

The Soul Collector
She came to collect
With her piece shoved 'neath her blouse...
She came to collect
Like a cat comes for her mouse...
But the mouse hole was dry,
And there wasn't a sign
Of the boss who had wronged her, and then
Packed her aside
Like a beef shank or brisket
One would hang on a hook...
She came to collect,
And her eyes had that look...
The look of the maimed, or
Deranged, or derailed...
Elise had no shame,
She was hot on the trail,
And left devastation at
Every wrong turn...
No seedling was spared!...
No bridge left unburnt!...
So it was that when her boss,
Luke returned
From his dive
With a plastered blonde skunk
Who could barely limp on,
Though Luke had her resting
Propped up his chin,
This sick swan from Suburbia
Was ready to swim,
But before they could rest
They passed through the gate,
And discovered this mess...
The flames licked the windows!...
They melted the paint...
There was someone inside
Who had
Sealed their own fate
Just by knowing Luke well,
But not well enough...
With the scent of fat searing,
And the gas blowing out
All the red in
Luke's jelly jar suddenly now
Went south...
He ditched the doused blonde
In the bushes and ran!...
She was gin-soaked, and sloshed,
And not part of the plan...
Luke could tell by the red bead
That fell on his ass
That a girl had caught up with him
From his checkered past...
Aye, but who could it be?...
He would not
Breathe to know
The first bullet passed through him
With it's cousins in tow...
Too soon he was only
Hamburger on toast
Six feet underground
Where the maggots
Would host;
In a graveyard beneath
An unmarked slab of stone...
Elise came to collect...
Now, without dial tone,
She fell from the peak
Of her favorite scene
Where she came to watch waves
Crash, and castaway streams;
As most rivers and reservoirs
Met at this beach...
Yes, her swooning green eyes
Were quite brilliant and wild...
So lovely, and almost
Befitting a child
As the orbs caught the light,
And reflected the brine
That her flesh barely kissed,
Just like lips upon wine...
11/28/23
Bunny Villaire
Edit #2
Feeling the Suction of the Read
When it's a good story, and I'm starting to get hooked, I'll feel the writer taking me under his/her/their wing as if the story was written just for me. The author will say things that will disarm me, and break down my walls. They'll keep me interested by taking risks that make me gasp by their audacious honesty that exhume my buried recesses. When I get that buddy buddy camaraderie thing going that's when I feel like I can finally unmoor myself from my physical reality and let the magic begin.
I love dark humor, and characters that feel authentic and could live in my own reality. I'm not really enthralled with fantasy, because I feel like I'm avoiding the strife of everyday living much like Americans ignore the plight of the world with high-tech distractions and their worship of celebrity lifestyles. There are some fantastical stories that I can read, but they have to still harken back through the characters to real life dialogue and ways of thinking. Science Fiction is an example of this because it's a fantastical different time and place, but it addresses problems we are dealing with nowadays. I can dig erotic writing too, and can become engaged in it because sex is a fantastical magic that sprouts from reality.
Feeling the great suction of the read I can hear the whistling in my ears and take off to another dimension! This is the enchanting power that the good writer has over the reader, especially if they choose to invoke the responsibility of being a good writer. This is part of the reason that I write; because I want to pick up the cross of the great writer's and hold people's attention with the words at my disposal like an old man feeding the ducks crusts of bread at the pond. It's also the reason I struggle with writer's block, which is not a bad thing to struggle; it just means you need time to regroup. To become a great writer takes years of work, and most importantly the ability to read other people's writings. The more books you read the more you write! I'm so happy there's so many great writers in the world to choose from!
11/22/23
Bunny Villaire
The Down Low
There is a mess inside the city
An ugly place adrift from hands...
An appellation sprayed in paint describes
It's termination;
Right here infected methods stand
Long after the deaths, and endless
Heart aches...
The screams of protest in the night...
The people walk with shoulders hunched,
Their eyes pad-locked
To their feet...
No sympathy regards their plight...
There could be Wars;
They'll never see them...
Another campaign
Came and went...
Who's been elected,
And does it matter?...
The coffers empty...
Energies spent...
Where are the ones who could take notice?...
Why are these tarnished streets so stained?...
The men walk dead...Eyes grey as gravestones...
Young boys get high to feel no pain...
In each gas station you'll see a crack pipe...
Their burning candles at both ends...
Where can a precious soul find work in waste?...
New seeds are scattered as gales descend...
The women pregnant with more failures
Are part and parcel of this scheme
While realtors sell off the world in pieces...
The average Joe dry humps his dreams;
Remaining blind to how each mounting vice
Works like rat poison to the poor...
In coffeeshops I overhear Vampires
Massage their egos, and employ more rich...
Exploiting charities; they funnel smuggled funds
Like cocaine up their nose
Without a flinch for what their doing...
Their just high rollers on a wave!...
They use hype words like "Aid"; "Relief"
So they can scalp another day,
And sleep right through another evening...
While the cockroaches plague the lives
Of all these phantoms who will not be counted...
Not fit to tailor or survive...
There is a mess inside the city
An ugly place adrift from hands...
An appellation sprayed in paint describes
It's termination;
Right here infected methods stand
Long after the deaths, and endless
Heart aches...
The screams of protest in the night...
The people walk with shoulders hunched,
Their eyes pad-locked
To their feet...
No sympathy regards their plight...
11/19/23
Bunny Villaire
Edit #2
The Passing Gaze
I leapt above your silver mirror
Like a skimmer making waves...
My vault was high,
My precision placed
Just a perfectly laid pebble on
A stoney path to paradise...
Maybe life will throw this
Boy a raft
But for now I'm looseygoosing
Like an Autumn leaf unfurled...
Be kind to me my oyster pearl!...
Your mouth lays open in a pantomime
Of an extended gasp...
Don't take away my safety web...
This netting makes a pleasant bed
Like roses without thorns...
I leapt above your silver mirror
Like a skimmer making waves...
Maybe tonight I'll face that foe...
That bad seed, hard nosed,
Part-time pro
Who's planned a scam for ages
With a fool like me in mind...
I pray I can evade them
Just before the curtain fall...
For many moons
I've braved the spikes,
Heeding intrinsic call...
Taking names, and making tracks!....
I left a boot heel on their backs,
But still the noose swims wanton
Like a spotlight or a halo...
If I could only sit awhile and slip off
In deep thought
Where spiders weave their precious webs,
And tadpoles of loose dreams
Wriggle through the fingers of the
Conjurers of days
That come and go no matter what
The weather sends their way...
11/17/23
Bunny Villaire
Edit#2
From The Same Cloth
Cut from the same cloth...
That's what it feels like
When you have a child,
And you love that child with all
Of your beating heart...
When their little hand finds yours in the dark
You feel the doors within swing open,
Like they do when you kiss the lips
Of the one you love,
And they love you back to the moon,
And stars...
Yes there will be pain, and hardships galore;
As you wear your cards on your shirt...
Your Achilles heel in your eyes
For anyone to attempt to savage,
But love makes you ever more the hero
And the fighter for survival and for
Self actualizing; though at times on the surface
It feels as if the self has been snuffed out...
All this becomes most apparent for ME
Through the trembling hearts I choose
To surround myself with,
And have chosen me back...
Bonds bring more depth...
I thought I wanted the mask of a dying world,
But bonds wash my eyes and toss the snakeskin
To the wind...
Bless this boy who now swims
In a half sleep beside me,
And please may he find a
Healing sleep soon
Where his dreams
Reveal even more untapped potential...
Cut from the same cloth...
I feel his flesh and mine combined
As he struggles through dirt
To find himself in an uncertain world...
My boy against the high beams facing
The strain of his fresh petals now in bloom...
11/14/23
Bunny Villaire
Edit #2