We are the scavengers of the dead,
but we only take what is useful.
Not the brooch, but the food.
Not the photos, but the furniture.
It isn’t pretty, but buzzards
are never beautiful.
The function they perform is
cruel yet natural.
With our vulture’s grins we swoop
down and collect
the remnant of a life that was;
not out of greed,
but, rather, to survive.
© 2008 GuiltedLily Productions Inc
few things worse – for blitz-Creegz
“there are few things worse
than a man
who makes you feel crazy
and doesn’t realize it.” – blitz-Creegz
there are few things worse
than a gut wound
bleeding through your hands,
feeling the pulse slowly drop off
the dizzy feel of the brain
shutting down
as life disappears onto the grass
or down the drain.
entrails exposed
you try to dial 911
but the guy who answers
keeps asking you questions that
you don’t have time to answer
“hey all i need is an ambulance”
you yell, as he asks your
mother’s maiden name
and you pass out on the floor.
slick trails of sticky red
lead them to you -
they open their miracle boxes
slip on an oxygen mask but you
aren’t in pain anymore.
they give you drugs anyway,
sending you beyond understanding-
probe the wound and try to clean it
out, but give up and give you
more drugs instead.
there are few things worse
than a gut wound
bleeding through your hands-
and a man who makes you crazy.
who derails your train,
is one of them.
© 2007 GuiltedLily Productions Inc
I spent last night
building us;
each brick
of the foundation
left blood red dust
on my hands,
and I was sure
I mixed
the mortar
just right, but
today
you just pat me
on the head -
say,
‘good job’ -
as you
disappear
back
into yourself.
the demolition
will start
any day now.
© 2007 GuiltedLily Productions Inc
when your lover
turns over
the possibilities
and decides
you are just oatmeal
do you cover
yourself
in butter and syrup
and say
‘to hell with it?’
or do you
let someone else
take a bite?
he shares
his spoon
with everyone,
and you’re aware
of licking after
them.
the taste
of her saliva
on what was once
in your mouth,
crammed
into your maw
then withdrawn,
half-chewed;
just one flavor
to be discerned,
out of those
that
pollute the bowl.
© 2007 GuiltedLily Productions Inc
