Taste For Love

True love never dies

they say

but it can be consumed

thoughtlessly, mindlessly

like over buttered popcorn

tossed into your mouth

at the movies

in the dark

where nobody can see you

chew it up

with relish

like an animal always on the hunt

 for it’s next meal.

The Grotesque


A breathtaking

classic beauty

all of her friends say

she writes poetry

collects art

breaks hearts

she swears like a man

screws with abandon

who wouldn’t want to be her?


Oh if only it could be me!

Sadly I must confess.


I will horrify you

stun you

give you nightmares

with a word, with a phrase

with one good look at my face

 Nobody wants to be me

on purpose.


The gargoyle on the roof of the cathedral

is me.

That will always been me.

The Grotesque among the stars.


Daily Addictions Prompt: Ornate

In Memoriam

Photo A.M. Moscoso


Have you ever

dug a grave?

Gone into a funeral home at midnight

when the moon was full and you were trying to finish off

your french fries before

you got to the embalming room and had to start working?


Have you ever

talked to a demon

seen the devil riding the bus

watched a ghost

chase your cat down the hall

in the middle of the day?


Some of us have

and some of us

write about it

A lot.


Photo A.M. Moscoso

Welcome Home

I grew up in a haunted house.


Something dark and unearthly used to watch me sleep.

Something dark and unearthly  used to follow  people around the house at night.


Once it was suggested we do something to get rid of that dark and unearthly creature

that used to watch me sleep

that used to follow people around at night

that smelled like oranges,

when it began it’s dark and lonely travels around our home  after midnight.


In the end we let it stay

and when I go home

it still

watches over me when I sleep

and it still

 follows people around the house at night

and I think it wanders around

the garden when the Orchids are in bloom.


It has a home

with me

and with us

I think that after all of the years

we are



A Muse Me

Photo by David Bartus

We can be moved by


or by trains and dreams and time

We can be moved by


and a kiss or a promise or pain

We can be captured by


and disappear into it

as if

we never were.

Move me

I say to that song, that story,  those splashes of colors

on  canvas, on a wall, on skin

every chance I get.


Daily Addictions Prompt: Transport