e.e. & me...

prompt: "form/anti-form"

punct.u.a.tion is
language,
all its own; words

form-
lessly formed
dripp-ing,

drop on the
page-- Images… Imagines… Imaginations
laced with

Sarcasm

and

Rhythmy
Rhymes and often-sometimes-maybe emjamb-

ment.

"Maybe You’ll Follow"

prompt: "maybe ___"



I leave a trail of
Bobby pins
Wherever I go,

Plucking them
Out when I turn a
Corner,
Scattering them at
Intersections. Hair

Tumbling down, bit by
Bit, hoping you can
See my path in the
Moonlight.

“Missing Slivers”

prompt: "never again"


Suspicion heralds late
Arrivals, wrong
Numbers
Stored in the
Back of the mind,

Just in case.

Just friends
Reconsidered, excuses
Scrutinized.

Trust

Pieced back
Together will
Never be whole
Again,

No
Matter how
Long the glue
Dries.

“12:00, Flashing”

prompt: "time of day"

Blinking green numbers
Announce to all the
Coffee maker is back on
Line and the
Microwave is good to go,
But it seems as though I’ve

Misplaced the morning or
Maybe the sun is
Shining at midnight.
Or is 12:00 the

Alpha and omega of the
Clock world, a
Place to retreat and
Regroup when you’ve lost
Power and just aren’t
Sure of where you’re
Supposed to be?

“Beer Thirty”

prompt: "time of day"
Steeled toed boots
Kicked off by the door
Pepper the
Floor with flakes of
Mud. Worn jeans,

Once-white socks, a
Flannel shirt with loose
Buttons leave a
Trail like

Breadcrumbs to the
Chair where a callused
Hand pulls the
Tab and marks the
End of the work day.

“She Browses the Celebrations Page of the Hometown Newspaper”

prompt: "celebrations"

Curser
Hovers over the
Pictures, a

Tuxedoed man and the
Bright white of a
Wedding gown on a
Woman that
Isn’t her, an

Innocent
Newborn it’s
Statistics listed in
Italics beneath, a

Tiny life that was
Almost
Half hers.

“Celebrating Spring”

prompt: "celebration"
Returning birds
Pipe their
Approval as
Leaves
Unfurl and
Seeds
Shake off
Soil, bursting
Sunward.

“What If the Bathtub Floods the World & Drags Humanity Down the Drain”

Prompt: "what if"

Water
Trickling from the
Tap,
Not too hot and
Not too
Cold,

Rising up the
Porcelain wall and
Streaming over to
Rush down the other
Side.
Slithering

Across the
Tile,
Filling the
Floor like a
Pool at high
Tide.

On and
On,

Attracting droplets,
Expanding,
Extending.

People
Perching on
Rooftops or

Clinging to
Ornately carved
Headboards,

Legs
Churning the lukewarm
Liquid
Fusing together,

Lungs sucking in
Moisture,
Gills forming along
Ribcages,

Until

Someone
Swims down to
Pull the small rubber
Plug.

“Don’t Fret, Pogo”

Prompt: don't ___, ____

You
can’t be
sad on a pogo
stick

something about the
up and
down
motion reverses
despondency. You

look like a
fool
bouncing,
hair flying
madly and

eventually your
feet will
slip from the
pegs and you’ll have to
touch
back to earth and
reality

but

that feeling of freedom
defying
gravity and
troubles
will remain.

“Mr. Fitzhurbert’s Funeral”

Prompt: goofy/serious

Roses and carnations scent the air as Candlelight caresses black and white Photographs like a long-lost loved one.

Handkerchiefs dab at eyes, Sniffles muffled, all eyes look toward the satin-lined box and the old man peacefully resting there.

In the back row, the woman sits, her Little black dress made respectable By the shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

She buries her face in the dark fabric, Shoulders quivering, chest heaving, her Sobs barely contained.

An elderly lady to her left Pats her knee kindly, but like a sadistic broken Record in her Mind, all she can hear is a Faux British accent.

“TitsPervert,
TitsPervert,
TitsPervert.”