Archive for the ‘house of fools’ Category

“oooh, have another hit….of sweet air”–quicksilver messenger service

have another hit
of me,
you said.
tilt back your head
and breathe deep.

there are
different kinds of
flashing lights.
both make your heart
beat faster.

now I know
that you were just
neighborhood stuff,
and that the buzz
was me.

if the cops stop you,
breathe deep and chill, baby powder girl.
they’ll catch on that they’re just
chasing tail
and wasting daylight on an empty dress.


Posted: 03/01/2014 in house of fools, house of women

something there is that doesn’t love a fence,

but judy works at the mortuary and lifted a little jewelry.

wouldn’t it probly be a sin to waste it,

now that it’s in our hot little hands?

that’s what judy asked me, though i’m not 100% clear about the “our” part.

anyway, i know this guy who used to go with my cousin and he knows a guy and

so we lost the jewelry and picked up a little cash,

then we both got our nails done and

now our hands really *are* hot,

sort of,  and the old lady would be glad she could do that for us,

wouldn’t she? sure she would.

it’s just like i always say, good fences make everybody happy.


for the robt frost thing at real toads.


Posted: 01/23/2014 in house of fools

jerry rented a movie, but never took it back.

now the blockbuster closed and ain’t nothing in there

but a few tipped-over racks.


jerry, you jerk,

may you die of guilt, alone under the overpass.

may your thing fall off,

may you kiss my ass


for promising my dog an in-n-out burger and then welshing.


a 55 for the G Man. WordPress says this is 55 words on the nose, cos it counts the hyphenated stuff as one word. I’m too shy to contradict.  –Coal

kick the lock

slip the noose

swear to god

me and you


cradled in a hollow tree

from the start, damned to need

and if i speak, you’ll know i’ve lied

if i say i’m satisfied


kick the lock

slip the noose

swear to god

me and you


damn the heart and damn the bells

that belong to someone else

the devil’s doing will just require

a taste of honey and hell entire


kick the lock

slip the noose

swear to god

me and you


catch the bird and break the wing

just to make her stay and sing

keep, cage, stay and store

then swing it from the sycamore


kick the lock

slip the noose

swear to god

me and you.


for Real Toads mini challenge: passion

What a loser.

me and poison apple are settin up our stuff

on the stage at bayou pumpsie’s southern rib palace.

it’s late afternoon. the lights are on and the place is mostly empty

except for this guy at the bar wearin a wife beater and a bill cap.

he got hair in his ears and lots to say.

“what’s a purty little gal like you doin’ in a place like this?’ he say, grinnin like he just thought it up.

cos yankee stadium was booked, you dumb cocksucker, i think, but i’m too much the lady to say.

how come these guys hit forty,

get comfy at a gig in the shipping department at asshat & sons,

and all sudden like, they think god reached down and filled their bald empty domes with all the knowledge and wisdom of the freakin ages?

they start up with “what ya got to understand”

and wind up with

“see what i’m sayin?”

no, dude, you too deep for me,

like a stall ain’t been mucked out for fifty fuckin years.

i’m thinkin, mister, you the kentucky derby of bullshit.

you the super bowl of fuckin stupidity.

you the grand marshall of the talkin-out-your-ass parade.

the guy at the bar sips his beer,

and my ears almost stop bleedin.

then he’s off again, he knows every player on every team in every sport,

but can’t find his dick with both hands and a pack of hound dogs.

he in mid rant when it starts up from the stage–

feedback like jimi hendrix passin a kidney stone.

“oops” i say and

smile quietly to m’self, cos i’m

ever the fuckin lady.


for kerry’s challenge at real toads

the bottle is empty

but it always was,

always was.

and somehow the thing that i think might save me





oh baby, don’t you know

that i’m the thorn in the garden,

but i am the pretty rose, too.

only a fool would ever think the summer might last

or fall in love

fall in love

fall in love

with you.

the bottle is empty, the sky is too,

and i cut off my hair cos i was angry.

i never could explain the things that i do

except to say, i’m sorry, i was lonely.

the bottle is empty

but it always was,

always was.

and if i tell you that i love you and you ask me why,

i’ll cry and tell you


oh just,

honey just



Posted: 03/21/2012 in house of fools, house of love

had a friend named jimmy

for a long time,

he look after me when I got drunk

and shooda known better but never did.

jimmy was a sweet guy

but had no girlfriend;

he go down and buy a chippie for an hour or so

and he’d pay her to wear these certain boots

and do certain stuff he liked.


somethin inside him needed that, and he never hurt nobody.

not jimmy,

like i say, he was a sweet guy.

today i saw some chick

walkin across the drug store parking lot,

and she looked like you, baby;

so much like you, that my heart twisted over.

then i understood, yanno.

I wooda paid that chick to let me pick up her hand,

walk with her wherever she was goin,

and for her to let me call her by your name.

there’s some folks as wouldn’t understand a thing like that,

but now i do, jimmy.

now i do.

people talk

and people say

that love,

oh love,

is sure enough a beautiful thing.

people talk

but don’t think,

and when it comes to love

oh love,

they don’t know a goddam thing.

love will give

but it don’t give for free…

and what it does

it does

without mercy–

love will change you

and you won’t even see

that what it does, it does merciless–




for Marian’s music prompt (Joan Armatrading)

it’s hard to get home when you’re high.

hard when you left your friends

without sayin goodbye

cos somethin came across your mind.

it’s hard to get home when you’re high.

hard when you can’t trust your eyes

with your arms wrapped around you

cos the wind starts to rise.

it’s hard to get home when you’re high.

hard with such clumsy feet and hands

hard when ya can’t hardly stand

hard for a girl out alone in the night…

it’s hard to get home when you’re high.


for dverse poetics. picture by Walter Smith.