Weird Poetry

I am

At present

The very definition

Of the word hibernation.

Like there is no difference

Between the word itself

And what it means.

If you search between the letters

You’ll find me curled into a winter sleep

And drooling on the negative space.




*** Still waiting for the sun to return… But it’s on its way… so I’ve heard…. ***


Weird Poetry


I sit on a little easily-ignored perch

And someone will catch my eye

For one reason or another

And I will watch them

At length

Like a secret voyeur

And watch and watch and watch

With rapt attention and unquenchable curiosity

Sometimes unblinking

Until they either

Vanish from my sight

Or notice.

I am a tame voyeur, and a huntress without any particular bloodlust.




*** Basically a creeper, eh, Blue Eyes?…. ***

*** Sure. Me and everyone else. But at least I admit it. I lurk in all the brightly lit corners. ***

Monetized Mental Illness

Weird Poetry

Self-murderous mukbang madness

Gulping gluttony through a green-energy-made paper straw

And gleefully (sorrowfully) gorging on delectably delicious death on a styrofoam plate

After plate

After plate

After plate

All free

All day

Livestreamed on YouTube

For your viewing pleasure

And their profit

Mmmm mmmm good

We’re so loving it (duhduh-duh-duhduh)

Why read a book about running horses to the bone,

When you can watch it

For a fraction of the braincells.




*** Now THAT is how to profit off of a slow-mo suicide! Way to go, YouTube! ***

*** Some of you know that I get… uh… mouthy… at certain points in my cycle. I have a platoon of furious little gremlins stampeding through my bloodstream right now. Sorry. ***


Weird Poetry















I can’t




*** Oh look! Another lazy non-poem! Keep it up, Sugar Tits! πŸ™„ ***

*** PΓ³g mo thΓ³in, Old Man. I have some rage at the moment…. Indulge me for a sec, wontcha? ***

The Silencing

Weird Poetry

I hear the silencing

Taking place

All around me

In all corners of life —

Real and virtual;

No one can hide from it —

No, not even YOU.

There is

A taking down of voice(s),

A collective replacing/erasing/enshrouding

Of thought

Of word

Of criticism and critical thinking

Of difference and deviation

Of discussion and disagreement.

A figurative burning

Of books and ideas

Of nuance

Of freedom of expression and speech.

Newspeak is our new language, people!

Fucking SPEAK IT (do it, you little bitches)

Or face the hunters at your door steps;

They’re waiting with their pitchforks and fires and their salivating chops.


Let’s all say it together

Because it is a part of everyone’s brand new compelled lexicon now:





*** Fuck the world right now… seriously. ***

*** And fuck the Thought Police too. Yeah. I said it! ***

Bedroom Laugh

erotic poetry, Weird Poetry

He has the kind of laugh

That befits a sweaty and wholly satisfied

Post-coital situation:



And full of private possibilities…

A bedroom laugh.

Parts of me clench and dampen

At the very sinful thought of it.




*** Eavesdropping again, Sweet Cheeks? Very naughty. ***

*** The ear overhears what the ear wants to overhear. Plus… laughter can be an afrodisiac. Plus… anything can be afrodisiac when you’re about to drop an egg. Fuck. ***


Weird Poetry

I was there

Even though

I wasn’t really there.

But I was there, man.

I took the brown acid

And hallucinated myself

Into being

11 years

Before I was born.




*** Feeling nostalgic for an experience you never experienced, Angel Eyes? ***

*** I experienced it. Many times… and many more to come. 3D isn’t my only reality, maaaan. ***


Weird Poetry

I stood in her secret annex

Many years ago

And I still remember the patina of years past

Stuck to dingey walls and curling yellowed posters.

I climbed a dark narrow staircase

Just to stand in her shoes

And in the tiny rooms she and her family and friends shared

For two years.

Two long lonely years


Depending on high-stakes kindness

And sustained silence to save them

From the devil —

A devil with horns hidden just above his brow

And a gouging flaming tail on full display.

Two fear-soaked years


Never standing in the sun

And never kissing under the moon and stars

With toes toeing the grass,

Toes that feel their freedom in the cool dew.

She spent two years carving love-borne madnesses and unsinkable hopes

Into stones of eternity

While bloodied dragons hunted her blood,

And the blood of those like her.

If found —

Death would lead their way down that suffocating staircase

Into gallows of flame and silencing fire.


Of this era

In this part of the world

Do not know fear

And inconvenience.

We do not know true evil.

We do not know history.

That’s because we are too busy

Building more fires

And burning more books,

Blinding ourselves with the woke light of ignorance.




*** I have no political affiliations, btw. Not left. Not right. Everyone is fucked as far as I’m concerned. I’m disgusted with society as of late. ***


Weird Poetry

Martian mineral formed by ancient ice blankets,

“aeolian dust

and acidic atmospheric aerosols”.

“Aolian dust” sounds like glorified dust blown about by wind.


I am only able to appreciate the alliteration of this sentence from the literary researchers

As I possess but a faint inkling of what any of it means…


I managed to deduce the following:

Jarosite is a mineral,

An off-putting yellowish brown mineral,

Formed by the marriage of dust and ice

Found not only on Mars

But in Antarctica too,



Maybe water

On Mars…

At some point.




*** Ever fall down a web-browsing rabbit hole? ***

*** I’m sorry but someone has to say it…. Jarosite is an ugly mineral. ***