Thomas Vaultonburg

 


Welcome  
                     
Meteors and heartache                        
And Chlamydia have                        
Avoided you.                        

Your perfect smile                        
Has never been knocked                        
Into your stomach                        

And your lovers                        
Are fresh, sane and                        
The most sought after                        
In any room.                        

You can’t dream you’ll                        
Ever end up begging                        
Someone used and scarred                        
Not to leave you                        
In the darkness.                        

But you can.                        

You will.                        

Welcome.


Pinata                        

You were our first lesson                        
In rage and greed                       
Possibly love.                        
Our smiling guardian                        
Put the stick                        
In our small hands,                        
Blindfolded us                        
And whispered that                        
Unspeakable treasures                        
Awaited us when we                        
Destroyed you.                        
Spun around and                        
Drunken with images                        
Of unimaginable trinkets                        
We became whirling dervishes                        
Of lust and anger,                        
Whacking and thumping away                        
At your broken smile                        
Way past nap time,                        
Until frustrated with                        
Our lack of killer instinct,                        
Our teacher sawed you                        
In half, spilling                        
Far less enticing bounty                        
Than we had dreamed of.                        
Some rushed forward and                        
Grabbed and devoured,                        
Others stood back and                        
Cried over the carnage.                                                 
Either way we all learned                        
Who we would be that day.


My Dick                        
My dick fell off                        
Last week.                        
Since then things have                        
Been stupendous.                        

I’ve been writing poems                        
And learning to cook Portuguese                        
And I think I’ve even found                        
A cure for cancer.                        

Last night I spent six hours                        
Pushing around one pebble                        
In my Zen garden.                        

Did you know women                        
Have eyes                        
And some of them have                        
Even learned to speak?                        

It’s the dambdest                        
Thing.


The Way I Got it Figured                        

Every bar dog                        
Who wants or                        
Succeeds in                        
Fucking her                        
For the price                        
Of a drink                        
Makes me                        
A better lover.


 The Pretend Mobster With the
 Colostomy Bag                        

The second time                        
This cocksucker fired                        
Me it was for real                        
And we ended up                        
Shouting about respect                        
And dead fish in                        
The parking lot.                        
He called me Tommy                              
And always wanted                        
To fuck my girlfriend,                        
A fact I exploited                        
To pilfer thousands,                        
But now he wanted                        
To go to war                        
Over $75 and a                         
Bottle of Dom.                        

I’ll piss on your grave,                        
Old man, and don’t                        
Bother sending that                        
Fish I’ll be out                        
With your wife                        
When it arrives.

Thomas Vaultonburg

    Thomas Vaultonburg is one bad assed, brutally honest writer. He is 36 year old poet/bartender/bouncer/construction worker who enjoys Tab Cola and zombie movies. Don’t bother sending him any dead fish, he’ll be out with your wife when it arrives.

His website is www.zombielogicpress.com


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