Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems

Zombifurcation

At the Nightsun writing conference in Frostburg, MD, last weekend, I had the privilege of performing a reading of fiction and poetry. Here's an audio clip from the event, along with the text for one of the pieces I read -- the Seussian horror poem, "Zombifurcation" -- which appears in the latest issue of The Goreletter. ZOMBIFURCATION A zombie crawled right, a zombie crawled left -- both shared the singular body I'd cleft. I'd chopped down his chest, and cut off his scream -- but still he came at me, splitting his seam. He pulled himself toward me in reanimation:…
July 30, 2015Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems
Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems

Things to Do in Denver When You’re Undead

Use the "cold activated" Coors beer bottle as a body temperature probe. Make them run to the hills, where the air is even thinner. Visit all those new head shops downtown, seeking fresh brains. Eat the best Mexican. Gallop into a Bronco game on Thunder, as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Show them what what their state name really means.   A busy month in my day job, but I'm trying to write horror poems here and there all month in a loose celebration of National Poetry Month.  Most of them will be kept offline for later…
April 12, 2015Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems
Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems

Iambic Pentagrameter – a sicilian quintain

Iambic Pentagrameter we gather up the sacrificial goats twisting heads to face the sky above we snick our razors quick across their throats wringing necks to squeeze out all the blood naked in the mud and incense smoke Update 5.3.15: Jen Barnes of Raw Dog Screaming Press has posted a video of my reading of this visual poem at the Frostburg Center for Creative Writing over on facebook.
February 25, 2015Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems1 Comment
Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems

the severed hand speaks

when it first crawled the stump stung but it realized somewhere within the ring of bottomless pain at its base that it was feeling and because it was feeling it was thinking if only in that strange way that we all quiver in powerlessness when overcome with agony like a child banished to the corner by a teacher we secretly want to kill and then it realized that it once had a teacher, too -- an instructor of American Sign Language who used to rap its knuckles when it misproduced (which was the teacher's way of saying mispronounced) simple expressions…
February 9, 2015Posted inGorelets: Unpleasant Poems1 Comment