"Riding the Torture Carousel"

The needle's point split
another beetle shell
neatly along the crease,

and nimble young fingers
pressed the body down
along the silver shaft

as his greedy eyes
memorized each detail
of life's final moments.

He pressed the tortured
treasure into the anthill's
dirt, tan and soft as talcum,

where the tiny black legs
could twist in the wind
like grisly victor flags

hanging over the quiet
battlefield where hundreds
of blacked ant bodies

littered the mound that
was once their home, but
the boy's urges remained

unquenched. He imagined
bloody human corpses,
limbs draped across the soil

or shifting in the breeze,
spines severed on stakes,
and he longed to be grown,

strong enough to fulfill his fantasies.

"A Minor Annoyance"

Corpse suspended in amber
liquid, a floating mass that,

after initial shock,

holds no appeal or interest.
Conversation barely
           pauses as
fingertips weave through
   foam, prepared to pluck
the beer-soaked body,

but black bristles quiver on
kicking legs, wings twitch

and the resurrection
jolts an intoxicated
shout that tapers to
nervous giggle.

"Black Out"

Too much tequila &
      a false hint of bench
or chair
      or swing to catch me--
and when reality breaks,
                             I fall
s p i nn i n g   backwards into
             nothing,
arms pinwheel & catch     air
and my consciousness
    careens, jostled like a
         rolle        ster
                 rcoa
                 until the final crash.
But through the drunken haze,
I feel the beginnings of a
     splitting      headache.
             

"See-Through"

His intentions wink,
transparent as stained glass,
tinted but clear,

and I skip through his sheet,
enjoy the feel of body
morphing at touch of skin,

just as those lies warped,
ebbed & flowed in
slippery copper webs

like those now gluing
his insides together,
a pretty, gory maze.

I wink back and smile
as vital organs shatter &
tinkle on the pavement.

"Scar Pattern"

Gray matte above the headboard
stretches and crawls with hinted
claws,      living silhouettes
whose shadows perform a
malevolent ballet across
closed lids and darken
the beads of sweat
 clinging to worried brow, as a
  face  joins the nightmare fingers,
   pressing taut until the wall wears
     twisted burns whose contours
       and embossed valleys
          mimic wallpaper.

"Writer's Stage Fright"

And the words spew, each keyboard click
crafting another shoddy speck of line.

I attempt to ignore the prospect of
an untested audience, musings so simple,
                                    uncluttered.

Laughing teeth and arching eyebrows
mock me, and I imagine the Spacek stare,

far more memorable than the color dripping from her hair.
Those bulging eyes. Pupils flash their
                                                              death glare,

and with a happy sigh, I lean back from my labors to
wait peacefully for the onslaught to begin, envisioning

chaise lounge, martini in hand, fluffy pink slippers to
hide manicured toes, a knowing smile, and

pale blush robe that matches the dress
frozen on a remembered stage.

"Love Hurts"

Caution! Possible spoiler for Oculus (2013)

Blood oozes from her mouth,
its thickness multiplied by
  the reflection in original glass,
              antique and hazy,
somehow gentler in its reality
than the imagined shard from
                 apple-shaped bulb,

and the red stream flows through
   the cloud of condensation,
                 sister's last breath.

The final puff of life rests on the
surface, light as a lover's hand.