kamikaze
zygote
vortex
happy joe lucky
has a low post count
but hey, so did i at one point
so that’s cool
and these things are
a surprising lot harder to write
when the words are really ordinary
Growing up in America behind fenced yards
the adults always said we lived in the best place on earth,
but even when puberty hits in the midsummer
there’s nothing as sexy as train tracks or highways.
Even the birds in our trees dream about country
that’s not sectioned off or sliced up.
you’ve taken too many trips to the gloryhole at the back of Sears
yes you.
it doesn’t matter that you can recite the chemical structure of unununium
we don’t care about things like that
hey you with your milquetoast nature and your bow ties
you don’t scare us.
The weirdos at the hunting shop said
he was lissencephalic - what the hell’s that? we said.
He was also trigger-happy - shots rang out in the woods
and he perched on his rock and yelped
while all the birds took off in a clatter of wings,
red cavities appeared in moose hide until dusk.
Rathskeller
Squirrel
Sunburn
clang
silver
weasel
buffalo gal
massage
edible panties
tiger
smock
heterochrony
stain
ergonomic
pedal
lycanthropy
pimple
fog
tweak
bugle
herpes
vernacular
loquacious
haiku
a rush of fluid to the head
and a blast of gasoline into the engine
and that was all she wrote
my cousin’s friend’s sister’s boss got entangled
in a tree behind a concert stadium
and they retrieved a branch from his anal cavity.
(I’ll have you all know I spent most of this one trying to avoid making a g***** reference. If you don’t know what that is, trust me you don’t want to.)
Kid, it smells like necrophilia in here.
Go fill your head with falafel and not ideas
and quit hanging around in catacombs.
Maybe you should try talking
to someone in the archdiocese,
and for the gods’ sakes put down that skull.
little goth girl’s wearing an aventurine bracelet
deep browns set in cheap silver
catch the sun and splatter it around the sidewalk
Some lummox probably bought it for her
and now he’s going to pick her up and
feed her vichysoisse until sunset.
maroon
reprobate
Ozymandias
you’re no anklebiter
for that you’d be the neighbor’s dog
with the high yappy bark
and the distended sphincter
no, you’re no anklebiter
unless biting ankles makes you orgasmic.
You got it!
We have one basic rule: Don’t be a jerk.
And trolls will be repeatedly shot in the face
or banned, whichever’s easier.
Also, it is not wise to annoy the moderators
as many of them could turn you into an asshat.
stankhonative’s not in my dictionary, sorry.
These trees can put down adventitious roots
in places no one would expect
just like people sometimes:
my aunt was miffed whenever we watched MTV
and warned us about the dangers of sex outside marriage
but then took off with a studmuffin from Toledo.
the potato bar was a whorehouse
this everyone in town knew.
each friday night
the bras hit the floor
in lace and colored ribbon floats
and then the customers scrum for postition.
More coming!
actually no, that’s it for tonight, I’m going to bed.
What a fantastic mind exercise Daowajan! You’ve done quite well. Going to go back over several of these.
Sleep well. Your brain must be hurting 
Wow, Daowajan! The America/sexy/bird one is an excellent poem!
Well done! There is a disturbing imagary in distended sphincters though.
phlebotomist
eggshells
disarmament
Daowajan, you are one badass motherfucker. Seriously.
I have come down with the Never-Ending Flu, so it’s time for the Saturday round.
the clouds swirl into a vortex
in the pre-dawn sky ove the islands
breaking apart air mass inversions
and kamikaze wings en route to ships
this is the zygote of civilization
this is the apex of barbarism
Most of the food in the Rathskeller
tastes like fried dead rabid squirrel.
actually i don’t know, I usually eat
food at home and then go sit on the terrace.
Ducks are bobbing up and down in the lake
and I’ll sit until covered in sunburn.
When the butler rings the bell
and it clangs into the hallways
and throughout the courtyards,
then it’s time to sit at the master’s table
and eat daintily off silver plates
and watch the elegant dance of the weasel
into the last will and testament.
Hey, that’s FIVE words! 