Submissions by FriarAbbot

Death takes no middle ground
I might as well be a ghost
running helter skelter
between late and early
past my epithet as I pull
a rabbit out of the hat
feeling not afraid
but pocket lint
has no place in my soul
or emptiness
leaving me half full

The dark side of nowhere    
between eternity    
and forever    
   
Without season or pork    
no sauce for the goose    
   
Down deep between seams    
of pulled forked    
uncorked    
   
In this pale veneer    
of death's portmanteau    
and no lily    
   
No room for the living    
in these lonely graves    
hallowed by death's breath    
   
Without season or pork    
no sauce for the goose

My stalk has caught root
running aloof, commando,  
with Poe, catching the moon  
in my throat
 
But bringing no flowers  
just itsy bitsy of kisses  
as I run naked at night  
shedding my Nike's  
 
Looking for your bed  
with hot wax on your head  
glowing in the twilight,  
leaving no crumpets,  
my sweet Lenore  
 
Oh, God! Where  
is my Kawasaki,  
in the sneeze-house  
of the pollen moon  
running aloof, commando