“Killer Queen”

“Killer Queen”

(title of a song by the rock band Queen, 1974)


A queen with looks that can kill,

but not in the good way.

A face a mother couldn’t even look at.

She’s never gifted chocolates or flower bouquets.


Might as well be Medusa.

She’s Baba Yaba, but with instant kill.

She’s attempted to change her ways,

tried to bury her inadvertent thrills.


Hidden in a high tower she sleeps for days,

every instant waiting for the wind walking witch.

She’ll listen and get ingredients for a cure,

back to harmless she’ll aim for and switch.


a life always lived

1.   tic, tac, toe.

      three in a row.

      mother, father, brother,

      grandma and uncle in tow.

2.   shy, smart, athletic.

      fell on my face once, was Scarface, but pathetic.

      running track, softball hack,

      I wouldn’t mind bringing 2001 back.

3.   middle school, braces, awkward expression,

      locker rooms, friends, gossip sessions.

      no more dolls, pretending, or girlie dresses,

      moving from apartments to houses, new addresses.

4.   high school, college, living abroad.

      somehow always living a life very odd.

      grad school, Austin, film frenzy haven,

      I’ve gotten the nickname “movie maven.”

5.   I don’t now what’s ahead, or what’s to come.

      back bathing in the Florida sun.

      law school or a writer, there’s so many choices,

      learn to speak with the raised and loud voices. 

She will restore

Imagining the world after it has ended is quite an odd thing.

Like snapping open a tree, just to see its rings.

Who cares of its age? She’s not going anywhere.

The enticing intoxication of her pollen showing her wear and tear.


She will engulf all the cars, bring all the animals back.

She will birth flowers and spring, everything the city lacks.

She will restore and make reborn, all she needs is time.

Plants apple, and oranges, kiwis, and limes.


Our mother will know everything her earth needs,

ants, caterpillars, moths, and bees.

Firs, birch, palms, pine, evergreen trees.

With all the bushes it will be a tight squeeze.


The subway will have never-ending vegetation.

She’ll send a tornado through on some occasions.

The deers will roam, the lions will swim in pools in the night.

Snow will blanket the fields with winter’s first bite.


She’ll outlast, through the death of all humanity,

Lived again through the climate change insanity.

She’s everywhere yet hiding all the time.

Around airports she’ll sneak some insects and vines.


When the crater comes with the winter again,

all magic and strength she’ll gladly spend.

Ready and simmering for her timely rebirth.

Nature is a phoenix that our mother’s unearthed.


Not your typical animal

This wasn’t your typical animal,

although it had all the traits.

Not a beast all month

is how it equates.

You can hear its growls,

he can smell your scent.

But before he’s begun,

you’re already spent.

he’s better and faster

and right at your heels.

he gets to pick and choose 

from the freshest of meals.



Do I dare eat a peach?

Do I dare to eat a peach?

(from T. S. Elliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”)


Do I dare eat a peach?

How do you think it will go?

Should I be nervous?

They weren’t ripe this season,

but they continued to grow.

Unripe, not delicious, for years to come.

Has a spell been cast?

The nectarines are done.

The smell is tempting, but the flesh is overdue.

We would walk through those fields,

look for the right pick.

But holding your hand,

and looking in your eyes made me instantly homesick.

For somewhere I have never been.

The caress of your warm skin

brings me back to dreams that aren’t mine.

Filled with love, bursting fire flowers and blueberry wine.



Locked in, running out

Running to the bus,

give it all my might.

I round the corner,

my heels taking flight.

I have it in my sight,

it hasn’t left yet.

But the bus driver is yelling.

I burst past him and embrace my love.

He saw the panic on my face.

“Where were you?”

“Locked in the bathroom,

would you believe it?”

“Yes, that sounds exactly

like something that would happen to you.”

We turn towards the window,

ready to move on,

hearing the fellow travelers,

some talk, some fight, some yawn. 

Back in my seat, let the trip commence.

“I almost died in there.”

“Let’s please keep it past tense.”



GoT. S8.

Dear Season 8 Writers of Game of Thrones,


What is wrong with you?

How could we have come so far

for you to throw away all those character developments and flaws?

The Starks were once liked, yet they completely lacked a throne.

Now we have three possible Stark stories,

but maybe one with rabies.

I see what you did there, by ignoring us after your fall.

But Arya, how’d you do this?

Who made this call?

Bran, are you joking?

Thank again overall.

He’s not even interesting, not even a little bit at all.

Sansa, I’ll give it to her, she’s growing a little.

Horns from her head, long nails so brittle.

But there is no betrayal quite like Dany and Jon.

Disappointing fans again, consistently for so long.

I wish fire and ice had the proper union they deserve,

Try again, we’ll wait. We’ll stop, watch, and serve.



The Voice of the Disappointed


At least

she would visit the shell walkway,

everyday for a year.

She’d never know why or the power that would appear.

Blind greed with tired hands. Running and playing with mystery friends.

He would make promises he couldn’t keep,

but made sure he always has his wink.

To disarm the world and give them what they want.

At least I’ll go down knowing that I fought.


the trip

Entering subconsciousness,

the void of all things gone.

colors swirling endlessly,

wisps of a smoke now forgotten.

a neon forever, but fleeting with time.

an unaddressed letter with no known home.

check the queen and the knight,

their positions and their thrones.

rainbow vapors carry us through reality.

body so free, and land so subtle. 

ice cream fantasies, with lavender-green eyes.

crashing waves of stolen empathy. 

the November skies and the full moon 

struggle awake in the warm afternoon.



Nearing the end.

no one really understood what happened, until it was too late.

embers floating through the air. Impossible to breathe.

red clouds and red flares populated the horizon.

the deep purple sails of the god’s valleys waited for their time to turn to ash.

foundations were broken, flags unstaffed.

an eerie quiet frenzy stagnant in the atmosphere, palpable to everyone.

people pray the children won’t remember these days.

a defense mechanism that took the bait.

a world without help, but constant fear.

bartering and bantering, people reacting to the worst.

burned books, dry food, unclean water.

a world full of new possibilities.

What’s to stop us?


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