Michael the Mannequin.

August 4th, 2007

Filthy little wooden man
makes his way across the table
hopes he'll find himself in glory
Withering from what was stable.

Falling just from what he thought
would bring him a second chance
Wouldn't you play the part--
of a filthy little wooden man?

Every human Plays the part-
a roped up, filthy wooden man.
Puppets on strings
Hollow, Hollow things.
Give us meaning--
Fucking wings.

Won't you let us have a message
Something beyond what's been said
Won't you free us from our mannequin prisons?
something more to rest our heads

Bloodstained little wooden man
Crawling up the candle stick
Filthy fucking wooden man
Burns his body on the wick.

Won't you tell us what we're missing?
Wouldn't you if you were here?
Give us more to leave behind--
Wooden ashes are only mere.

Randy's birthday poem.

5/4/09

The spell continues to intensify.
Each Day I find myself trapped inside,
and I love it.
I open up my arms; Each hug is a new adventure.
Open up the doors; Making way for you to enter.
Kisses become fire-
Lighting candles to take us higher.
I have yet to see a brighter light.
With no one else do I feel right.

Kroger-Bound

May 13, 2009

I am left with
open hands,
empty mind, and
colorful pants.
No, I am not depressed,
No I am not standing in the rain
feeling oppressed.
I am stuck
Standing here
In Kroger. . .
With Writers' block.
I am stuck, standing upside down,
Falling upward
and falling apart.
I refuse to write a stupid poem
about a teenager's broken heart.
So here I was, Kroger bound, when it began to rain.
So I whipped out my little red tricycle
and continued on my way.