It's atypical neurolognorosis I tell ya... - Post a comment

Feb. 14th, 2008

[info]sapphoq

01:03 am - Ten Words and More on V-Day

ganked from merlinwon at livejournal who ganked it from http://www.lunanina.com/UM/ind/week_262

Original directions: add one word for each one.
spike's alternate directions: add up to five words for each one.
  1. Score :: sex :: on the beach :: mother ocean :: drifter :: Jimmy Buffett
  2. Luxurious ::Mercedes :: doc :: these eyes :: cats :: ginger
  3. Party :: Hardy :: snow :: deep freeze :: Jeffrey Dahmer :: cannibal
  4. Limited edition :: silver :: shiny :: sparkly :: diamonds:: ring
  5. Security :: flaws :: scars :: fade :: healing :: phoenix
  6. Betty :: Boop :: motorcycles:: machine :: robotic :: metallic flakes
  7. Under construction :: zone :: meditation :: hot rocks :: suckers :: tootsie roll
  8. Pest :: wood bee :: pine tree :: hemlock :: Socrates :: Cranberry Lake
  9. Director :: play :: I remember Mama :: Betsy :: drama llama :: hopelessness
  10. Express :: lane :: zoom :: speed :: addiction :: life is too short
spike's alternate directions: add a word that uses the last letter of the word before it as the beginning letter and the first letter of the word after it as it's ending letter:
  1. Score :: evil
  2. Luxurious :: soap
  3. Party :: you'll
  4. Limited edition :: nekkid bodies
  5. Security :: yab
  6. Betty :: you
  7. Under construction :: nap
  8. Pest :: taped
  9. Director :: route
  10. Express :: sexes
  11. S {from "score"}
spike's last directions: Now write a short story or a poem something with some of the words.

Meditation

These eyes
have seen nekkid bodies on the beach having sex
and healing and playing at being drifters in the ocean waves.
I wait like some sort of deformed Socrates beneath a hemlock
tree off route and out of place, out of time-- for life is too short
for this sort of bullshit poem-- for you.

These eyes
sparkle and shine like diamonds. You'll zoom along
in your silver Mercedes not knowing the evil of the metallic flakes
that settle in the dust. Your three ginger cats, hardy creatures of
the snow and deep freezes, hate you. You named them Betsey
and Boop and Jeffrey Dahmer for reasons only known to your self.

I rise like a cliche, like a phoenix, like a bloody robotic machine.
Scars
fade. Hot rocks and suckers and the taped outline of your body.
Mama said, "Don't sing at the table for you will marry a crazy man."
I remember Mama. I remember her yabbing on and on. I was no sucker.
I didn't marry one, though I for a time I thought I loved you fiercely.

You
fell off your motorcycle once into diamonds and the doc
said you were taking a long dirt nap. A bit of soap, your relatives
standing around your bed like cannibals, and you came to.
Like wood bees buzzing around a pine tree, your taped and
injured arm tortured you like your touch tortures me.

Perhaps it is better this way...me writing stupid prose poems
about how evil fate denied me. You married again and I died
dreaming about the dirt trail leading to Cranberry Lake; and
ring
ing mother ocean with Jimmy Buffett, eating tootsie rolls
with my coffee in the mornings.

Something in me still cannot forget. These eyes have seen
your own addiction to speed; to changing lanes too fast.
That flaw, your greatest joy and bitter undoing.
I will remember you forever.


spike

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