Sunday, January 31, 2016


Ooh, Spank Me, Amadeus!

I am the Marquis de Sadness,
heart blatantly on sleeve (tat
tooed underneath in case of
sleevelessness), loving every
lugubrious minute of it.  Pre-

sently, the sound that the 
pornography makes is as 
equidistant from me as either 
hopes or fears.  Present circum-

stances disallow my comfort
zone from being swallowed
up like a very ripe banana.
Sure, you can say “I told you
so,” only to be eaten by a

velociraptor in the morn-
ing (maƱana).  Try not to
tell me so afterwards be-
cause I already ate the

future just to get here in
time to tell you this now.

Saturday, January 30, 2016


U Does Not = Heart

Read this poem as directed
at me.  The last week or so
needs motivation, right?
After 850 calories (it
says here) “BOMBED
headlines that get
larger and larger
as the day prog-
resses until
(one single
word, larg-
est type-
face ever):

This, only to
scare the dead 
into living (well,
nowadays, who 
can tell the liv-
ing from the 
dead, anyway?)

So, Peaches got
happier.  And me,
I’m planning a trip
to Lost Angels in
less than the cost
of a pair of a pair
of decent pajamas
(two weeks at present).
Thanks again, government!