same old holiday;

she came out roaring in a backwoods drifter

cussing knots up the wind and in

and out of breath

through cigarettes she holds her ashes

inside the machine, proving what

man only hoped to know as truth

lies candy-painted and sugar-free

but the tooth knows no numbness

that the brain does not permit.

Aye, carousel blood off the overpass,

her flickering fingertips still clutching the smoke

dangling ash between her lashes;

if you never see the danger,

is it ever really there?

only death, or time, will tell.

the difference between people that are writing and people that are not. the difference between those writing and those creating anything of merit. the difference of those who are creating anything of merit and those who are hiding in a cave, talents wasted. the difference in the falling down and the getting up. the blind leading the self-imposed saboteur of sight. the guideline to your principle. the same old journey to the unknown step. the falling out to the crawling back in. the slow decline of personal relationships. the climactic and sudden pindrop of the death of romantic love. to romantic love, wherever it hides. lust to lust. the difference in slowing down and stopping altogether. the calm birds of morning to the agitated screechers in the calm after the storm. the drenching comfort of rain to the biting clasp of the wind. the circus unperformed to the magic untricked. a loop in the system. a hole in the loop. to the last resort. to the standing victor. to trying at all.

blood on the fingertips. curve in the spine. bones in the hollow recess of the mattress. sleep waiting around a corner I never dare approach. dreams grabbing at my ankles regardless.

stale chocolate

bitter bees

home’s for honey

know’s for knees

all in all we got each other saviors

i forgot to giftwrap yours,

you’ll have to take him dead on the doorstep.

blood incriminates the hand it is spilt upon

and decries the offender:

ribcage pierced

hobbled fence and grass=trampled trail

off into the night, on into tomorrow

where buckskin shot foil burns steady from last ditch’s fire

gristled pony meat stuck upon a tooth

god in a book all dissident.

teaching kids how to read a will

before they can puke without tears

skinned knees with no blame

except self

and in a blink here’s age

and here’s old

years gone graveside in search of a tender home

or a slower bullet.

a whole new shape

kind of the same

as a leak,

hole in the wall

shines a light

now through and onward

morning in

some country

where boxes are boxes

and not tiny homes

to take you away

piece by piece

a whole new shape

of round

and around

we took a long time to stay unsatisfied in our minds

we took a longer time to realize

we jerked off the truth with a lie

jerked our hands into water

pissed off and frustrated sighs

august 14th came like a ram’s horn in your side

caught me upside down and crucified

jesus died for the sinners

so the sinners die for themselves

you say that selfishness is sinning

well it’s selfish to avoid hell

that’s why we buy what sells

and not what we need

you can’t point out greed

til you’ve been greedy yourself

i killed a man

with a dollar sign on his forehead

i should have made him pay out first

but he might have got his feelings hurt

god doesn’t pray to anyone

so why do you sit around waiting for him to speak?

if he’s listening at all

he’s listening to silence

and i bet he’s not buying it

cus it’s not for sale

we took a long time coming up with the proper words

to tell the proper words to fuck off

and pretend they were never heard

in one ear and out another’s mouth

until the footsteps tracing backwards

come full circle

to the line they shouldn’t have crossed

and take one more step.

so many emotions

that come out as skin blemishes;

which you call perfect

and i defy your definition

because comfort says

never take a compliment

when it’s inconvenient

take your measure

and amble up stairs

to the hall of great poems

and suck a lemon dry;

your sour face

wrote countless counted stanzas on the floor

and did not think of the scheme

and the scheme did not think of you

neither was measure exact on saving you

wrinkled and bloodless on the

hallway floor

“to end without resolution!”

you cried painfully

and dropped

further to the ground

like floating silk robbed of a breeze

soft in sleep as a dead man’s handkerchief:

no more to worry of tradition.

cus it’s the only killer i’ve met face to face

though i’ve never been personally introduced

and i don’t think i’d like to,

the way he calmly took my great-grandmother

and stripped her boney frame to ghostliness,

not even leaving her mind intact

before it sucked her completely from this earth.

i always write about cancer

in vague and untrembling threats

cus i know it’s the one killer i’d never see coming.

splurge on words

for one day

take back

nothing

and mean it

all the same

way

rich

narcotic

syllables

to identify

breath

rather than absorb it

and yet

breath is breath

words are words

you can’t fake death

twice in one neighborhood.

indecisive curfew

make up your mind about the darkness

shed some light on these manholes

and get these men out of trouble

nope, sorry.

gotta watch out for my own back.

what’s at stake’s

not what is at stake

when the stakes are just posts

holding everything together