fog may creep in on little cat feet
but not love
no domesticated catling
love roars in
a lion in winter or summer or spring
and don't forget fall
(because that's what you do)
ferocious tawny hot
flashing its fangs
unsheathing its claws
equipped with a whip
a stolen gift
from the last lion tamer vanquished
love swings the cat without remorse
nine tails spangled with elegant stars
all biting deeply and decadently
striping your soul in delicious designs
heating your blood to a furious boil
forget the time
forget the day
forget your name
lost to the world
when caught in love's pitiless laces
dizzy lightheaded
when finally shredded
unable to rise
dressed in ashes and lies
and never again
amen amen
Long ago in a distant land an explorer and his large team of bearers, trackers, hunters, cooks, handymen, translators and so on came upon a village of people never before known to the outside world.
Luckily the translators were able to communicate with the people and soon the explorer was talking with the villagers, who called themselves – well, nevermind that – it's unpronounceable by outsiders.
The explorer offered the villagers gifts of whatever he had with him. To his astonishment, the villagers chose things that were the most mundane and least valuable to the team.
Robert Plant, Paul McCartney, and Mick Jagger convene once a year to discuss all the great foods they've found travelling the globe on tour.
Robert was the first reveal his 'big find'. He took out a little pie tray from a brown paper bag and placed it on the table.
"It's a pastry of some kind from Tanzania. It's akin to what we call a quiche, but uses yak cheese and quail eggs instead.”
"Fascinating" said Paul. He pulled a tiny vial out of his pocket and placed it on the table.
This is a lavender extract the people of Nauru use to flavor their baked goods. It's incredibly expensive to make, but well worth it."
in this glorious soulsearing always fatal
business of living i am the willow
always weeping
shrouded in my veil of yellowgreen
never completely vertical but curved
i am an ogee in a country of the upright
clothed in the motheaten mantle of honesty
infected with the poison of deceit
they do not deceive me with their smiles
stolen from snakes
i have my own deceits one of which
is discreet observance
from behind the veil of my branches
my waterfall of tears
it's snowing like hell
and the wind is a servant
straight from the palace
of the snow queen
that bitch
but i've plenty of wood
and four packs of smokes
a half-bottle of bourbon
and this morning's coffee
sure the bathroom's unheated
the bedroom a tomb
but the power's still on
(but who knows for how long?)
still i sit in the dark
the lamp just expired
and there's only the one
in this cavernous room
poets have been known
to finish it all
on evenings like this
but not i
no
tonight i will melt
into shadows and smoke
what more could a
poor matchgirl want?
Bob and a couple of his coworkers
went out to lunch to celebrate Bob's birthday.
He, Tim and Susan were sitting together in a booth when the waitress approached. She handed them menus and said, "Good afternoon fellas! Welcome to Great Tastin’ Kitchen!”
“Before we get started, might I ask if you're here to celebrate a special occasion?"
Susan piped up, "It's Bob's birthday!"
"Oh well happy birthday! Make sure you save room because you'll get a free dessert!" said the waitress.
Tim and Susan smiled and nodded but Bob looked a bit confused and asked her to repeat herself.