how’s it hangin’

First off, yay… I survived work and don’t go back in until Monday! Plus, I am getting a foot massage from my mechanical boyfriend.

I am researching crocodiles because, well… why not. I think I have an opening line of a new poem, and once that is hammered out, the rest flows rather quickly.

Speaking of flowing quickly… I love you, tequila!


Interesting fact, one of the managers at my job is a very interesting person.

I like interesting people.  I get bored very easily with normal conversation.

One of the things that is interesting about him is that his other job is as a bartender with  his wife who is some kind of world-renowned mixologist for margaritas.

I have no idea if that is really a thing, or if he is just blowing smoke at me. Don’t care.

Therefore, I’m reading about crocodiles. Because, I’m bored. And stupid tired. And just a little bit drunk.  I love you, tequila!

Dang it, now I have a song in my head. Sing it with me!

Another interesting fact, Shelly West looks like my last boss.

Ponderous, real ponderous. 

I wrote this poem about the same time I wrote dessert but since it wasn’t directly about food, it got bumped to another collection that deals with, amongst other things, money.

For example, treasure and wealth. I like juxtapositioning words that have similar but not exactly the same meanings which is why there will often be sets of poems in the larger collection which really should be read together.

Not that I care. You can fucking I-Ching my poetry, as long as you read it.

Please read it.

The title of the post might make more sense after you read the poem. I used to feel awkward when someone said that to me, because… well… anatomy lesson. But after you get pushed and kicked and slapped around enough, and survive the trauma, you realize you have a set of balls too.

So now I just say, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” If I can get away it.

Keeps things interesting.  That’s a good thing.

NOTE: the title of this poem was originally barter but has been changed.


I lost one of two husbands to
wanting to be knocked up.
you wouldn’t believe the bullshit
that, blocking, he hocked up.

I lost one of two husbands to
parsing fellatio:
the hard currency of marriage.
but don’t you dare say so.

so, if I take a husband three,
will I cut out my tongue?
or maybe he can lend me his,
and hang it where I’m hung.

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Hours I own all of these ideas, but none of these images.
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