2 Hour Bloodlust over a Dress and the Sea in her Eyes

One day,

I heard a poem about

shooting birds in flight

from the skies..

because their wingspan

was so illustrious,

so broken..

so beautiful..

Today,

she woke me from a 2 hour nap

and asked which outfit I prefer..

a long flowing dress, which fit her form

splendidly..black and green..the blue brought out her eyes..

or should she wear a purple

button-up with black pants

for an interview in Tampa..

where men behind desks would sit

and gaze at her green eyes..

and see the sea waves peeking from

the hints of diamonds they found there..

and I keep hearing the words:

*"it was a sad sight, so I shot it down in flight"..

and I realize that I have no taste for guns..

or fear the cold feel of a piece in my hand..

I've never been discriminating when it comes to

people that I feel could be wasted..

and for that matter, the trigger would be

just as non-selective..

So when,

she asks which outfit to wear..

I say the dress..knowing damn well,

if some bastard makes a light comment or 2

on how well she looks, and I was there..

I'd be making my way to a pawn shop..

but I tell her to wear it anyway..

Because it fits her frame so well..

because the sea is seen in her eyes..

because I like the idea of blood on my hands

over a woman..

because I've had only 2 hours of sleep..

because I have no gun..

*youngblood-M.J. Taylor

Bone collectors in Lab Coats..and the Whole scene went MAD..

There was a time,

when paleontology was

nothing near a trade..

for white coats and dirty brushes..

No,

back then dinosaur bones,

were just rocks..

Large pebbles in the way

of some man's foot

or another equally big and

inevitable rock

called a tyrannosaurus Rex,

or a triceratops..

or a mammoth..

Then someone got the bright idea

to start digging up

all the skeletons..

and they poked around in there..

where the genes once lived..

and they spliced them with sheep..

and the sheep grew fangs like a saber-tooth..

and attacked a group of paleontologists..

while they were dusting for bones in

a famous museum

where the other rocks could watch..

Serves 'em right..

one man says, as he steps over the bloody pile

of white coats and bristles..

That's what you get when

you dig up ghosts...