Sunday's Chore

Apple juice. Banana spread. CoffeeCoffeeCoffee.

Doughnuts. Eggs. 2 pounds Fish. Garlic Gin Greens.

Ham. Ice-cream. Jelly. Ketchup. Lettuce. Mint.

Nectarines. Orange. Potatoes. Quinoa. Raisin.

Shallots Soup Sangria. Thyme. Unleavened bread.

Vanilla pudding. Wheat Waffles and Watercress.

Xacuti with chicken and coconut, XanaxXanaxXanax.

Yam Yellowtail Yoghurt. Zucchini Zuppa Zest.

Horrid Pie

I probably bite off more than I could chew.

Hungry once but now sick in the tummy

by that horrid pie that was

just so delicious.

Baked with 6 core ingredients

the pie was formed,

with only a tiny dash off pepper for the kick

in my face.

The oven was grinding my teeth down

and churning my gut as I waited.

Waited.

Got to eat it while it’s hot.

It should have been a sign when a drop of saliva

sizzled into nothingness on the pan.

But I dug in so deep so fast as if I used a shovel.

Burned my fingers. Burned my tongue.

And now I’m sick.

I thought you were the doctor but you were a

“Phoney!” in disguise.

I vomited and all you did was inch away

as slow as the winds in a hurricane

and didn’t even bother saying goodbye.

Eating

Your spit coated my face
just the way I like it.
Closing my eyes, I savor every moment.
A smirk. “Darling, I know what you ate for breakfast.”
Our traditional snake dance.
Slobber. More slobber. I love it.
There’s no awkwardness between us,
only heat from friction between our breaths
and heat from the frictionless relationship we share.
“You take my breath away, Honey.”
Our cooperation is seamless-
you follow my lead and I… “Dearie, more tongue.”
I love the taste of your lip gloss.
Strawberry is the sexiest chemical ever made-
a genius’s work that keeps me going and going and going.
and your perfume, your pheromone, my addiction.

I open my eyes to capture this magical frame:
the old man with the disapproving eyes;
the married couple with their green eyes;
and the children whose eyes were prohibited from such a sight.
That’s right. You are going to be traumatized tonight
and the next day and the next. That’s right. It shall consume
you like how she consumes me whole.

I need a blender

yes yes! put everything in.
a good mix of life is the perfect drink.
a dash of spice and a whole load of brains
and those little pills to take away the pain.
dew drop tears and volcanic lava,
prom night desses with crystal tiaras.
flowers with mud, bushes with torns,
angels with halos, and movie popcorn.
throw my friends in and family too,
my bed, my pets and even my school.
turn on a switch and get me a glass
and call 911 just in case i pass.

Caged

I woke up to a peanut at my face.
Breakfast! I thought, what kind souls.
Soon the peanut disappears into a sea of acid,
My sea of acid.

I looked around to a world of bright light and smiles.
A positive change from where I laid my head before.
Showered with more alarm clocks, I was god.
With a twitch of my fingers and a gulp,
The faces, oddly differing in shapes, cheered.

I was satisfied with their prayers.
With offerings in hand, I ordered
For the peanuts to fly to my subjects.
They scurried away. The same spider-webbed look.

I reached out but the massive metal monster separates the holy
From the despised.
Sad little creatures. No freedom. All being dressed.
All caged up.

Preying

i could feel the heat behind me shooting down
as my bald head reflected light like the stars.
my eyes, as sharp as my beak, scoured
as i hovered above what was once alive.
stubbornly refusing to remove myself,
i smiled when i saw, from the corner,
new meat.

Caught Cha!

"I need you in this tub!
One brewing so green,
With bubbles of hate
And ingredients of mean.

A sprinkle of petals
From Sanguinaria Canadensis.
A dash of black widows
Glued to wings of Morpho Peleides.

Stir it with a bone
From a dinosaur’s paw.
Now, a few more earwigs.
Yes, in they fall!

Turn up the heat,
And ground hard those flies.
Make sure you don’t forget
To marinate the mice!

Put all those lizards in
Don’t let them go to waste,
And drop in a few eyeballs
Just to enhance the taste.

To give it a crunch,
Hrm, what shall I pick?
Ah, a few clipped toenails
Shall do the trick!

Bob your head in!
I’d like you well-done.
You know you can’t escape
So don’t try to run.

You should have known better
Than to be the snitch.
Guess that’s what you’ll get
For messing with a witch!”