R.I.P.

That Rip Van Winkle woke and went 
   Back home is popularly known,
But how so died the idle gent
   Is curiously left alone.

I'll tell you this: To take a nap
   Into the hills he took a walk.
He ne'er walk'd back and ne'er did hap
   With any kin again to talk.

Within the hills his corpse was found,
   The elder's body lately dead,
Lying upon the dewy ground,
   A pumpkin where'd have been his head.

O.O

With a Ballpoint Pen

He kills for vicious thrills again,
And violates the pretty pink,
As always, with a ballpoint pen.

This evilest of evil men
Begins the process with a wink.
He kills for vicious thrills again.

He ties a tipsy perfect 10
He’s going soon to fill with ink,
As always, with a ballpoint pen.

He violates the safe-word, “when,”
And all the while he doesn’t blink.
He kills for vicious thrills again.

He satiates his wicked yen,
And then records the brutal kink,
As always, with a ballpoint pen.

Who the man is and where he’s been
His victims never mind to think.
He kills for vicious thrills again,
As always, with a ballpoint pen.

O.O

A Cradle Song

Sleep, Sleep, tender, mild,
Meaty, sweet & juicy child.
Sleep, Sleep: Sleep a sleep
Soft as is an infant sheep.

Sweet Babe, restful Lump,
Rest thy limbs & belly plump,
Jellied arms & legs & butt:
Every tender, juicy cut.

Savory, salted thou shalt be,
Season’d most deliciously.
Sleep, Sleep: Disease will both
Spoil thy meat & spoil the broth.

O.O