Richard Head
Wandering through the
darkness
Stumbling down the road
Searching for a place
to rest
Richard Head goes
Coming to a bed and breakfast
Entering through the
door
Up the stairs into a
room
Richard Head goes
Falling on the well made
bed
Clothing on the floor
Insomnia now vanished
Richard Head goes
Seeing a child lying
in the dirt
Garments torn and tattered
Begging him to come
to it
Richard Head goes
Sitting on the cold hard
dirt
The child's hand in
his
Telling it to quiet
down
Richard Head goes
Caressing the flesh beneath
his palm
Gazing down so longingly
Banishing all his inhibitions
Richard Head goes
Ripping off a meaty chunk
Child screaming in pain
Dripping scarlet upon
the earth
Richard Head goes
Shoveling bits into his
mouth
Chewing with tender
care
Savoring every morsel
Richard Head goes
Waking in the dead of
night
Footsteps in the hall
Gunshots ringing in
the air
Richard Head goes
Plummeting through the
blackness
Never seeing the light
Through the gates of
Satan's lair
Richard Head goes
The Birth of the Goat Creature
The
stench drifts toward my sensitive nostrils and I gag. Chunky peach
colored stomach content spills to the floor and oozes out in all directions.
I try to make my way to the window, but find myself slipping in my own
regurgitation. I fall on my ass and the puke soaks through my sandals
and settles in the spaces between my toes. I vomit again.
I
hear a low gurgling and my eyes dart to the left just in time to witness
a miracle that is both frightening and amazing. A minuscule creature,
almost goat like in appearance, rises from the puddle. It shrieks
in a sad foreign tongue and I long to go to it, to mother it, to love it.
But I'm afraid.
The
creature stretches it’s fragile little body and bends forward as if to
administer a saliva bath, but instead performs auto-fellatio. I turn
away in disgust, glad I didn't go to the goat creature.
I
climb to my feet and slide to the door. The handle sears my flesh,
but I have to escape. I rotate my wrist, ignoring my screaming nerve
endings, and sprint into the corridor. Strings of charred skin hang
from the knob, but the rest of me is free.
A Funny Story With A Good Moral
There
once was a fly who was starving so he flew over to Farmer Joe's barn and
munched on some horse crap. He ate so much that he couldn't fly,
so he figured he'd climb onto a shovel handle and jump off--surely he'd
be able to fly once he was airborne. Wrong! He splattered all
over the ground. The moral of the story? Don't fly off the
handle when you know you're full of shit.