poetry folder 1 Archives

November 26, 2005



Barzilla stomps into the bar.

Step aside or be squished.

"A beer!" snaps Barzilla
stepping in front of others.

"Hey Baby!" he says to the girl
and sniffs.

Barzilla is besotted by drink
and lust.

Barzilla doesn't like to lose in pool.
He huffs around the table
Bashing shots and muttering.

He slams the stick to the floor.

He shouts,


He often pays with nickels and dimes.
Barzilla never, ever, ever, tips.

He drinks shots
and breathes fire.

He says things like,
"Nice tits!"
"Put some booze in it this time!"

Sometimes King Kong comes in.
They go at it,
thrashing tables and chairs
like buildings in Tokyo.

Barzilla carries steel.

Don't fuck with Barzilla.

Image by Dave Lonteen

October 30, 2006

Extraordinary Rendition


[Author's Note: In a television interview with Donald Rumsfield about the torture allegations at Abu Ghraib, he avoided the word "torture" replacing it instead with the euphemism "extraordinary rendition." Hence this poem:]


This is the term they use
To replace the word "torture"

Extraordinary rendition

That sounds like fun
like somebody adapted a mediocre book
into a top notch movie.

And oh it takes an extraordinary asshole
to call torture, "extraordinary rendition."

If you are going to commit mayhem,
could you at least please say her name?

She's called Torture.

Say her name

Torture: the infliction of severe physical pain
as a means of punishment or coercion.

Torture: to let them bleed out slowly.


Is her name, her name


The Iron Maiden

The chastity belt

The hanging cages of Babylon



The wheel

Cat's paw


Saint Elmos belt

The breast-ripper

Judas' Cradle

The Heretics forks -

The anal pear


Say her name.

The instrument shown at the top is called "mutilation shears." I chose this particular torture device because of the strange dichotomy it represents. The mutilation shears are used to clean up after the torturing. For instance, if the torturer mangled your toes or fingers there would be bone and cartilage dangling, which would be a problem for the torture survivor. The mutilation shears cut off the excess bone and cartilage leaving the survivor with a healthy, clean dismemberment. Torture with a conscience I guess. What a world!

November 25, 2006

New Hymm for the Ex Catholic

"Holy God, Lord of All
How could I have believed all your bullshit?

Hark, the fallen Angels sing,


Shove thy hymns up thine hallowed ass

For Finally I am free
To crank Sabbath
Use condoms
Watch porn
And flog the Bishop

Alleluia! Alleluia!

Flog the Bishop
Flog the Bishop
And he will flog the Bishop for ever and eh-ver"

Long Poems

Oh how they drag on.


Sitting alone in a restaurant in Positano,
Sipping Ouzo
And writing poetry in brown Journal
A lizard climbs up a wall and across the ceiling and lingers overhead,
My poem feels like bullshit.

The Pain of You
(From Barzilla and Other Psalms)

A leftover bowl of broccoli soup in the refrigerator

A copy of The Handmaid's Tale

A figurine

A photograph of our weekend in Baja

A coffee cup that says, "World's Greatest Sister."

A wrench (in my gut)

A poem you wrote about how much I suck

A video store late fee. . .

Are all that's left of you

The remnants of you.
The income tax of you.
The litter box of you.


I fished out

the sludge

from the shower drain

just to get a lock of your hair.

Do You Accept Jesus Christ as Your Personal Trainer
(From Barzilla and Other Psalms)

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Jesus had me doing crunches today.
His spiny fingers curled around my ankles.

He wanted me to do 6 million crunches.
I told him 20 was my limit.

Jesus lifted his shirt to inspire me.
He had a 70-pack on his abs.

Jesus charges 8 thousand dollars an hour
To be your personal trainer

Which is fair don't you think,
being the Son of God and all?

Image by Ted Washington

(From Barzilla and Other Psalms)

With my eyes I beheld her

With my arms I held her

With my mouth I spoke with her

With my tongue I kissed her

With my head I loved her

With my heart I fancied her

But with my legs I walked away.

November 26, 2006

(From Barzilla and Other Psalms)


When I was in traffic
I murdered the road.

When it was busy
I murdered the phone.

When I couldn't see the stars
I murdered the moon.

When I didn't want to die
I murdered the tomb.

When I didn't like the music
I murdered the band.

When I didn't like the reaction
I murdered the fans.

When I was hungry
I murdered the cow.

When I couldn't sleep
I murdered the bed.

When I couldn't write
I murdered the pen.

Image by Ted Washington

March 31, 2007

Searching for Billy Mumy
(From Barzilla and Other Psalms)


I don't know why I was thinking about you today,
Billy Mumy,
But I was.

I was just thinking about what a cute kid you were
and wondering what you've been up to since
Lost in Space got cancelled.

So I went to your website

Where I learned,
among other things,
That your last name is not pronounced "Mummy"
Like the sarcophagus.

But Moomy - like roomy, with an M.

Billy Moomy
What a gas!

I bet it bugs you when people call you Mummy.

Hey, remember the robot?

Danger, Will Robinson
Danger, danger!

What a gas!

Image by Dave Lonteen

April 3, 2007

I Am a Jenga Asshole
(From Barzilla and Other Psalms)



Image by Tyler Jordan

April 16, 2007

Cuzco, Peru
(A souvenir snow globe)


If I could pick up this city and shake it

Like those glass souvenir winter globe scenes

It would kick up the dust and the dogs and the cabs

And snow them back over again.

April 19, 2007



I would rather
eat the pus
from the boils
on the feet
of a man
who walked across
every mountain in the land
than to hear you laugh at the jokes
of some other Dan

About poetry folder 1

This page contains an archive of all entries posted to Edwin Decker in the poetry folder 1 category. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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