Rumplestiltskin made a wager,
Rumplestiltskin bet and lost,
Rumplestiltskin had a tantrum,
Rumplestiltskin paid the cost.
Never bet hard on a sure thing.
It might sound good, but let's be clear:
if your mark claims his jack spits cider,
you'll get cider in your ear.

Andromeda, await the Kraken,
keep the Claymores close at hand,
squeeze the trigger, never jerk it.
Then Willy-Pete, just like you planned.
They always come out for princesses,
monsters do. It's what they are.
That's what made you start your business,
led you to roam away, and far.
Why reward a lousy hero? Cut out the brawny middleman.
It's you the beast is always seeking.
Fortune favors girls who plan.
Let the minefield slow it slightly,
hit it with the fifty, then;
rocket launcher? If you have to.
The head will look nice in your den.

The kid came in from off the plains with scrubbed face and shiny star,
and tied his horse up by the reins and walked into the bar,
and the jingle of his spurs was loud as gunshots in the room,
the day that Billy Tipp came to the old Last Chance Saloon.

He said, "I'm here for Jack Larou!" like a name's enough to scare.
He said, "My name is Billy Tipp!" But no one seemed to care.
He said, "I'm here to call him out, for a gunfight at high noon!"
And a quiet settled over us, in the old Last Chance Saloon.

Tipp said, "I hear that Jack Larou's the meanest in the West.
But I'm the fastest gun, and now I've come to prove who's best.
I won't serve no warrants, though I could, this afternoon:
I'll challenge him to duel right here in the old Last Chance Saloon."

No one said a goddamn word. They just sat there and stared.
And Tip, he looked at each in turn, and that Eastern boy's eyes glared.
Defy him and his law, would they, these Westerner baboons?
In youthful pride he'd tear apart the old Last Chance Saloon.

To smooth things down I told him that Jack wasn't in just now,
but I'd like to help Tipp keep the law, if he would just allow.
Why, I'd be right proud if he would -- consider it a boon!
To uphold the honor of this town and the old Last Chance Saloon.

He said it was damn good to see one good man in this town.
I said, "I'll show you where to stand so you can bring him down."
His eyes lit up like shining stars to think about Jack's doom
as I drew him by the elbow from the old Last Chance Saloon.

We took a narrow alley to a spot behind the bar,
where if a man should try to run, he couldn't run too far.
He said, "Now, tell Jack I'm waiting here, and he should come at noon --"
and I shot him in the back behind the old Last Chance Saloon.

I said, "Well, Bill, I'm Jack Larou, and here's the honest truth:
it ain't about being fast as much as knowing when to shoot."
Then I took his pretty pistol and I left the town right soon,
and left Billy Tipp to rot back of the old Last Chance Saloon.

Euryale, Medusa fallen,
waited where her sister lay,
as the blood grew dry and dusty
where the head was cut away.
Medusa, mortal; not her sisters,
blessed, cursed, living on,
unkillable, who, by her body,
waited, less one, for the dawn.

I wonder for how long they missed her.
If they miss her, even now,
wonder what she'd make of cell phones,
if Perseus had but allowed.
Euryale sells art, and makes it.
Stheno works in real estate,
with faint praise for her sister's sculptures:
they've forgot Medusa's face.

I miss you, too, though only faintly:
time makes ghosts of all of us,
loves that shattered, loves that lingered
soothe in time, and turn to dust.
Stheno laughs, and like her sister
Euryale, lives on alone.
A symbol now, to those who missed her:
Medusa, loved, but now unknown.

TEEN WOLF
is a strange movie
being a werewolf
makes you good
at dancing
and basketball

killing people, not so much

Someone left the box wide open
let out all the beastly things
all the things that sneak and snicker
all the things with claws and stings
someone left the box wide open
someone's got to take the blame
you're obscure for now, Pandora;
soon the world will know your name.

Late at night, and tired
thirty feet to bed - too far.
Sleep clothed, on the couch.

Narcissus, have you found perfection?
There, below you, in the stream.
It is only your reflection.

The alabaster-fine complexion,
the face so lovely, long and lean.
Narcissus, have you found perfection?

Never one to show affection,
you are lost within a dream.
It is only your reflection.

Lose yourself in introspection
while far-distant Echo screams --
Narcissus, have you found perfection?

'tis your heart in insurrection:
love but never grasp the dream.
It is only your reflection.

Some loves will not bear correction,
though they're less than what they seem.
Narcissus, have you found perfection?
It is only your reflection.

Hey cereta: this is relevant to your interests!

Gas pump malfunction:
overflow, everywhere. Yeesh.
Now I smell like gas.