Gorelets: Unpleasant Poems

I kept his red blood beater in my heart-shaped box lined with green velvet as my personal valentine -- a gift I could open each year. But now his misshapen heart is velveted with a green mold lining the gaping ventricles like four obscene mouths -- chambers awaiting some small treasure I no longer have. Explanation: I found that list of offbeat phrases in the "Strange Visitors" contest awhile back amusing, and began to think of them as titles for poems...I may do more based on the others, if/when time permits. (Hint: click on the "Weblog Exclusive" department to read…

the creak of a casket, opening, sounds awfully undramatic: the coffin nails slide out brown and loose on lubricated rust when the wood bends wet with worms. The box is as soggy as the body inside -- curing fetid in its pillow of shadow, wasting but the smell is what gets you: pungent as the green snot and silt cracked out of a sun-roasted oyster shell, and the information you sought out here in the soil is no longer worth chasing so you scrape dirt back into the hole, not bothering to nail the limp box shut, crushing the body…