George The thoughts of my mind
Fall into the keys
I type them there
but still I fall behind
nothing seems to freeze
But I really don't care.
misstree the horrible dangling bit of meat,
thwapping inside the windowsill, swaying at the end
of indescribable appendage,
swaying, as if it were searching,
jerking like an epileptic puppet as meaty crunches were heard from outside.

closer inspection of the
horrible dangling bit of meat
revealed a painted nail,
a bone, a ring,
attached to a slightly less maimed slender arm,
attached to a barely more identifiable
heap of flesh that was likely once
a woman,
judging from the bits that were left
and didn't need to be dug out of the lawnmower.
misstree someday, i'm going to clean up this poem, and it will be the first one in my chapbook.

is her own biggest fan. today, at least.
what's it to you?
who go