Archive for February, 2014


Posted: 02/25/2014 in house of music

Ladies and germs, please welcome three gentlemen and one great great broad, Coal Black and Poison Apple!



(heavy drum beat)

Hello Tulsaaaaaaaaaaa!

(wild applause, bass line drops in)

Fuck y’all, caintcha do any better’n that???

(wilder applause, guitar chords)

All right!


You and your tweaker friends stay up all week

screwing parts from the fire alarm to my tv,

I think it’s pretty lame, yeah I think it’s strange

when ya don’t want my lovin but ya want my brains

Sh-sh-sh-shamble baby

(you’re undead!)

It’s bullsh-sh-sh-shamble

(when you’re undead!)

When I first metcha, you were awful fine,

But now you got no teeth and a burned-out mind,

I’d rather puke than kiss ya, it’s just snot the same,

cos all you ever wanna do is eat my brain!

You’re rotten baby

(you’re undead!)

sh-sh-shamble baby

(cos you’re undead!)

I can’t stay with ya, can’t stick around,

so why dontcha just go underground?

Let’s bury the past and your sorry ass,

Just stay dead baby,

this time baby, cos


(you’re undead!)

It’s bullsh-sh-sh-shamble

(when you’re undead!)

Lemme see ya shamble, Tulsaaaaa!

(guitar shred)

Oh hell yeah!


Posted: 02/16/2014 in house of love, house of women

j’miah got four sisters.

they dress ‘im up, sit his baby fat butt at their tea parties.

j’miah got all of their old

dolls, trolls, jacks.

you might’ve been surprised to see the green-haired naked marines

storm the beach and beat the Bratzis.

j’miah got four sisters, make him their pet.

they soothe and scold, make him be the dad or the dog.

time goes by, j’miah’s four sisters all get married, one by one.

all the husbands got sisters.

all the sisters think j’miah awfully cute.

“he understands things” they say.

“he’s not an asshole,” they say.

“like you,” they add, to the brother-husbands.


j’miah got four sisters.

it ain’t all bad.

he tell this basic fact to every new girlfriend,

including the new one,

the naked one,

the one with green hair.


for Kerry’s free verse challenge: Four.

1-14 Bree and the Dreamweaver Coat 8 x 10 mixed media on canvas panel..jpg photowe were fucking around, that’s all,

and the tip of john’s jack-knife ended up in my thigh.

it wouldn’t stop bleeding, but i’d rather eat nails than call

mama for a ride, cos she’d bitch and know we’d been high.


i said i had to go, and hoofed it home, cos i didn’t want john to see me cry,

but i had to hide those jeans and i’ve still got the scar

to remind me of the night, and the blood, and the stars.


a rhyme royal, more or less, for Grace’s mini challenge at Real Toads.

art at top “Bree and Dreamweaver Coat” by the very groovy Lisa Graham.

saw a friend

and chattered a bit, in front of skip’s bakery

in our serious fash boots,

in the crappy snow.

i never saw it coming:

the flu she gave me,

but it found me like trouble follows a fool.


saw a magazine

on a table at the chopping block salon,

and asked judy to pass it my way.

i never saw it coming, but it found me:

the perfume ad stuffed between pages like a toad in a stone,

that set me sneezing

like a snot devil on a hot tin roof.


now here you are,

leaning on my kitchen table with your elbows,

talking same as always, but something feels wrong:

i get that leaving feeling,

like I’m gonna lose something fast.

it ain’t allergy,

and it ain’t flu.

it might be me,

but i’m thinking more likely, honey, it’s you.