontrollably.
She gurgles and she giggles
While she swallows down
My Taquila-soaked worm.
I took a walk
along the bank,
a gentle, trickle flow --
(a soothing chatter)
We spoke of
gurgles and fizzy
bubbles; of slick
stones~ the glitter of
setters’ jewels, rubbed
to treasured perfection --
taking larger pours and
deeper swallows -- like mates
on a shore-leave binge -- in that moment,
stride increasing,
the stream now a jogger’s panting run --
we jointly realized
just how great our shared dislike
for industry and beavers….
Sometimes I feel as if the world will end tomorrow.
I feel the soil will rattle as the oceans awaken in a parasitic rage of humanity.
I feel the doom of our existence dancing in a graceful fragility on the tip of our tongues.
I feel the tender denial of death will wrap its cold limbs around us and inhale the sin of our souls.
The fire and the water will no longer engage in an endless battle of elemental pride.
The trees and the dirt will rip off the path we forget to worship; a farewell of forged purification.
The horrors of humanity will rise in a price no virtue can bind to pay.
The sacrificial redundance of good, a waste to the bloodsuckers of skin.
The goosebumps fight my heartbeat’s resistance to live.
My screams fight the water’s thirst to consume my gurgles.
The flail of my arms fight the world’s desire to strip my soul away.
As the salt swallows me whole,
As the cold drowns me in its void,
As my soul sacrifices to the rage,
I will call your name.<
Sometimes it shrieks, hoots or creaks,
whistles, cries, trills or squeaks,
rattles, russles gurgles or moans,
babbles, crackles, grunts or groans.
Sometimes it chatters, chirps or howls,
baas, ribbits, hisses, roars or growls,
cackles, coos, squawks or crows,
chitters, bleats, clucks or bellows.
Sometimes it, barks, buzzes or caws,
clicks, gobbles, gurbles or heehaws,
moos, humms, oinks, meows or neighs,
peeps, purrs, quacks, snuffles or brays
the silence of nature is a never-ending song,
forget your troubles and come sings along.
A small stream gurgles,
a cool brook babbles,
the river meanders along.
The sea waves crash,
the universe whispers,
it’s all part of nature’s song.
Spiderwebbed folds hang
from thin arms.
A circle of lamplight
is his exercise yard.
Daylight is a brief fluttering wing
against closed eyelids.
Night floats above him,
and in those dark hours
he feels a light-headed immunity
from the gravity
of open graves.
Outside in the hard-wired clamor,
buses and trucks growl up droning hills.
Sink holes open and shut
within a rushing sky.
Order and chaos are ushered in and out
of crazy-eyed cats.
Sometimes his mind
is a wheezy colostrum
of milky effusions.
He paints himself with one finger
in the air.
The dying man hitchhikes under a hand,
feels the warmth of anything in full bloom.
He sighs, then gurgles like a coffee pot.
The wispy guy remains,
always sinking ever upwards
toward what - he knows not,
however, it’s not here
so, he doesn't care.
If you were to ask me
Be the one to catch me, before i take the fall
You'd be the only one waiting, afterall
For whence i open my mouth and
Spill a sea of pills tinged with reddened liquor
I think you'd listen, then
If i took advice from any voice, it'd say 'give up'
But then again the only advice i ever took was the gurgles from down below
Onwards, outwards, suck inwards and hollow
If i gouged the gurgles, they'd say 'continue'
They'd count on me as i count every zero
They'd hold onto my head while i clutch the bottle
But, you'd catch me.
Incase i couldn't catch me
You'd advise me to give up
But i'd have fallen from your grasp
Onwards, downwards, i'd ignore the numbers from the liquor
For they'd spill from my mouth ever quicker
I'd have lost count, either way.
Hey, what did you want to say?
"Return to Bourbon" (The Gritty Underbelly of New Orleans)
I left my soul in a crawfish boil
And my transgressions in a taxicab, Where the driver was blind in one eye
And the meter was stabbed.
The gutter gurgles like a gospel hymn
Also, the rain comes down hard, like a drum, But Lord, I’d give up my rent-stained mattress
Just to feel that voodoo hum.
The Quarter ain’t what she used to be,
I, on the other hand, am not— I got a scar where my halo was
And a suitcase full of lies.
Mama called it the Devil’s playground,
I called it home with a grin—
'Cause even the rats tap dance down Chartres
When the bottle lets the jazz back in.
The hotel's wallpaper contained apparitions, And prayers scratched in the stalls.
They don’t ask where you came from,
how far down you fall. I sleep next to regret and rust now,
In a city too clean to trust—
However, I'd give up this silence for a good howl. in a shotgun residence with damaged ductwork. Yeah, I miss the roaches in the beignets,
The smell of blood and rain—
You are not forgiven by the city, But she’ll always know your name.
Just a little bit of that abracadabra
hangs in the atmosphere atomizing.
In some cases it even placates deluge.
Alchemy burns in the midst of deluge
blurring the reflection of abracadabra.?
Transformation gurgles atomizing.
Unstable particles quickly atomizing
with haste strengthen unruly deluge.
Feral is the flow guiding abracadabra.
It is abracadabra atomizing deluge.
parent’s strong arms
cradle young life, infant
smiles and gurgles
A paper carton
bloats in the fridge,
its manufactured nutrients
stretched thin as a lie.
I pour it down the drain.
The disposal gurgles
back its curdled skin,
a sour hymn rising
through the pipes,
fumes of expiration
smelling like post-partum
nightmares.
Amen.
Across the road, wind blows snow in circles
A predictable winter view
Traveled by many in time
But some things seen by few
The stream speaks in comforting gurgles
behind the old stone wall
Lined with brittle edges of ice
No warning signs not to fall
Slippery, but covered with frozen crystals
A place where blind choices can be made
In the light and the darkness,
It's a crossroad leading through sun and shade
Every cautious step gains more importance
as white and black all intertwine
There's the warmth and there's the cold
When enduring it all, he or she starts to shine
Heidi Sands
1/3/25
(C)opyright
mindless Frankenstein,
single-minded,
and her voracious, faithful dog
with a seventy-foot tail,
lifting carpets, sliding sofas,
slurping everything in sight,
with a bottomless pit for an appetite,
metal, insects, dead mice, coins,
fingernail clippings, fleas, spider brains -
It gurgles and wretches
over paper scraps from childish sketches,
embarrassing for a howling dog,
who wears his name, Hoover, in a stamp
on his bulging side,
a reverse Pandora's box of a canine,
pop him and you see all
your old friends again,
dreams long dead, come alive,
but he's roaring like a
dragon in a Godzilla audition,
and he's got you in his crosshairs,
with a Duranteater snout,
as Ms. Frankenstein squints,
looking for hints,
turning every stone,
so, you gotta keep movin.
she's got murder in her eye.
she won't bake you in pie.
you won't even die.
she's gonna put you in oblivion.
every bit of dirt is gone.
only, you, the dirt king,
emperor of disgust,
crown prince of crud,
evade her tenacity.
finally, sleeping soundly
on a chair's bottom side,
as she falls with a thud,
and Fido hides in the corner,
moaning.
The small stream
gurgles and speaks
as it cuts through
the northside of town.
I stop and listen
as if this is my first time
but it’s always been here
when I passed it in haste.
Now we’re in conversation
at a bend in the middle
of a thicket of trees
where nature whispers and sings.
The sun peeking through branches
offers a moment of revelations
morning’s meditation.
A half mile behind me
cars speed along a busy street
and ahead, more of the same
but now it doesn’t matter.
I’m spending the moment here
a moment lost in time.
Laughter bubbles up from deep within
it foams, gurgles, exudes joy, and spreads
until it bursts forth
and erupts into a jubilant noise
that startles me as it takes on a life of it’s own
and spreads cheer to all who hear
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