fun fright night in a glass

ok, i admit, it's just i'm trying to make a title.

i don't want to write to you again.
you ignore me if i don't read it to you
and i'm all about silence. don't even move
my lips. hips are the only thing speaking
round here and their first language is tunisian.

sometimes the day starts with a whimper
boards clogged, roads accidentalized, sniper
on the board of directors takes a hit.
blood should be everywhere, but it was fake.
like this poem. like my quietness when you
want something to yell out. i'm just the cat.
landed on my feet again and pissed you off.

actually it was the tree i didn't climb.
actually it was the monotone of your touch
actually it was getting ready to catch that other shoe
and tie its pendantic laces round your pretty little throat
my dear. listen this has nothing to do with me
so why don't find some other fool to burn.

listen i know it's all about me so ok, light the match.
just get it over with. we won't be calling the rescue squad.
we won't be calling anyone with access.
we will be calling abc for delivery. they will refuse.
potato salad for everyone.


it's been so quiet in here, i've thought
a lot of things
 about how you might control
the situation. all of them erroneous.  hope
as a sleep aid
 is not working. we need
 a different pill.


i do have friends. one of them said once
when she still talked to me
i was born in a world without any.
i mean, really? none? show me
how that works. did we execute future
when we hit the snooze alarm on ddt?
come ON, i was just a kid then.
the smallpox blanket should go to my mother.
who is dead.





she won't mind.






























*(77



listen you want to be frightened? is that why you clicked here?
i have a story of reasonless guilt, a story with karmic payback so old
you forgot why you were whining four lives ago. it's all so gentle.
no parasitic diseases, no incurable cancers, no ebola in sierra leone
just general swirling devil dervishes and a case of jitters
that jagged your life into these overused ruts where your yoke
broke years ago.  your back's bent anyway, so you just keep plowing
even though the farmer died in the locust plague of sixty seven. keep
plowing and eat or stop and starve seems to be the gist of it.

if you want to be frightened compare yourself to ants or dung beetles.
.compare yourself to a scientist, a banker, general,  your girl next door.
compare yourself to anything else. the similarities should astound


































***(((((


what kind of glass is it?
lead crystal, imitation depression ware, hand
blown, machine blown/ there are a few versions
but mostly it's the reflective one
i'm using here. look in the mirror.
that's your neighbor's face. no, it really is.

  the mouth tilts to the left
  an eyebrow lifts, slant o chin
reminds you of a small bird, a finch
or sparrow on the morning you began
second grade. you took off
for summerlands on the back of that bird
then borrowed your nieghbor's face for the  fall collection.
tore it out of a magazine , waved your wallet
presto digito carbon on the street
in proper shape, undifferentiated from .


you once saw a something in the sky
you couldn't get there from here
so you called on mnemony for a clue.
she'd been gone so long your echoes
returned postage due. that's what happens
when you're not a god, but you hobnob with em.

that's the frightnight winkletter. it's the baggage handler's
left front pocket. hobnobs sound quaint like moll and shorty.
every duece has its wild time so don't be so precious thinking
you're shakespeare and if you were him that anyone
under the age of thirty five and over the age of three
understands you. the glass, however, is real.