lobsters

lobsters applaud
the lunar eclipse
and the sound
is like a gunfight

lobsters are
the nutcrackers,
the pliers,
the toe pinchers
of the sea

lobsters are hard
and uncaring,
except after moulting -
teneral, tender,
their outsides as soft
as their insides,
they recall those supple,
planktonic weeks spent
bobbing in the light,
and for a moment
the sea tastes like tears.

A puppy walks into a bar...

A puppie walks into a bar, but doesn't do itself any real harm. It does get a little spooked and pees on the floor. The bartender leans over the bar and is looking down at the puppy which is now standing in the pee and the puppy doesn't know the bartender's there, it's just looking around, quivering like puppies sometimes do and the bartender says "Hey mac, this is a bar, not a restroom. If you're going to piss on my floor you can get out." The puppy looks up and sees the bartender for the first time and vomits. Milk and puppy food. The puppy was kind of chubby, but by the time it was finished vomiting it was looking lean. The bartender storms around the bar. He's going to kick the puppy out. Literally. With his foot. And he's coming up to the puppy and the puppy holds up a paw, signalling him to wait. The bartender is taken aback. Such a human gesture, and it had such a solemn look on its face too. So the bartender is standing there, and the puppy has got its paw up and then, still with its paw up, it squats and drops a tiny little puppy turd on the floor, between the pee and the vomit. The bartender rushes the puppy, the puppy turns and runs out of the bar and the bartender chases the puppy and the puppy runs out into the road, and the bartender runs after him and the puppy dodges a car but the bartender isn't fast enough and he is hit by the car and he goes flying over the top of the car, bouncing of the windscreen and the roof and landing heavily on the road. He's unconscious, he's bleeding all over the place. And the puppy runs over to him and starts licking his face because the puppy is lost and tired and hungry.

knock knock

"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"For fuck's sake, Lynn, open the goddam door! I want to see my son."

heart on sleeve

just like you asked,
my heart is on my sleeve,
staining the fabric,
making it impossible
to put a jacket on.

i am cold as stationary blood.
a vulture roosts
in the hole in my chest
where my heart used to nest

i did this for you,
can you do something for me?
show a little compassion,
drape my jacket
over my shoulders.
that might help a bit.

then leave.
for some reason
i don't care for you
anymore.

all i want is to float
lazily in the sky
waiting for animals to die.

i have trouble understanding things

i have trouble understanding things. i am constantly mystified, which is okay. mystified can be a beautiful state to be in, especially when looking up into the sky, or into the branches of a tree, but most of the time i just feel helpless, or stupid, like i drank too much beer.

I can follow what people are saying, but when they finish i find that instead of listening to them i have been mulling over their first few words, trying them myself, wondering how they chose them. there are so many words to choose from and so many things to talk about. if i am in a shop or buying a ticket on the bus it is okay, i know what to say, but if i am just being there with other people, i don't know which words to use.

i have read a lot of books, fact books, not story books, but they just add to my confusion. writing is a lot like talking and some writers, like some talkers, take a long time to say anything, so i mainly read books for children. people who write for children don't complicate things. maggie at the library gets me books from other libraries because i've read all the books they have.

i think there must be a book out there with a few simple facts in it that would straighten me out. i feel like everyone knows which book i'm talking about and they have all read it except for me. i know this isn't true. i don't think that everyone is keeping a secret from me, but i do think that what i need to know is out there somewhere, in a book, because everyone seems to do the same things, so someone must have noticed it and written it down, if not how to do those things then how they are done. if i don't find it soon i'm going to start writing it myself.

Anagrams of Scranch

The Internet Anagram Server says that the anagrams of scranch include:

A RAT ORB WAFFLE
YOU CROCHET SKID MURKS

Actually I am lying. You can't rearrange the letters of scranch to form any other words because scranch is pure and contains no hidden messages or references to the rest of the world.

However, scranch is a rare example of a LTR asymmetric palindrome.

Fight!

I got challenged to a fight last week.

I had made it through school without any kind of friction by relying on my sense of humor and a well timed joke. After I finished college and joined the workforce I knew I had lost my timing and any idea of what might, or might not, be appropriate.

It didn't stop me, but I knew things were going awry. I was getting fewer laughs and longer silences. Physical humor was no longer working. I tried a bit of interpersonal joshing and BAM - I was meeting someone outside, after work, Friday. I had an entire day for preparation and I had never been in a fight before.

That night, Thursday, I found myself in my pyjamas brushing my teeth and worrying. Brushing your teeth is done in the bathroom in front of the mirror. I was brushing, but at the same time I was looking into my own eyes and I did not see any victory there. After rinsing, instead of going to bed and I went into the den where my father was watching television and perched on the arm of his chair. This was our unspoken signal.

"Why aren't you in bed?", he asked. I shrugged.

"What's troubling you?"

"I got into a fight," I said.

This made him look away from the tv.

"Did you win?"

"We haven't fought yet. It's tomorrow after work."

My father was silent, but he nodded his head.

"I don't recall you ever having a fight." He turned to look at me. "Is this your first one?"

I nodded. He took my arm and dragged me off the chair and around in front of him. He sat up.

"Fighting is a nasty business, so you can be nasty doing it. Stand up straight and put your fists up."

I held out my fists and looked at him over my clenched fingers.

"Those are pretty good fists," he said, "but you might want to move your thumbs out of the way."

I circled my fists in the air. My father arched an eyebrow and shrugged.

"When you're fighting, you don't really want to hit the guy too much because you might break your hand on one of his face bones. When the fight starts, do something like this."

He smacked at my head with his open hands. I beat back at him with my balled fingers.

"See. He has to hit up at your hands, leaving himself completely undefended down below. That's when you kick him in the balls."

He sat back and I lowered my clumsy fists.

"But I'm fighting a girl. I can't kick her in the balls."

He sighed and his chest sunk.

"Then the best you can do is lose gracefully."

"She works in the cubicle next to mine and I think I love her."

"Then you better hope she leaves you bleeding."

The sun has set

And it's not coming back.
Because of that thing you did.

Even if you are not caught
there are always repercussions.
Like the sun extinguishing
five billion years ahead of schedule.

Thanks a bunch,
from all of us.

All we have left now is Scranch.

And cannibalism.

Nothing to eat
but vegetarians
by candlelight
for the next six months.

Then we must eat our pets.
That will be a sad day.

In the city,
our pets are so small
most will not provide
for a decent sandwich.

I keep fish,
bright tiny fish
made mostly of bones
and scales.

they will be hard to catch
in the dark.