Your Old House

Standing far
from the desiresĀ of life.

It never has to be
maintained, no dark
spots emerge, the walls
never fade–
your childhood lives
there, without the worries
of change.

The feeling of distance
keeps it still, it remains
within and always remains
far away.

Poetry Pantry #164

Not really crazy about the last stanza.

Inspired by Barbara C. Rowe’s My Old House.

The Encounter

What I am now
is all thanks to
A silly cow
roaming the fields
beneath the sun.
I approached him
and asked him
how he could be
so, so silly.
With a small gleam
in his cow eye
he told me that
I should murder
my parents, chop-up their limbs
and bury the remains in different locations and then flee
to Mexico with enough money to bribe the authorities and anyone else.

While he spoke
I realized that
dinnertime neared,
so I went back
home, and never
looked
back.

—–

Written for Right2Write Prompt#7: Flowers and Cattle

Image courtesy of Under the Skies of Arkansas.

I made love to Bukowski

It took him six tries
to get it up. His penis
was somewhat
defective. His body
was a greasy blob
and after he came,
he vomited on the bed
and kicked me out,
threw a bottle at my head
but missed terribly.

and when he died
I defecated
all over his face. Seriously,
fuck that guy.

Based on actual events.