curse of the wicked

She sees the world through

Lennon lenses

Kissing a cigarette

Her wall of defences


Winks at the boys

Like a killer queen

And shies from the one

She sees in her dreams




I wish I had nine lives

Nine tries to feel alive

To be satisfied with how

I spent my time


See, I find all these plans

And purposes and projects

But have to decide

Which have the best prospects


‘Cause one little life has

Limited time

And so, my darling,

I think I’ll take nine


In the first I’ll do

What they tell me to

I’d study for money

‘Till my big breakthrough


I’ll buy a great mansion

Handsome with things

We’ll lead a rich life

Treated like kings


Next with a packed

Rucksack on my back

I’ll travel the land

Immune to jet lag


From Pai to Rome

I’ll freely roam

Each place on earth

Will feel like home


In life number three

You might hear of me

I’ll perform on the stage

With my arts degree


I’ll sing and act

And live in abstract

Trying to make art

That has an impact


In four I’ll do more

For poor and the voiceless

A human rights lawyer

I’ll give them more choices


I’ll fight everyday

For their pay and their freedom

I’ll help bring justice

To where it is needed


When life five has begun

I’ll become a dumb bum

And live on the couch

On my mum’s income


I’ll eat what I like

Without any shame

I’ll live a full life

Through an RP game


In six I’ll fix up

An inn in the country

I’ll host day and night

To earn all my money


I’ll fill it with knick knacks

Have a horse out back

A quaint little stay

In my quaint little shack


In the lucky life

I’ll stretch and eat right

With thousands of views

On my yogi blog site


It’s a perfect life

Perfect look perfect weight

And everyone knows

Through the photos I’ll take


Life eight’s on the sea

On the search for good weather

Let the sun kiss my skin

‘Till I look like cooked leather


Sailing free through the world

My boat keeps me afloat

Any worries I have

Are about my ropes


And for nine I’ll be fine

With a simple sweet life

A mother of three

And my husband’s wife


I won’t ask for much

Just enough to buy tea

And for those that I love

To be near me



night music

Farts, farts, I love farts

Farts are an art when I fart darts


I fart in bathrooms, beds, and ballrooms

I spray mini marts with my bowel fumes


Fired out wetly, silent but deadly

I’ve got a shopping cart of farts to make a fart dart medley


You might call me a fartist, an artist of farts

For I’ve got the largest harvest of darts


And if you’re alarmed by my scented stuff

I’ll just go easy with a gentle puff


But for my kindness you forget to thank me

Frankly making me rather cranky

I’ll just smile and restart, reaching into my cart

And fart out a fresh one hot and stanky


See, I’ve got a fart for every occasion

A fartistic, logistic, artistic creation


Smooth whistle for this, stink missile for that

And a slight liquid dribble at the tip of a hat


You may think of me gross, with my shit talking toast

But you see that this art makes me grin more than most


For when I feel a fart’s sweet release,

That hot stench makes my clench release

And from the start of that fart’s depart

My grumbling bum is then at peace


I once dated a man of the orderly species

Who abhorred the roar that preceded his feces


And when I went off on my fart darting spree

He scrunched up his lips and barked at me


“Your farting ways are horribly disorderly

Surely a lady should act more demurely!”


Of course he was right with his high class taste

A lady should not be such a disgrace


So to give him thanks with all of my heart

I reached into the cart for a nice fresh dart

And pulled out a fart that would’ve gone to waste

And blew him a kiss right into his face




There are moments when

We lie in bed together

And you’re asleep

Without a peep

Except for that gentle deep

Deep sound of your



Going in and out and

In and out like a machine

Built only to remind me

That you’re still with me


That although your dreams

Have probably flown you

To a cliche far away play pen

With prettier girls and funnier men

Laughing at your jokes

Again and again,

Where there’s no time and no when

Where life is totally zen,


You’re still with me


Or maybe you’ve travelled

Down a dark, dark road

Where your deepest fears explode

Left and right and your chest

Is tight

As the voice of your mother

Is echoed through the night

And you scream

In your dream

Just to let out

Some steam

But in the midst of this dream


You’re still with me


And I have no way of knowing

Which one is going

On in your head as we share

The same bed

But darling your breath

Your beautiful breath

Oscillating and circulating

Next to my head

Unwinding me, reminding me

That you’re still with me


So I listen to each

Exhalation and inhalation

Building a personal oxygen equation

Learning how many seconds

You take up with each vibration


And with with adoration

I match your syncopation

‘Til our breaths go in and out

In and out in synchronization


So that, even in your far off palace

Or in your nightmare filled with malice

Here in this reality, in this dimension

You’re still with me

That much is true

But with our breaths matched together like this

You know that I’m with you too



the collector of lost souls

On nights when the clouds

Don’t come to play

And the sky shows off its

Glowing freckles

The Collector, under

The purple sea


For falling petals


She stands put, barefoot

With her net

Yawning at the sky

Until at last a

Tear drop of light

Flutters down to her

Welcoming smile


The broken off

Piece of stardust

Lands gently in her net

She carries it, cradles it,

Takes care of her

New pet


A fragment of light

Still burning bright

Who somehow went


She isn’t tall enough

To put it back from

Whence it came


So instead she cups

The starlette drop

Gently with her hands

And listens to

Its quiet buzz

Until she understands



sad surprise

There’s a bug in my beer

Oh dear, I fear

That this floating bug has turned me

Quite queer

I just wanted a drink that would

Shrink the stink

Running about in my head

And ended up with a six legged bug

dead in my drink instead



be born

Only a child’s mind could understand

The all-consuming, all-enlightening

zip-zam-zablang feeling of

The first touch


First tongue bath

First confused hands

First “Should we be doing this?”

And the even greater first “Probably not,

But what the hell”


Your body mimes the

Fantasies of the mind, and

You wonder why

You’ve been alone all this time


Excitement turns into experiments

And the party-part of puberty

Finally pops in


Dan turns into Joey and Joey turns

Into Mickey and pretty soon

Your “boyfriends” are just an

After school activity


You’re a date maker and a

Heartbreaker, just like all

Those old men knew you

Would be


But you let your guard down

While swimming in the sea

And one of those worms has

A hook for your frown


Your body shows your emotion:

A motion love potion

Hoping that in return you’ll

Receive his endless devotion


But he gets tired of your hips

And the rip of the hook

Leaves scars on your lips


It’s the first time that sex

Doesn’t make you feel sexy

‘Cause all that time you thought

You were sharing

You actually should have spent

Less time caring

They say passion is hot

But modern taste says not

And the apathetic girls

Always seem to tie the knot


Then a fiery woman calls on you to fight

Ladies under the patriarchy unite!

There’s a sexual liberation and you’ve

Got an invitation to the greatest

Initiation of this generation


That’s right, get your cooch off

The couch.  We’re going fuck fishing

For feminism!


You jump on that bandwagon

Breaking the mold of what a

Woman should be


Who cares if you don’t know his name?

Sex is your game,

A sense of self worth is your name


Gotta get your fix,

No time to kiss

For that second of bliss

That’s yours not his


Yours not his is what you say

In your mind, in your heart

Each and every day


Not giving a fuck about

Who you fuck

‘Cause who you fuck

Was temporary anyway


And you’re in control

Riding down that hot shit

Hot dick, you’re proud

That you’re thick


And you’re strong because

You don’t feel and

It’s not real

And you know that he’ll

Be gone in the morning.


And just when you’re flying

You find yourself crying

On the dance floor

Because he wants more


And who are you, woman of

Today, to turn down a man

When you had him yesterday


So you do it ‘cause you’re

A chill girl, cool girl, “Sex

Is no big deal” girl


Just do what you do

Go numb while

He’s inside you


And the next day

Just laugh it off

Cause it’s either that

Or face the fact


That this female pact

This sexual empowerment act

Is nothing more

Than a way to distract


Distract you from seeing

What you’re afraid of being

The overly-attached, looking for a match,

Crazy in love human being


Doing the same as what men did for years

Shedding numb cum instead of

shedding tears


Sex is a defense mechanism against you

But when you made your feelings meaningless

You made yourself meaningless too


Why can’t a woman be sensitive and strong?

Sensitive and sexy and emotional and wrong?


Maybe a strong woman takes the liberty to feel.


Maybe she cares and curses and cries,

And still defies the stereotype

Virgin bride

Listening to what’s in her head instead

Of fleeing to someone’s bed.


Maybe a strong woman know she’s real.


But once you realize that it’s

Too late

‘Cause now you can’t even agree to a date

Worrying that your mate

Won’t want it slow

And you never learned how to say no.


Your misuse of yourself causes

Mistrust in yourself

And you’re stuck, dumbstruck

Not wanting to fuck


Trying to relearn how to own

Your emotion

Learning to listen to all that commotion

That goes on in your chest

Each time you undress


Learning over the course of one chaste year

Men aren’t an obstacle to beat

Or a villain to fear


Learning to say no when you want to say no

Learning to say yes when you want to say yes


Learning that doing whatever you feel

Doesn’t make your empowerment any less real.



unfortunate truth

I liked it better when you were simple

When our history was made up of

Childish flirting and sexual yearning


Who was the one who made it sore to the touch?


Was it you, your lack of passion and

Thoughtless comments

Or me, who naively thought you

Could fix all my problems