Champion Haiku

Going down on you,
the hottest thought I could have:
You'd make a good dad.

Katrina

I wasn't kidding when I said

I eat men like you for breakfast.

You should've heeded that warning last night--

because now, as you are tumbling

through the waves of my stomach acid,

you realize just how right I was.

I am not just a play thing or

a gentle little girl.

It is not a coy joke

when I whisper calmly in your ear:

"Do not fall in love with me unless you are prepared for war."

I am a walking earthquake,

bringing down cities

with nothing more than a gentle sigh.

I am the flood that finds you,

and after me, there is nothing left.

In your vain attempt to dry off

and find anything of value,

you will find only choked up crops

and bloated living room furniture.

I am tornado,

tearing everyone around me apart

after they've come in contact with me.

If you're strong, you hold on

while the weak go flying

across fields and dreams.

There is hardly a reason to chase after me

if you are not willing to swing a lasso of barbed wire,

spur your horse until you both bleed,

or live in longing of developing

callouses along your rope burned fingers.

I am burning wave of fire.

Shield of cannonball

and falling crash of firework

in a shower of confetti and acid rain.

I am grindstone,

crushing noses and hopes

directly into bread crumbs

--every ounce of which

waiting to be consumed

on a slab of ashwood

dripping in boxing glove blood.

I am parafin,

sucking air out of lungs

to preserve only the most perfect notions of human,

counting the months lost to stillness.

It is only in the outburst of violence

that I may find peace.

I am not looking for you to come

and bridal my tempest, merely hoping

that you can meet my shock of lightning streaking across the sky

with your own clap of earth trembling thunder.

So you must understand my disappointment

when I managed to unhinge my jaw

and snake-swallow you entirely with such ease

that I barely thought twice

about what bones might get stuck in my gut.

You were all talk with no punch,

all tomato juice and not a slight tickle of bloody.

I had hoped for anything but a lamb to take to slaughter

even as you wrapped the leash around you own neck

without my prompting.

You are cornflakes, boy.

You had no idea that this battle would take your legs,

that I would sink your eyes into star-filled oceans

and you could never look at other women without seeing me.

I will ruin you.

You will find my face in every turn,

my name ringing past your throat,

you will follow me blindly,

haunting yourself with the memory of my lips.

Originally performed on 3/28/11

Originally written on 7/26/2010

Endlessly Edited.