For Rent

Photo credit 3 trailers

Don’t much wanna go to heaven
wouldn’t known no one there, no way
as the kind that I holds near and dear
won’t be a gettin’ thru them pearly gates.

No, there’s a better chance you’ll find me
sittin’ round a fire ring somewheres
talkin’ loud and smoking Marlboro’s
next to a tub a ice cold beer.

Wearing an old King Diamond tee shirt
and a pair a too tight jeans
sittin’ on some ol’ boys lap, feelin’ frisky-
in the trailer park o my dreams…

Where on every space there’s a double wide
and the lot rents paid in full
and my sister’s- ex-fi-ance’s -brother-in-law
has done his last parole.

So when I exit life’s long lost highway
don’t you be a worrin’ ’bout where I’ve gone
’cause I’m sure there’ll be a For Rent sign
on a nice li’l trailer in the great beyond….

Word Count: 148

January 22, 2017 A devastating storm passed through Dougherty County GA spawning a tornado that ripped through What Pegman Saw: Radium Springs GA

The January 23, 2017 Albany Herald reported the following:

“Some of the worst destruction occurred in the Radium Springs area along Holly Drive approaching the intersection of U.S. Highway 19. Paradise Village Mobile Home Park, located at 600 Holly Drive and directly in the path of the twister, was almost completely destroyed.”


ink on paper

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Furrowed rows
of battle scarred
Brittle pages hold
what no one sees
Gone the way
of ink on paper
As scribes subscribe
to technologies.

In a race
to erase
a too deep footprint
Will we cast aside
a legacy?

Word Count: 40

Courtesy of Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt

two lips

Arch under gable
And over brick
What you seek
You shall find
Between two lips

Three bodies in three days, and nothing to go on but a riddle. This little game of syntax Artie was playing with the powers that be was becoming even more gratifying than he had originally envisioned.

With law enforcement flummoxed, and the media ravenously clawing at the public drawing the rich red blood of indignation- he had a moment to sit back on his haunches and languish in his hard earned moment of triumph.

Success had been fleeting, and completely unsatisfying when he had pursued it through more traditional channels.

He had squandered his youth engorging his brain with the scientific rhetoric, theories, and hypothesis that should have culminated in the creation of a great name for himself in the field of asexual human reproduction- but in the end, he had been reduced to perfecting the production of an elite strain of genetically modified donor sperm, all of which having had its humble beginnings in his own testes.

The flaw it seems had been in the heterochromatin region. Before he was able to isolate and correct it, he had sired exactly four of these inept genetic re-combinations- which meant he continued to have his work cut out for him.

Three down. One to go.

The artistry was not in the eliminations themselves, they were just a series of unfortunate events that were necessary to protect the perfect line of prodigy he had successfully produced once the tweek had been made to the heterochromatin.

The true brilliance had come to him over a cafe au lait, at a popular coffee house in the trending Gatsby District downtown, where he had the good fortune to choose a seat directly across from a mural of what appeared to him to be a translucent woman. Though fully clothed, the artist had seen fit to etch some of her skeletal structure into her persona, and it struck him- the spinal column that corresponded with the braids in her hair resembled the double helix of the DNA chain that was currently his nemesis.

A simple transposition of his own genetic fopaux onto woman’s braids in the the mural, and the proverbial die was cast.

The riddle, stroke of genius that it was, had presented itself as more or less an afterthought, but what a delightful element of cat and mouse it had interjected into what otherwise would have been a rather mundane task.

As Artie settled into his newly favored point of vantage across the street from the mural that bore his distinguishing mark of genius, he sipped a cafe au lait and waited for the fourth and final testimony to any miscalculation on his part, to arrive.

Photo Prompt courtesy of: Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt: Imagination


I woke up feeling beige today.
Not the clean crisp beige
of a freshly ironed blouse
but rather a slouching hoodie-ish shade
a graying beige-
greige if you will.

Not exactly blah,
but very much without feeling.

The self imposed garrotte
with which I constrain myself
is beginning to chafe.

Serial discontent
is courting malfeasance.
I can smell their sex.

Yet I continue to tell myself,
as long as I acknowledge their presence
I can deny them entry.

I am no longer as deft a liar as I once was.

The Prompt: crisp beige, was provided by Misky on The Twiglets.

hole in my heart

you came to me this morning in a dream
you were on my couch
this couch
in jeans and no shirt

you were laying down
when i approached you
you made those little sounds
you always made

when you wanted me to comfort you
like an innocent child…

you rolled on your side facing me
and tucked your hands in between your legs,
prayer style at the top of the knees..

i ran my hand over your hair,
and spoke words of comfort
i couldn’t really hear…

then i bent down and kissed you
tasting the sweetness of your lips
as i parted mine
and allowed my tongue to touch you
just for a second

you were content then.
i left you to sleep…

for that instant
there was no hole in my heart….

Posted in celebration of the life of David Alan Gardon  2/10/66 – 1/17/04

Until we meet again….