Total Nonsense

I have no angst.
I'm not tragic, much as I'd like to be.

If you break it down, way way down, I have it easy.
I have the internet, no?

I even have rollover minutes and baseball.

Seamus thinks I lie, but he eats butter on his bread.
He has pain, two divorces and magazine subscriptions that he never pays for.

I have to drink blended whiskey and pretend I don't like it, but my bills are few.

Together we make a pretty good pair.

We're an Oreo cookie out on the town, looking for filling.

Double stuff, that is.


M. PotPie

Dance for a Moment

Glide toward me on the dance floor, half-lid your eyes, gyrate slow, a brown-skinned breeze
I catch a scent and a hint and a flow and a glimpse
And I'm hooked

No succubus you, you're from the earth, rose up, grown up, in season, ready
My fingers on your arms on your hips on your sides on your lips
And we move


M. PotPie

WordsandWordsand

The cursor is blinking at me, demanding words. It's hungry.

Eat this, cursor.

One at a time they shuffle past and demand my attention
I can't look at them all at once
Three eyes aren't enough
Seven percent of my brain isn't enough

This will take some time
I'm busy
And lazy
And apathetic
And (insert random synonym)
And there's never an end

I like it when my hands aren't my own
When things flow free
And the words write themselves.

Not like now.


M. PotPie

Ain't I a Nice Guy?

"Give it to me! Give it to me NOW!"

I didn't want to scream, but he left me no choice. I tried nice, even said please, pretty please with sugar, a cherry and everything. Tiny is an obstinate bastard. Actually I don't know what his name is, but I've been calling him Tiny for the last two hours. He's fat, it's funny, like calling a bald guy 'curly' or a short guy 'legs'. I love the classics.

"Tiny, if you don't give me what I want it's gonna go bad for you. Real bad. Didn't I buy you a cheeseburger? Didn't I make sure you had a vanilla shake to dip your fries in? Didn't I super-size it, just for you?" No response; just more blubbering, tears and snot. His fat jiggles up and down. Disgusting. Time to take out another tooth...a molar this time, way back there. I have to brace my foot on the chair and use two hands on the pliers, but eventually it comes out with a slushy, sucking sound I can hear over Tiny's screams. Stupid fatty.

I drop the tooth in the sterilized stainless steel bowl filled with alcohol. It joins the two others with a tinny plop and thunk, the blood forming intersting whorls and strings. Can you read the future in there, like a Gypsy reading tea leaves? I stare at it while Tiny makes sad, fat sounds, weeping, gasping, drooling. Blecch! I figure I'll try nice one more time and pull up a chair next to my guest.

"Tiny? Listen." He starts to say something. "No no, don't try to talk yet. Just listen pal. You know what I want. I know you know what I want, and I don't want your teeth. At least not any more of them. If you don't give it to me I'll start taking other bits. Bits you care about. Bits you need. Now, are you ready?"

He nods his head, chins and jowls bouncing like jell-o, blood and spit on his lips, dripping down through his beard and soaking into his cheap flannel shirt. His sniffles die down and his heavy breathing slows a bit. I lean in to listen.

"You...are a ...sick... fuck." He takes his time, breathing between his words, voice dentist-slurred from the missing teeth, angry fear in his piggy eyes. "Let me out of here! I'll fuckin' kill you!" He lurches forward, chair screeching on the floor, straining against the rough rope bonds. I move back and sigh.

"Ah...Tiny. I had such high hopes." I punch him near the heart and he sucks in a wet breath.

Time for the saw.


M. PotPie

Buddha 'N Me

Buddha was profound and rotund.

I am merely pretend.

Buddha was wise and aged.

I am merely wasted.

I'm ok with this.


M. PotPie

LifeLongLove

Life is fleeting and love is sweet. The reverse is also true.
I'd rather have life.

But I'm not in love.


M. PotPie

Red...Hair.

Red hair isn't really red, it's orange. Blood is red, rage is red, passion is red, my eyes are red, scarlet tanagers are red.

Hair is not.

Orange head sounds stupid, so we say redhead. I love redheads. Redheads are rage and passion personified. Unpredictable, fiery, volatile and enslaved, victims of themselves and a siren call to others (me). My favorite song is a redhead's wail; I'm happy to crash on her rocks and drown with an idiot grin. I'll guzzle saltwater and pain if it makes a redhead happy. Flash me a freckled smile and shoulder and I'll lay waste to a nation.

I want to play connect the dots.


M. PotPie