i’ve got a mean red streak,
i stand for violence
and unadulterated hate.
mostly blunt and outspoken:
take these burning embers as a remembrance, a token
of my fire and flames,
vicious and malicious war games.
pain from a wound much deeper than just the flesh;
pillage and plunder, loot and fight and distress;
an f on that paper, points off on that test,
it’s like the weight of the world rests on your shoulder’s,
clutching the breath within your chest.
rhyme without the reason, so much treason and terror,
angst and anger, and so [therefore]
these warnings and cautions and stop signs can’t be ignored.
i don’t always want more
of the finer things in life,
just a monopoly on this democracy,
a battle to the death to claim the rest.
walking down the red carpet with bloodstains on my hands:
murder, carnage, gore
much more so when you condone the acts which you most abhor.
there’s a fever in these streets,
a sickness sticking to the skin,
a plague, a pox, a curious fox,
there’s trouble ahead; within these caves you may get lost.
a different ending by way of a dagger,
wine, rum-and-coke, got you all tipsy, and now you stagger,
scream bloody mary – lizzie borden with an axe!
freddy kruger took a wrong turn at the circle k
on a search for those hostess snacks.
cherries, strawberries, a red delicious apple or three,
we climbed up in that tree, the leaves of autumn one with me;
radishes, red cabbage, peppers, tomatoes,
red onions, kidney beans, a package of beef ramen…
can i get an a-men! to this homily of vegetable monotony
with but a dash of sass from cellophane wrap’d
candy canes, swedish fish and cotton candy dreamscapes,
visions of shirley temples dancing in your head,
spaghetti sauce spilled on your spaghetti strap dress,
fresh meat, raw meat, a mad cow on the loose,
duck, duck, goose!
cranberry sauce and cranberry juice,
code red mountain dew you drink through a twizzler straw,
and collecting flies.
what a compromis-
-ing position, my dear!
a passionate kiss,
you’re a dish, darling!
that frilly skirt,
flash your racy lace bra,
summer sunsets, catching fireflies in a jar.
hot pants and my hula girl’s skirt,
lipstick and blush to make you up lovely,
are you ready?
drag queens and ladies of the night
with their leather skirts and feather boas flouncing.
my name is love at first sight.
spanish bullfighters and stripes on the flag,
summertime and sunburns and bee stings to be had,
the red tide, shark bites, surfer boys and babes alike,
lobsters and crabs and – are red herrings freshwater?
research and accuracy? psht…who bothers?!
volcanoes to the east are about to erupt,
the flow of magma to the sea is a must.
i know this may come as abrupt,
but this topic must be discussed:
a test tube baby birthed by pop culture on its own,
set adrift on memory bliss with those rocky horror picture show lips,
“my love is like a red, red rose…”
all the red-headed step-children:
the weasleys, tommy duncan, les averman, dinger, the warden, pete & pete
ginger spice geri haliwell wearing a raspberry beret
“rollin’ down the street, smokin’ indo, sippin’ on gin and juice,
with my mind on my money and my money on my mind,”
in that little red corvette,
licensed to ill,
“maybe she’s born with it – maybe it’s maybelline!”
toejam & earl, the detroit red wings,
red hot chili peppers, hot rod circuit, hot hot heat,
red sox and darth maul, the dark side of the force’s light saber color of choice!
is it just me, or is it getting’ hot in herre?
the world is closing in on me; put me under cardiac arrest,
no more sighing in my breast.
i’m the color of your hands when they caught you in the act,
crafty carmen sandiego, sassy like her coat and hat,
speaking of hot-headed ones with caps atop their craniums:
stanley yelnats diggin’ them holes,
bill s. preston, esquire, back in the 80’s (oh, those days of old!).
red rover, red rover, rockin’ robin, tickle-me-elmo, clifford the big red dog,
spongebob’s tie, superman’s cape,
x-ray vision and laser beams
to get me out of this place.
even when the room is empty, my aura is still around,
the heat is more than stifling, rising up from the ground,
go ahead, paint the town,
bring it around,
some say the world will end in fire,
and i’d like to think we’re right,
because at the end of the day,
in the middle of the night,
all these words and images herein coalesce
to show how this amalgam amasses to merely more than just a mess.
my entire being.
disorder and chaos,
that’s what i’m breeding.
i’ve got a mean red streak,