poems

(not inspired at all, but here goes)

someone said i might raise someone from the dead one day,
more than once i heard this and not from a
band of gypsies either
i think i lifted up the man in court yesterday
i think he was a prosecuting attorney
but he was in his coffin coughin
lo and behold, arose in a fright to kick out that door
came through like a man in swat team gear
just punched that door out with his foot
no, he did not hold it out with a slight flick of the ankle bone
but split a seam all the way up the back of his black slacks
and why they call them slacks i don't know
because they were tight
laughter from the corner of the ring behind the rope
what a smartass they said
because this buster was breaking shit
i looked for a trail behind on his coat-tail, of a cobweb
his hair so black and his skin so white
i wondered if they had been holding hearings at
midnight or only on a full moon
because he had the best sunblock on the market
or, as i suspected, he comes up from the grave now and then
with a pen
and i am sure that his best car has a moon roof and no sunroof
but i don't think he drives
he just pops up out of nowhere without even a dark cape
just outside the door, through some secretly hatched plan
to teleport the mortal (?) with a briefcase
from morgue to court
i imagine he has no punchhole for his papers
or paperpunch for his hole
with those teeth
he just looks at a stack and with a quick glance to the
right and left
CHOMP!
head up. furtive look to the left and right.
CHOMP!
if that is really the man? i had someone else in mind
and i would never, ever, suspect he was from wenatchee
with skin like that
did we have a summer?
"I think i met the vampire of the town" i said to my housemate
"oh?" he said and i said,
"Yeah. where did he come from? i thought i was really seeing a
resurrection from the dead. all he needed was a dark swirly cape."
at the nape of my neck
stood close enough to him that he could have had one look and
CHOMP!
every time i see someone in town driving by with their hand
on the side of their neck
i think it must be because of him
he's the best kept secret of the whole town
and funny how the old ladies are always smiling and smirking
when they drive by doing this
i think he poofs from the courthouse into a tree next to his house
where he swings into a window and into a study
that has a revolving bookcase
with a secret corridor
that leads to a leonardo da vinci desk
with a skull on the side and an old light to the other side
with a stack of musty books
and red wine for gargling with
to leave a slight tint on his teeth right before he stands in public
the hairs on his big toes springing forth like two tarantulas
we know why lawyers like this cannot wear flip flops to court
these things look too exitable as if they might depart from his feet
and begin to skitter under the table to
deliver bites of their own
his thrown, this velvet lined guitarcase of a coffin

(needs work, but a quick start, with no rhyme though)