Category Archives: Prank Calls From Outer Space

Spectors And Spooks

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Spectors And Spooks

They say this place is haunted.

I watched the news story,
saw the blue-walled backdrop of my apartment
and the last tenant insistent
about otherworldly persistence.

The ghost is supposedly a child,
a little girl,
which seems logical—
if spectors and spooks
are real,
well
what’s more real
and traumatizing
than childhood?
(If you don’t understand
then pat yourself on the back
and hug your mother
and also
congratulations on Daddy loving you.)

I leave a lamp on at night
with two bulbs
(one white one blue)
but not because I’m scared
of spectors and spooks
but because I’m scared of
myself
and my thoughts
in the isolating dark. Read the rest of this entry

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Welcome (Back) To The Grotesquerade

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Welcome (Back) To The Grotesquerade

It’s a thin borderline
that separates me
(and me)
from a full-blown personality disorder.

Put Casanova
(or is it Nasa Cova now?)
back in a coma—
he’s awoken from his limp-dicked slumber
and he’s eyeing escorts
and flirting with friendlies
like a romantic in retrograde.
But at least he brought flowers,
right?

Take Cadillac de Bergerac’s
binoculars away—
he’s peeping on the ribs again
and what’s worse
has the audacity to refer
to women
as ribs
during his Evening treetop misadventures.
Just steal his fucking valve stems
and be done with it,
man.

But Johnny Warpath won’t make
like a tree at all.
Turns out he doesn’t only come out
when I drink my gin.
No—
he ain’t Dr. Jimmy, man.
He ain’t Mr. Hyde neither
and he ain’t hiding no more.

Read the rest of this entry