Some Addvice

The demon on my shoulder

has grown stronger, grown bolder,

saying, Why not add some spice

to the humdrum add some vice

and invigorate your heart

before it s time to depart?

I see wisdom in his words

for society, the herds

who seek spice in drink and drugs,

cheap motels with ugly rugs,

illicit sex, the secret trysts

beyond marriage, handcuffed wrists

and sado-maso hijinks,

roleplay, fantasy, all kinks

adding entertainment for

those engaging it, and more,

as the rest of us hear tales

of those laughing off church bells;

of those kinking and cheating,

of those winking and meeting

for liaisons most foul

where lust and greed and pride prowl.

If you want to, don t think twice:

heed the demon s bad advice.

It is quite fun for us all

when you heed your demon s call

and are, thereafter, destroyed,

for we all love Schadenfreude.

A Meth-head To His Madness

Eddie was fascinated by flashlights,
as all Meth-heads are,
and he would click a flashlight
on and off
as if sending some SOS signals
to a UFO among the stars
as if he hoped it would
come down and take him somewhere else;
or he would aim the halo at the walls,
dragging its luminous circle
up and down
as if trying to bleach with light
the stained, decaying world clean.
The more Eddie’s teeth rotted out
and the more his skin bled
with cankerous craters,
the more obsessed he was with flashlights,
turning them on and off,
on and off,
being able to turn off the
flashlight,
but never his disease.
All the haloes in the world
cannot save Man from himself
and before the end
Eddie told me of the time
he saw the Devil—
not when he was taking,
but when he was being taken
by his Stepfather
in the old, mildewed shed
while his mom was sprawled out
on the trailer’s living room floor,
high on acid.
“No angels saved me back then,”
he said,
“and none are gonna save me now.
None are gonna save nobody.”
I told him, “That’s why people have to
save each other,”
and he laughed—
a laugh not of madness,
but of insight.
“What do ya think I need savin’ from?
It ain’t the Meth.”
He turned the flashlight off.
“That’s just the way out.”

Faerie

She was riding unicorns again
through a magical fairy world,
laying limp beside the dumpster bin
in an alley where litter swirled.
Princess of otherworldly delight,
she waved to the fairies, so flashy and fleet,
while tomcats faced off to fight
over a tabby crooning in heat.

She was a changeling, she ofttimes thought,
coming home for the first time;
a creature whose place had somehow bought
another’s role in a more magical clime.
Fanciful fairies twirled all around her
like a brilliant firework bloom
as the need for another hit bound her
with its pixie euphoria, its bewitching doom.

At last she saw the wicked queen
in a pothole puddle of rainwater,
like a mirror horrific and obscene
showing to her a wayward daughter.
Aching, she saw the wicked queen
reflected in her burnt-out spoon,
the face pockmarked and pale and lean
like a waning midsummer moon.