Keep Your Spoons in the Mattress

Topo says, “Tell me about the rat, Momo.” She stops slicing her peaches over his bowl of plain yogurt. “Well, now let me think, Topo, about that.” She silences him so she might stay within her daydream. “About the rat?” Topo asks, “You are thinking about that?” Momo resumes slicing her peaches over his bowl of plain yogurt. She watches as they splash and submerge part way and then pile up like a boat full of golden sea lions; Sunbathing where they slather and float. “Are you thinking about that rat?” Topo wants to know. “No, Topo.” Momo says, “I am thinking of sleepy sea lions.” Topo watches Momo spear a peach crescent leaving her fork prongs ringing, as she quickly snatches it with her teeth, to gobble it up in her mouth. Sweet juice bursts and spills over her chin. Topo says sourly, “But I would not like them drowned in plain yogurt.” And he pouts. “Just eat two bites, Topo, and I’ll tell you about that rat.” Topo glowers and frustrates under Momo’s bribe. He more than notices how she avoids the yogurt and then how she devours another slice of peach and when she swallows, he agrees to two. Topo feels the peaches on his tongue, slippery without their furry skins, as he attempts to clean them of yogurt first, hoping he might fully enjoy them, alone. To be alone with them… Momo asks him not to play with his food after his first bite accidentally pops out and plops back into his bowl. He stares up at her, round-eyed with pleading as if to say, he tried. Momo snaps her fingers and points. “Eat, Topo.”

Topo rinses his mouth with as much water as possible. Momo compliments his dramatic flare. “A deal is a deal.” She says at last, “You should understand a packrat, the way they hide spoons under their mattresses and that way, in the middle of the night, the noisy silverware drawer will not wake up the whole household, as it slides open only to hang heavy like a slack-jawed mouth breather weighted by an unfortunate underbite, and maybe just maybe the freezer, where the ice-cream is hidden deep behind the Jolly Green Giant’s succotash, will agree to be quiet enough to get carried away with. A packrat has to be quick about it, though. At any moment the sound of the refrigerator could roar and hum to adjust for the rise in temperature. Ice crackles when it wakes.”

Topo wiped his mouth on his sleeve and smiled at Momo. He nodded. He liked what the packrat might get away with. It was a hopeful thought to think of that rat.

Provided to YouTube by The Orchard Enterprises “Peaches” ยท The Presidents of the United States of America The Presidents of The United States of America: Ten Year Super Bonus Special Anniversary Edition โ„— 2004 PUSA Music
“Kugrash the Rat” illustrated by Caitlin Hackett

Catholics in Particular

Lyda Rose told on him, she whispered how His Josรฉ was showing, not that he was openly displaying it, necessarily, although maybe he was. She shouldn’t let that bother her, or influence her or maybe inform her, but he wanted the whole part about his following her to be something she had said she needed, and not the other way around. Lyda Rose pinched her nose, “P.U.” the way he poo pooed all over his know-it-all mamasita, gracias mamasita for your womb, whatta Maroon. Stranded where she’ll feed him. Tethered to her big boys aging leather. Forever Hallelujah.

Sweeping It Under the Carpet

Patch was notably jealous of Ryn when she wrote her review of Ryn’s latest novel. Patch told Susan’s whole class of writing students that Ryn was the kind of writer who trusted her readers. Polliwog raised his hand politely. Susan called on Polliwog, “Yes?”

“She trusts us with what?” Polliwog asked, “Or, she trusts us how?” He pushed the thick black frames of his glasses by the nosepiece until his lenses sat closer to his heavy lidded black eyes and magnified them as he stared patiently for her response. Susan decided the whole look of him disturbing to the point of disgust, and found herself needlessly shuffling a stack of un-graded, yet thoroughly evaluated papers, as she gave him a one word answer.

“Intelligence.” Susan replied, “And now I’d like us all to listen to Patch read aloud some of Ryn’s new novel. Patch? Have you a selected piece ready for us, or shall I turn their attention to the part about the girls?”

Patch held Ryn’s novel in front of her face, blocking it from most of the students, excepting those seated at her elbows, but in particular it blocked Susan. She cleared her throat delicately but her suppressed cough still wheezed a little as she took short breaths between sentences. “Hear how this goes, first paragraph~ implores and what’s more, these sensations, not just sensational but alive; more alive, so alive, in fact, you sleepwalkers staggering in your violent dreams have stopped to put on better shoes…” Patch paused for a now uncontrollable cough and stopped the phlegm just in time behind her teeth. Not like last time, when it had landed on her chest. Her listeners took silent bets on whether or not she’d swallow. Susan asked her if she would like a glass of water and before Patch could or would answer, even as much as a nod, she ordered Polliwog to get Patch one from the tiny bathroom sink in her office.

“You’ll see there’s a Dixie-Cup dispenser, Polliwog, and make sure you count one-one thousand six before you fill it.” Susan smiled at Patch, “We get a little red run in the pipes.” She reported at which point Patch stood up and left the room, never to be seen publicly by a classroom full of writing students again. “Class dismissed.” Was all Susan had said, abruptly, before she departed, for all they knew at the time, to find out what was going on with Patch.

“What the fuck just happened?” Polliwog nudged Dawg. Dawg shrugged. Polliwog and Dawg both looked at Panda.

“Bong hits.” Panda confirmed without proof. “Patch went to school here long before we ever did. She’s got a badass case of eighties-stoners-hack, way I reckon.”

“Well, this fucking sucks. I finally did the fucking reading, which fucking sucked and now class is fucking dismissed? What the fuck are my parents even paying for?” Sharky was pissed.

“Why do you think Susan wanted to start with the part about the girls, Sharky?” Tweetie asked both sweetly and genuinely curious. This made everyone like Tweety. She was always so interested in each of them. Sharky relaxed a little when he looked at Tweety.

“Jaws” Sharky replied. And he playfully took bites out of the thin air to make his teeth chatter and click. Then he made his eyebrows go up and down. “Susan wanted Patch to read about Ryn eating the girls. Everyone always gets excited about that, no matter how they feel about it. But Patch? She choked on it. She totally choked.”

Polliwog flipped through the pages, locating the passage about the girls. They seemed to sit in a clearing in the woods, where they gave new names to the flowers they didn’t know. You’d think the flowers would appreciate being recognized at all, but they didn’t. They had never been known and now improperly introduced, the flowers were all but forgotten. “What makes you pick them?” The tallest girl asked the smallest girl to which the smallest girl replied to the tallest girl, “To gather them for our sister.” And she handed the bundle of them as a bouquet to the medium girl who accepted with delight and hugged them to her heart. “If you could only choose one flower among all those in your grasp, which one would it be?” To the medium girl, the tallest girl asked.

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t choose Aprons or Irons as my favorite flowers.” The medium girl removed the wilt of morning glory and the heavy knobs of black-eyed dogwood. The small girl watched as they were strewn and scattered, plucked and tattered. “And I wouldn’t choose Mops or Buckets as my favorite flowers. The medium girl pulled purple camus and bluebells to throw after the others. The small girl watched as they were trampled and crumpled by the tallest girl who had taken upon herself the task of making sure. “I would keep this Broom.” Announced the medium girl at last and she held up a stalk of rosemary. “As it hedges everywhere and the deers will not forage for it. My soup will be tastier even when it dries. Yes, I would choose the Broom.”

With that the tallest girl clapped. “And what would the Broom flavor in your soup? Just the stupid water?” She asked the medium girl.

“Chickens, that have come to roost. And a Broom. You’ll not have to wash it down, To sweep it all away. A hatchet to the crowing dawn, To sweep it all away. The headless bodies that run from every last nerve, To sweep it all away. The feathers plucked, the pillows stuffed, To sweep it all away. And a hedge row of Broom, where the deers will not go, when I sweep it all away. There’ll be no hunters here, for they’ll be no prey that stays. Just the Broom to sweep it all away.”

Polliwog looked up from reading. Sharky took bites out of thin air and said, “Told you so.” Tweety asked, “Are you not going to read the part about being heartless?” and Dawg said he’d do it.

“Eat your heart out.” Sharky encouraged him.

Dawg stretched his arms over his head. “I believe we should go for a walk instead, but I’ll do it. I’ll read to you. About the heart. About the heart of it. Of the matter. At the center there was this soul. But she calls it the heart. Ryn, I mean, she didn’t eat the girls, literally. When she turned them into chickens…”

“That’s called explaining the book not reading it. Is it that you question my intelligence?” Panda interrupted Dawg. “Ryn trusts me. And she wrote the novel. So, why can’t you?”

Tweety laughed so that they all felt like it too. So they sat there laughing. Until Susan came in and they all stopped.

“You’re all still here?” Susan was surprised. Sharky formed his familiar scowl. “I apologize, class.” Susan said avoiding Polliwog’s magnified stare. “It seems that Patch is feeling a little under the weather.” Susan stated the obvious as she gazed out the classroom window now, a sun break lighting the room into stripes by way of the slatted blinds. She was a zebra until it passed and returned her to a level of gray. “Have you been discussing Ryn’s novel? What do you think, then? How about you, Pigeon? What’s your take away?” Pigeon stopped jotting notes in her spiral steno pad and met Susan’s eyes with her own. She blinked several times and tilted her head to the side.

“My take away?” Pigeon repeated. “It’s quite personal, Susan. So if you don’t mind, I’ll see you for our one on one conference scheduled this afternoon at three-fifteen and we’ll discuss it in private, rather than for the benefit of the entire roll call. I’m just so tired of being your stool.”

When Does Kindness Force Feed You?

When Does Kindness Press Down?
When has Kindness ever Force Fed anyone?

Just ask Emerson's Ghost! He ain't the hostess 
with the mostest, but he sure 'nuff channels 
thru old white people who twitter,
Until all those Bitches claiming to be having trouble
biting their tongues 
just Plum Burst into tears.

Matt Dowd's pal points out the giant vulva
he sees
in the forest,
Creation Herself
and he calls it the Birth... 
(not pictured)
Clever, having fled 
after finding 
the exit sign a steady dim green
glowing but sharing no light. 
So long Big Bertha! 

Grace  rakes
neat piles, whistles while 
she works
like she ain't spying on her neighbors.

Sub Urban – UH OH! (feat. BENEE) [Official Music Video] Stream “UH OH! (feat. BENEE)”: Follow Sub Urban:
“Nice to Meet You” (Hand Shake Prank Flower Squirter) Ranunculus Elegance Striato Bianco (Pink Fade) “Adam’s Apple” (Don’t Choke Up)

The Love Cellar

Above Photo: This is the most detailed model of a human cell to date, obtained using x-rays, nuclear magnetic resonance, and cryoelectron microscopy data sets. (Source: Transformation of the Cellular Landscape through a Eukaryotic Cell, by Ingersoll, McGill ~ Digizyme’s Custom Maya Molecular Software)


Prayojana took aim. You requested a blindfold. Prayojana lit a cigarette for You instead and demanded You keep your eyes focused, just here, where two bulls, missing the rings in their noses, lowered four horns, not bowing to Your feet, but on Your mark.

The last words You Spoke were No Mercy.

“Tainted Love” (Music video covered by) Broken Peach
“๐“๐š๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐ž๐ ๐‹๐จ๐ฏ๐ž” is a song composed by Ed Cobb, formerly of American group ๐“๐ก๐ž ๐…๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐๐ซ๐ž๐ฉ๐ฌ, which was originally recorded by Gloria Jones in 1964. It attained worldwide fame after being covered and reworked by British synthpop duo ๐’๐จ๐Ÿ๐ญ ๐‚๐ž๐ฅ๐ฅ in 1981 and has since been covered by numerous groups and artists.
Video recorded at ๐Ž ๐•๐ž๐ฅ๐ฅ๐จ ๐‚๐šฬ๐ซ๐œ๐ž๐ซ๐ž in Lugo (Galicia – Spain).

Knock Knock (Who’s There?)

The pointed thing waited 
on the other side of the door
Each point pointed 

The Po Po wants to know
how many 
in ToTo?

Numerology is Im-Por-Tan-Te
to  the Uno Numero 

See, here!
Po Po's weasel pops, 
Just WHO DO YOU think is AKKsking
Quest-ion ss?

Si, Si
Po Po 

Po Po fails to holster;
Weasel goes Slither
from Railroad room to Parlor. 

Skid marks
after the burn.

This is Not a Poem

Dear Intellectual Shaman, Bogdan Dragos, Sebastian, and yes you darlin’ Grace of the Sun:

Stop Tagging my work with your “likes” PLEASE.

Bogdan, I have tried to read your work after you tagged me. I stopped reading your poems because you are sooooooooooooo down on yourself that you take your feelings of self-loathing out on women. It’s all about hate-fucking. You hate women but you wanna fuck ’em. And It’s ugly.

Intellectual Shaman your sexism is BORING. I am tired of getting hated on and shot 666 times in your poems, the way you hate women. I realize I can’t stop your incel nature, but you remind me of blogger Dracul VanHelsing who thinks butchering women and cutting them up 999 times is cool. Both of you calling women whores in some sick justification… It’s not the “horror-writing” genre you’re good at because you’re both too pale as writers. I have asked you to stop, so STOP.

Sebastian I realize YOU will never read this because you are tagging people so they might go-fund you while you write the book you want them to later buy. You got your hand out so far asking for money… I mean are YOU kidding me? Now you want me to buy your poems? I thought it was charitable simply to read them. GET OVER YOURSELF.

Grace of the Sun, I have no idea if you read all the poems you tag of others, and you’re a nice girl, but you write for five years olds and yet about nothing at all. Five years olds actually say things with more content than you. If you were in my college poetry class, the teacher would rip your poems to shreds. You have NO hooks and NO anchors. You’d be sent back the proverbial drawing board in a heart beat. Your work is all the same. I can appreciate that it brings joy to you and your fellow Christians, but it leaves me SPIT-FIRE mad when all is said and done. It makes me want to gouge my own eyes out because you are SO Fucking SHALLOW.

Whelp Folks, That’s it for now. So, to the rest of the WordPress Community Good Luck navigating and see ya out there in the threads.

The Object of Knowledge

Throughout the war, Swarmi pretzels his legs, launches 
into rapid 
nostril breathing,  followed 
by an elongated exhale past the purse of his lips, he opens
his eyes and gazes up-
wards, meeting 
the threat 
of an overcast 

As the Wild Fires Roar Kwimi licks the outside 
of a honey jar and reports 
how the label tastes 
like glue, it lingers 
in her mouth, bitterly
and she cups her hands over her frown, 
until Swarmi smiles.

During the Occupation Swarmi observes Pete form 
puddles on top of his skins
the buoyancy rings 
skipping stones across a body
heart calm against the racing 

At the funeral Kwimi plays, 
a ball of yarn rolling past 
Moha, she bats 
at it, one claw caught 
in the soft fibers,
it unravels
so she agitates,
gallops and 
bumps; Pete 
bursts into laughter
as Swarmi snatches 
Moha, cradles 
her in his lap; he detaches
the tether. 


Bae says, they will make use of YOU and toss YOU away... 

Once she strained out of topless auto-mo-biles, 
she is nostalgic,
nauseous by all indications
her bare shoulders and the way she resents 
how they hung 
on her 
every word but would not kiss 
her mouth to shut her up.

She crashed the parties, Bae says, fashionably
how she designed trends 
before they were trends at the time 
to make
ends meet;
She says, there's a lot YOU can do 
when the selvedge comes unravelling,
and a woman's work is never done, 
a few plumes
from a feather duster 
NOW that's a hat!

It's just not done
in polite circles, she says, thinking
is a privilege, although she's not 
the first human to point 
at paradox.

I want to go back there, affectionately, Bae says
to say YES! 
He finds YOU 
on your dryer lint, mountains of laundry
and endless rolling 
socks into balls
wondering if acceptance should 
not be king, but YOUR god.
As if banishing hope
was the answer to YOUR prayers. 

But YOU didn't mean it.  You lied to YOUR self, Bae says,
keeping YOUR secret
until YOU are both in private.

Grown quiet, Bae writes about her babies eyelids
when they are closed.

Consent and Confirmation

Her parents named her Mule 
she was hired
as a Mascot
We watch 
as She scratches under the table
like there's a dog, tongue
wagging rapidly 
she swears 
she will NEVER surrender
to the alteration 
of  first 

Grand Old Party Leader smacks her 
rear to make her go 
when he alludes 
to her gums
and she, Hee Haw 
Hee Haw 
Hee Haws.