Dennis Bagwell is the April Editor's Pick Poet

You can email Dennis at: firedennis@aol.com

EVEN SERIAL KILLERS NEED A VACATION

Oh God!!
I need a vacation!
As if it weren't hard enough to find victims vulnerable enough to kidnap
Keeping them quiet long enough is no picnic either, especially when they put up a fight!
My neighbors are always snooping around and asking what that smell is coming from my house
I don’t know how much longer I can keep them believing that I’m an amateur taxidermist
And this isn’t a cheap hobby either
It’s not easy scraping money together to find just the right tools to cut through bone, stab, flay and disembowel people, not to mention I’m running out of room in my freezer
I’m constantly having to replace my clothes because blood doesn’t wash out so easy
Between that and my full time job as a janitor at the high school, it’s hard to find the time to keep up with burying the parts I don’t need that go rotten
And don’t even get me started about the immense guilt I have on a daily basis!
Oh, I know what I do is wrong and I’m soooo stressed
I’m not one of those “crazy” serial killers that have no conscience
I’m better than they are!
I consider myself an artist and I really enjoy the art of murder
Murder is too an art!
Look at Hollywood
They make billions of dollars pumping out slasher and zombie flicks every year
But even artists need a break to recharge and find inspiration
Maybe someday they’ll make a movie about me, but not if I don’t get back on track!
Maybe I’ll go to Hawaii, New York, Disneyworld, the Grand Canyon or Graceland
Maybe I should call my travel agent
Oh yeah. I don’t have one any more. She was number twenty-eight
It’s a lonely life I live
No one to share my life’s work with
No one to admire it
No one who understands or appreciates how hard I work
Just vacant, glassy, bloodshot eyes staring back at me
Even serial killers need a vacation!

I LIVE IN CONSTANT FEAR

What's that sound coming from the trees?
Is it a bird, a deer or a cool morning breeze?
It is, I fear, none of these. . .  
For only one thing I know makes a sound like that
It is an army of zombies, come to attack!

A MONSTER’S DREAM

What do monsters dream
When they lay their heads to sleep?
Do they dream about the next person
They will stalk and eat?

Do they dream about the cities
They’ll smash and destroy?
Is causing mass panic
Something they enjoy?

Do they dream about the girl
They’ll steal away to their lair?
Do monsters like good dreams
Or do they like nightmares?

Do they dream of colossal battles
With monsters they can fight?
Do they dream of transforming
By the moon’s full light?

Do they dream of a bride
That will have them for who they are?
Who will see past the fur or scales
Or monstrously gruesome scars?

Do they dream of open windows
That they can fly into at night?
So they can suck all your blood
Then disappear from sight?

Do they dream of Halloween
And the autumn’s chilly chills?
Do they dream of agents
And book and movie deals?

When monsters go to bed
Where do they go?
Maybe right next door
I hope I never know

A TABLE FOR TWO IN HELL

For the times I wished
My enemies would drop dead
For the times I prayed
For a bullet in their head

For those that I deceived
With well spoken lies
For my indifference to the dead
Devoured by the flies

I’ve got a table reserved in Hell

For the times I’ve rejoiced
Over bullet ridden bodies
For the times I’ve lusted
Over street corner hotties

For the times I’ve laughed
At other peoples fears
For the times I’ve turned my back
On other peoples tears

I’ve got a table reserved in Hell

For the times I’ve thought, Who cares?
When starving people die
For the times I’ve said, “Give up.
You shouldn’t even try.”

For the times I thought it good
When addicts bite the dust
For the times I didn’t care
When I lost someone’s trust

I’ve got a table reserved in Hell

For the times I’ve doubted
That God really exists
For the times I thought it fine
To settle disputes with my fists

For the homeless people I’ve scoffed at
And left them disregarded
For the times I poked fun
At the sick and mentally retarded

I’ve got a table reserved in Hell
And it’s right next to yours

These are Dennis Bagwell's warped rantings and observations about the cesspool of a world he feels we are surviving in. Dennis is a 30-something, politically incorrect, mad at the world, liberal, Generation X, heathen, musician, poet, and writer from suburban Orange County California. He moved to North Georgia in 2007 and is living peacefully in the shadows of the heroes (or traitors depending on your view) of the Old South. He has been writing in one form or another since high school. It keeps his spiraling descent into madness at bay.

Dennis' poetry has been published by the League of American Poets, the American Poets Society, The Horrorzine, 63 Channels, Black Petals, Word Salad Poetry Magazine and Death Head Grin. He has released two spoken word CD's, " A Random Litter of Thought" (2006) and "Paid in Full" (2007) on Batteryface Records. A short film of his poem HOLLYWOOD was released to coincide with the release of "Paid In full," directed by the illustrious and infamous Mark Powell.

Please visit Dennis Bagwell at:

http://www.poetrypoem.com/dennisbagwell

and

http://www.myspace.com/dennisbagwell