November 14th, 2020
I live in a genre the aged read.
Decrepit men tell their mendacities
before a final tomcatnap beneath
cracked granite mausoleum roof. This squeezed
social register, not quite weatherproof,
trickles on nipples; a drooping sundress
exposes flesh, rose, only ghosts reprove
or molest, witness this macabre burlesque.
Two Golden Tickets sonnets (my Charlie and The Chocolate Factory homage book of poems) from the Hot Chocolate section which involves chocolatier love triangles, femme fatale industrial spies, strip clubs and licorice .
A strip club in which Arthur Slugworth, chocolatier competitor of Willy Wonka, meets the woman who will become his secretary and industrial spy and future lover of Willy Wonka.
American Candy Expo meets in
Chicago each year. Arthur Slugworth’s jet
consistently appears before show begins
day early to play. Bittersweet secrets
over his butterscotch schnapps confessed
to the ponytailed stripper; her peach ring
pop, bubblegum thong, sweet visage suggests
she is a shell you could tell anything Continue reading “Womannotated – Hot Chocolate!”
Before you call yourself a womanchild,
you fly to New York City, college girl
costumed to be defiled, pigtailed, beguiled
before a bedtime story, too. A whirl-
wind trip in which he will present to you
Red, topsy-turvy, Riding Hood one night, Continue reading “Womannotated – Underneath”
When you are raised by fundamentalists,
at slumber parties you resist. Approved-
of-girl, goes to your church, sly fantasist
whom no one hurts, her mom insists
you stay the night — both look sufficiently up-
tight, lacy collars, skirts below the knee.
Continue reading “Womannotated, Dirty Dancing Saves Your Life”
shame
it’s dark inside
which suits me
it hides my imperfections
the guilt upon my skin
the dread in my eyes
as they size me up
Its All Greek to me
For B. D. M.
“The embrace of men”
I say
and you pirouette
behind the cash register
a new found bond at work
The Poem, Afraid
Some dog’s ghost
glares from the
attic window.
I know the door
to a nuclear plant
with his teeth
captioned above it:
Some mammal was
here and such.
When our youngest
walked in on us
last night,
I was coming.
She was scared
because she heard
someone crying.
I kiss the bruise
a bad dream leaves
in her head
& keep an eye
on the lonely ghost.
Denial in Cycles
girl born altered doomed a beast
the moon dies and
i’m not bleeding like i’m supposed to
Continue reading “Denial in Cycles by Mika Hrejsa”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 