Magic on Margin

cropped-bad-wizard-posterUse your magic eye
to look into investments
beyond space and time
Peer into the index funds
Mystic open portals
exposing stocks and bonds
A doorway across the cosmos
enter upon the trading floor
the Nikkei 225
the Nasdaq 100
the Crystal Gazebo in the Celestial Garden 500
Arbritrage across the Nth Dimension
Buy low
Sell high
Credit default swaps
asset-backed spirtuality
Stocks are the spells
magic is the profits
Prime investment opportunities
All you must do
is peer through
the anagogic macrocosm
into the money-zone

Good Ol’ Southern Fried Intergalactic War

I’m a Lazer Warrior
Doing battle
at the edge of the Universe
Fighting for the future
One light beam at a time
Blazing beyond the sky
Tearing infinity a new one
The enemy may be eternal
but they ain’t nuthin’
when compared to the power
of our accurate lazer blasting
That’s how we get things done
In Kentucky USA

Moisture Flesh:The Dance, a poem by fartbutt6378

Toe tip down
Twirl around
Rub it in
The cream that is
Shrug and shudder
To the rhythm
Of the cream
Essential oils
Body butter arabesque
Jazz walk schasse
And Milky plasm
Pretend there’s a puddle
Don’t get wet
Now you’re chocolate
Blood nougat
Flail like canola
In the wind
Now it’s broken
Wind that is
Fingers eyes knees
Get weak
Drop to the floor
You are the reek
Temps levè
Body’s a fridge
Contains emotions
Chill the feelings
Rub in the lotion
Penchè nastè
Do the balogna
Do the spam
Do the salami
Now the canned ham
You are the moon
Lenitive on high
You are the dance
Unction Swish split

Justice is a dish best served all-you-can-eat


The light flashed across the sky. Like an uncooked noodle slicing through black sauce. A sick and twisted yet delicious metaphor whose message was clear: NO REST FOR JUSTICE, JUSTICE NEEDED NOW. She looked up, saw it, her mouth watered in acknowledgement. How could she not? It was as if the Food Court of Justice was calling out to her like she was on her lunch break from selling swimwear at the Wet Banana in Downtown City Mall and she couldn’t decide on souvlaki or chow mein. But that only spurned her on, drove her forward, lifted her up because she wasn’t no freakin’ hobbiest, not when it came to stocking the justice buffet and serving it up all you can eat to every dirtbag and skidwad and jerkfart this side of the wrong side of the bad side of town. No, she was all-pro, a working woman, on the clock, 24/7, bustin’ that justice hard like a greasy sausage in a sourdough bun with all the trimmings: ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, relish, hot peppers, jalapenos, sauerkraut, nacho cheese, diced onions, sauteed peppers, bacon bits, pickled beets, chopped kale, chopped iceberg, chopped green leaf, ham steak, fried egg, capers, sun-dried tomatoes, salsa verde, queso fresco, sauteed mushrooms, pickled mushrooms, sliced pickles, horseradish, dijon mustard, grainy mustard, sliced black olives, sliced green olives, spaghetti, meatballs, linguini, clam sauce, shreddies, cheerios, ground beef, grilled chicken breast, salt fish, ackee, salt, pepper, lemon pepper, seasoning salt, cajun spice, taco seasoning, red curry, yellow curry, green curry, chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, escargots, quail eggs, duck eggs, ricotta, mascarpone, halloumi, lasagna, eggrolls, and parsley for colour. She took a bite of the metaphor. Puked hard. Them’s the breaks.