Bland rooms
and bad food

Time shifts
and lost days

that don’t open
and beds that
make themselves

Fitful sleep
in unfamiliar places

Makes you
the little place
you call home

(D. James)

cereal killer

I shot
the box
of Rice Krispies

stabbed the
Fruit Loops

and strangled
with bare hands
the Raisin Bran

there’s nothing left
for tomorrow’s breakfast

(D. James)

Bad ear (or I should get a medal for doing this)

My ear is shot
Haven’t slept in two days
and here I am writing
this miserable poem
Is it friendship pushing me
or just poetry’s bad junk
shaking me up and down
and never letting me be?


Anniversarery pome (To my partner in crime, DJ Eldon)

no candles
but fireworks
no explosions
but roman candles
we have written pomes
for one good year now
we are very tired
but our mouths are still
full of spit, tongue, stones
and words
no firecrackers
but live ammo
no funeral pyres
but a feather
of the Phoenix