What happens when a gnome gets down?

"Ben we need poetry for this poor grunting misunderstood gnome!"

-Chris McQueeney (read his poem here).

Gerald grunted from the stone he passed
The children thought he was a ghoul
But they could never know
He was a hero on his thrown,
Watching over celery
That sometimes came to life
And feasted on their brains.

Witch-House by a French Colonial

Note: Before reading I ask you to imagine some future civilization coming across these words a thousand years from now. This poem is all that remains of American culture.

*****

French doors, porched roof

beyond a gentle garden

and a child’s swing set

swaying in the breeze.

Picket fence obscures

a shelter skeleton

hidden by dense foliage.

grass winds up old stone

to meet a single door

and windows boarded shut

presumably to scare off

children wanting candy.

The Colonic

I was feeling heavy

so I went for a colonic.

The operator hooked me up

much like they used to do with telephones.

Water forced its way into my rectum

clearing out the excess shit and toxins.

Or so I thought before the operator gasped

and fainted on the floor.

Dinosaurs and dodo birds were

spinning in the tubes.

Pixies rode on unicorns

with silver whips and gold batons.

The ten lost tribes of Israel clung onto the

hanging gardens of the ancient Babylon.

I watched as history rejoined itself with myth
to be complete outside my bowels.