A Note For Ted, In Case You're Still Alive

Yeah, I'm kind of in a silly mood this week. Watched Zombie Strippers! this week, so I've kind of had the unholy masses stuck in my head. The movie, by the way, was totally awesome.


A Note For Ted, In Case You're Still Alive

Here they come! The groans, the baleful glares,
the gnashing teeth, the stench of the undead;
Goddamned zombies. We've been trapped downstairs
for hours now. "Just shoot them in the head,
guys, just shoot them in the head," said Claire,
Our erstwhile host, before that cunt-bitch fled
on the last boat. If we survive, I swear:
No more villas on the Isle of Dread.
We left you in a closet of some sort,
No way out, but no way in as well -
But, fuck! Shit, they've broken through the door!
Grab that shotgun, man, and give 'em hell.
Hold steady, breathe, and may your aim be true,
Or in two scenes, our target'll be you.

I Have My Days

Well, it's my birthday. The big two-nine, the last birthday of my twenties. It got me thinking about the last decade or so, how far I've come, how little I've done with my life. It's a contemplative time; from here on out, it's just a countdown to 30.

Once, a long time ago, I knew what I was doing. Everything was clear, every step I took had purpose. Time does something to that. It distracts you, it shakes your will. It wears you down. But hey, that's life, neh? It's all you can do to keep going.


I Have My Days

It's been a while, but I remember when
I thought I'd live forever. Hell, who never
wore that mask? I was immortal then,
a howling beast, so indolent and clever.
The worldlust burned; whenever I so chose,
whatever I desired would be mine.
No consequence! The future was a rose
clutched in my hand; my will. My design.
But now, the mirror tells a different story,
one lined with stuttered fear and idle pain.
A touch of memory lost and shallow glory,
the humble, hollow breath of what remains.
I have my days. There, in the eye, a spark
of what I was; a fist clenched in the dark.

A Flash of Pink

For those of you who've been wondering where the hell I've been all week, I wrote you a sonnet:


A Flash of Pink

A flash of pink; ferocious blues,
A hopshot scotch to a common day,
Old-school grit meets new tattoos;
Lots to look at, lots to say.

Twists of limbs in twos ensues,
Details fuzzy - that's okay,
Play again, what's there to lose?
Two feet's too far to fly away.

Four-plus days, laughing, bare,
Easy silence, dancing swine,
Countless smokes and war wounds shared,
Fast-track lovin', slow-spent time.

Born of liquor, forged in sin,
Cash me out. Count me in.


If you'll notice, I wrote this one in tetrameter. I've noticed (after reading a balls-ton of Shakespeare's sonnets recently) that pentameter slows the poem down into a pleasant rhythmic flow; the asymmetrical foot count leads to a more leisurely pace when reading through a work. Tetrameter, on the other hand, keeps the pace faster, especially since each line can be broken up into two phrases as they are here. And considering the breakneck pace at which these last few days have moved, I decided to clip the last foot off to keep the poem moving. Let me know if it worked.

Goodbyes.

Figured I'd kick off with an Italian-style sonnet, since after years of writing Shakespeareans, I'm a little burned out on the form. It's still my go-to form for when I'm uninspired, so don't worry, you'll be seeing a lot of 'em. In the meantime, though...


Goodbyes

"Je n'aime plus la vie," she said today.
She smiled at me, that empty sort of smile
my mother wore as we drove every mile
from church to grave. She never heard me say
goodbye to her, she never heard me pray
for mercy through the haze of tears and bile
as I lay drunk upon a bed of tile.
Sweet wrenching pain, you never went away.

But this, this is a different sort of pain,
no burning lance; instead, a vacant sigh.
A pastless girl who's never tasted you,
the morning's vapid fuck still on her skin.
Another one won't hear me say goodbye.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm tired of it too."