Dressed in Cactus Spines

Drun was done with everyone
So she dressed herself in cactus spines
And attracted more to her than ever.

Lizards climbed her, spiders spun,
Birds built nests, vines entwined,
She’d overshot on clever.

People loved Drun’s fashionable glory,
They wore cac spines of their own
And declared Drun as their king.

You want a moral to this story?
Get more creative ’bout being alone!
Or realize there’s no such thing.

Time for Bed

When it was yelled – “Time for bed!”
Krow was still too in his head,
Too tilted toward the dreamless realm,
The sandman could not take the helm.
Krow was crowned in nesting thoughts,
Round and round they tested lots
Of what-could-bes and maybe-nots
And gripping but quite broken plots.
He had a ritual for this,
The flip of Sleeping Beauty’s kiss,
A way away from roaring zoos
And deep into a purring snooze.
Krow pulled from pockets crabs and bats,
Acorns, rubies, nesting gnats,
He tucked them in with calming pats
Then sent them as sleep diplomats.
He tossed his shoes and then his feet,
His pants and legs were folded neat
And tucked away on tidy shelf
Along with more bits of himself.
You really need not be alarmed
As he removes torso and arms,
Life doles out confusing charms
And this one did not do him harm.
All of this to at long last
Buck the future, shuck the past,
Krow removed his buzzing head
And put it and him to bed.

Wright and Rong

Right or wrong is clear and clean,
You know precisely what I mean.
Short is tough so I’ll make this long,
But most is right AND wrong.
Each often has more than a bite
Of the other, I think we might
Admit life’s duskier than day and night.
To show this mix of black and white
Let’s use the words “rong” and “wright.”

If you’ve gone worried
Your world’s turned blurry,
To you I cordially invite
To always think I’m right.

Pen Pals

There’s never been a better letter
Than the Tommy screed.
As he was a true go-getter
He wrote it to ensure you’d read.

Onto his paper skin he scrawled
Everything he thinked.
His family was all appalled
As he was pickling in ink.

Tommo knew what he was doing,
Never acting on impulse.
While akin to skin tattooing,
He calls it penship with a pulse.

He licked himself into an envelope
And mailed himself third class.
Now he’s shipping on the hope
That he’ll get to you at last.

I don’t know what you said to him
But he must have a full reply.
The largest envelope will fit your limbs,
I’d better let you write.

Given the World

Fate’s eyes narrowed and dark lips curled
In a – Smile? Grimace? Sneer?
A bright little kid was given the world
To a frightened cheer.

Would she now see the world as toy?
Would she exact revenge?
What would be her chosen joy?
On what whims did our lives hinge?

She held all in clever hands
But what was in her heart?
She could cure the sickly lands,
Turn caring to an art.

She could feed and shelter all.
She could green the dimming woods.
She could fell dividing walls,
She could save us all, she could.

In the end she held the world!
A chance she couldn’t waste!
It was a rich and creamy pearl,
She had to have a tas–


An idea’s an idea even when bad
So tell me all that you’ve had.
They’re often lost or locked in a maze
‘Cause we fear they’re dumb or crazed
So I’d remind we’ve numbered days
And results go their own ways.
A bad idea may come to good.
The best idea may burn like wood.
The more ideas that you produce
The more that we can put to use.