In Which is Had a Late Night Fright, but By Whom?

Unable once again to sleep, I sought
Relief in waters hot, of sulfur'rous smell.
Outside my door was waiting what, I thought,
Some kind of prank contraption. "What the hell?"
A radio antenna? Sculpture fail?
In silence, into darkness I stepped t'ward
The mystery. And then it moved! My flail
Of startlement near hit it. Almost gored
Upon a mighty antler, I withdrew,
Then, panting, frightened by a five-point buck
(That's on each antler; it's the West here). "Shoo!"
I said to him. I don't know why. As luck
Would have it, deer spaghetti was my lunch.
Was this revenge? I'd entertain that hunch.

We Have To Quit Meeting Like This, We Have To Quit Meeting, We Have To Quit

We're just here once, and, really, it has been
So long already since we two were born.
We've wasted time; it really feels like sin
To waste much more. We two, though, sad and worn,
Still fail. I flail, between our meetings, and
Forget you. Watch me now: I cry, I spit;
"Act like you give a shit," is my demand
Whene'er your arms come 'round me, as though it,
That one embrace, makes up for months, as though
You have the right to tell me "Come on back,
Drop ev'rything, do what I want." I know,
It's only me, old friend, who feels the lack
Of thought behind it, and who feels the pain.
Sunk costs are paid. What now is left to gain?

In Which A Childhood Fear Surfaces

It's taking me much courage e'en to look
Upon the photo I've put on this page;
Blame China Mieville for it; his new book
The Kraken, just so happened to engage
Me quickly in a quest again to see
What's haunted me since childhood. Lo! Behold:
Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni
The merest thought makes my blood run so cold,
I'm eight again, in Wyoming, landlocked
But still quite sure this monster lurked below
My bedclothes, clacking beak, thoroughly stocked
With tentacles and after me. I know:
'Twas silly of me, out here, to believe
A giant squid could get me of an eve.

Meta Sonnet: In Which I Share A Fear

I live in mortal fear of that one day --

When it will be, I have no way to know --

When suppertime will pass, and more, and yea

A sonnet is not written. I will go

To lengths extreme and crazy to prevent

That day from coming, but I'm human. There

Will come a day when all that this has meant

To me will fall apart. I do not care

To see it soon. The pint glasses I'll stack

And stack up to the ceiling. All in all

Four hundred sixty nine rise high. One crack

In my resolve and ev'ry one will fall

And shatter with my pride. But it's not here,

That day, and will not come, I hope, this year.

In Which I Am Mugged By An Unpleasant Day

If this day were a person, I would fear
Him like the bullies who betimes would stuff
Me in my locker during freshman year.
He'd have one eye, and, if that weren't enough,
Six fingers on each hand, and fewer teeth
Than he has got tattoos. His reechy breath,
As sharp as that buckknife there in its sheath;
No need to brandish it. I'm scared to death
That he is not done threatening me yet!
I would he went away, left me alone,
Except I don't know just who else would get
A visit in my stead, who might be thrown,
A morsel into his rapacious maw.
But if he looks away I shall withdraw!

In Which I Plan A Techvacation Of Sorts -- But Just A Short One

I have a lot of work that I must do

Ere I resume my day gig three days hence.

I'm taking here a breath; I'll plunge into

The final push, and spare me no expense

In time or labor, now, till this is done.

I know that you know not of what I speak,

Dear readers, and I promise it's not fun

To keep these secrets but for now a meek

Apology is all I have to give.

I'm going dark quite soon, because I suck

At working hard when there's this life I live

Online and in my town that bids me chuck

The nitty gritty and go off and play

As I have learned this last many a day.

In Which I Have A Tiny Panic Attack At Work

Alone here in a fishbowl, full of folk
Absorbed in work and play, ignoring me,
I suddenly can't shake or call a joke
The feeling that has made me want to flee:
Just weeks ago a jackass in a truck
Hit me on Deep Blue as I crossed a street.
Just days ago another tested luck -
The driver, texting, nearly made me meet
My newly-dead friend sooner than I'd planned:
Was head-on for me and swerved as I did
To miss. It seemed dead-certain that my grand
Time on this Earth was done. Did someone bid
Him look up? It's unknown. But now the sense
That something wants me dead, too, is intense.

BUG WEEK: In Which I Share A (Sort Of) Secret

When I was young, e'en to my eighteenth year

I had a weakness easy to play on:

For nothing in the world gave me such fear

As insects, in the house, out on the lawn,

Once memorably in a campground sink -

Saturniid, there, I picture in my head.

The merest sight would make me scream. You'd think

Me stabbed. Now, "phobia" was never said

Though surely it was thought, as I could stand

A dragon- or a butterfly all right.

By college time it was, though, out of hand

And Bard is a most buggy place at night.

My cure? I took a course and learned each part

An insect has, and thereby lost my heart.