dead crow

found a dead crow in West Point, Mississippi

lying on the side of a building,

a dirty dark alley

lit in sunlight

'died of West Nile virus' an old black man

limped up to me saying, 'isn't it curious

how large the world looks to us and how

small the world looks to a bird?

it can travel at will from one side of the

globe to the other, while we stay stuck

in the mud in small towns because we

are afraid to break free and find

the answers'

funny.

i think it's curious that we feel the

same way about death - fearing answers -

i thought, well at least now

the crow knows all the answers, while

the old black man and i will just be

sick and asking questions.

1.29.04

Corner Office in Hell

A friend died.

She was beautiful

with hair long like

yours used to be, mother.

She was like you. Lost. Misled.

Forgotten. Confused. So was i.

i found my way.

My will pushed me

through. You both died

the same year. On the same

day - the first. As much sadness

i feel, i feel more anger. Because

i could have chosen

to be weak. Like the both

of you. But i kept fighting.

Even through the bad times. Like

the messages on the phone that you

both were dead while i kept going. If

you think in hell

i'm going to hug and

forgive you. wrong. i've

been angry a long fucking time

so don't think the suffering of hell

is going to change it. My suite is on

the executive floor

there, and this mother-

fucker will be sitting in

that corner office waiting

to fuck you both up for eternity.

11.07.04

Bad Cat

Had it all, but it wasn't what i wanted.

i left my job with the Air Force to take

a job as a clapper in a mariachi band,

because i could really keep time.

Which isn't what i did with my first

wife so i left her for my second,

third, fourth and fifth to plead

silence on the truth of walking out

on my family on Christmas Eve.

Because i knew that fat-fuck

wouldn't be coming down our chimney

because i left our

smiles flying in the clouds to evaporate

under the hot son.

Who will come for me

one day and take my life

for what i did to him, his mother and his cat.

The bitch.

All she did was whine and eat,

and the cat wasn't nice either.

11.08.03

Advice to a Cheating Young Married Woman

trust is tough, no one wants

to give it and nothing is harder to earn.

binding her hands to the posts on the bed

nothing can weigh heavier over

a relationship than trust.

from parent to child,

friends and lovers,

brother and sister.

the blindfold pulled against her eyes tight.

she could hear the door open and voices whisper.

the higher the degree

of trust

it will build up

the magic

of the relationship,

taking it to levels

never imagined

and emotions that are explosive.

she could feel their breath between her legs.

ready to experience her own personal explosion.

imagine what God must have felt

trusting that man would do what they did to his son.

imagine that knowledge and control.

power.

power like the flood she was feeling now.

muscles twitching and aching spasms.

filling the room with screams.

"Jesus...fuck...shit"

until her control returns.

with eyes watering she orders them both out.

"for the love of God"

trust can be reached on levels both known

and unknown,

and desires that are shown

and torn to the surface.

she lays naked on the bed

wondering what the hell she got herself into.

as I ask her

if she's ready for me.

2.13.02

Hen Eggs

She stood before me
that cackle rising to
bleeding decibel levels,
in that instant my hands acted
on their own
proceeding to crack
the egg that had
encased my madness
for the last few months

Aborted yoke runs through my fingers
a stream of consciousness
that had been shattered years before.
That little red head that i took
in the back of a
piece-of-shit car
to only find out that the fetus
had not been mine but,
i footed the bill
to be thanked later
by drunk laughter
through a pay phone,
a fucking pay phone,
she fed me with her
obnoxious high pitch laugh
resembling
that cackle that cunt
slumped over in front of me
lifeless in soft-boiled pools
of my angry memories
congeal together

somewhere below
my praying arms
covered by sticky hair
matting memories
that never wash away,
just sizzle inside my head
forever with that
goddamn laughter
a radio station that just
refuses to die
despite the poor signal.

The cackle of static
drags on forever.

1995

The Street

the street gives

beneath my long strides

under a cloud cluttered

sky, painted blue and white,

with froth and frost

and i know

somewhere you

are under this sky and my

pain returns

while the street gives

a steady pace of reality

that no matter how many

vodka tonics i swallow

and sad songs i listen to

and dollars i give to

those promising to

take away the memory

you’ll be there

mocking each step as

the street keeps giving

and my legs keep moving

and the past remains

behind me, so far away

like i wish

the sky would fade

and the street would

travel to that place

without  the horizons

of you

4.20.02

Trip Me

i stumbled hard yesterday

crashing as my hand

found the drawer in the house

holding my relief in

the guise of a white pill.

long before but

under a different

prescribed-umbrella

a doctor

told me at 16

if you don't stop

you'll be dead by 20

so i changed from Vicks and Crown

to Vicodin and Goose,

and with luck

my new stabilizing-solution

solved the

equation if only

temporary, but avoiding

the problem itself

instead appearing suddenly

again, to ask why

i continue to

slip and let myself

do nothing but

find more excuses

as my

intestines rot

and lose their

ability to control themselves,

much like their owner

whose means

grew along with his needs

until

he crashed on the ice,

cracking his

skull and with forced intervention

imprinting a desire

to control his passion.

until yesterday.

when for no real reason

i was left

like a toddler without an excuse

of why i did it.

i just knew that i did

and wished that

suddenly

someone had tripped me

instead of

me falling on my own.

11.29.02

Walk Away and Remember

How can you say i walked away

when you just stopped walking?

Side by side. Together. Remember?

Maybe it doesn't seem so now. As it

seems you've forgotten how we

found each other in that cold winter.

On that bad bed in that fucking cold room

as i was drinking myself to hell,

for reasons i could never explain.

still you found comfort in that drunk

and that bed, keeping warm flesh to flesh

as i scribbled words between sessions

as you slept soundly next to me,

so afraid to be alone,

but you always seem to focus on

that i had to escape in that hot spring.

Tired of sleeping on that floor. Still drinking

and in need for a way to get out. Be more.

So i replaced you with another place,

time and yes, happiness, while you

remained where you were. Lost.

But, fuck, anytime you want to have a

drink and talk about it. Call me.

i'll be there. Misery loves company.

Especially when it's worse than its own.

Especially when it comes from the source.

Especially when it can get up,

pointing fingers that probe into

two lost lovers broken souls,

touching us as a distraction

only to then allow us to sneak out,

walk away, while trying not to remember.

06.26.03

Weatherman

thunderstorms explode up

rising from the earth

as marching acts of God

lined across the horizon

erasing the sun

dissolving the skyline

with falling water,

flashing lightning and

the freight-train sound

of the tornado screaming

down rural streets

yanking trees out

by the roots

rearranging the front lawn

into the kitchen.

somewhere

above the howl of warning

horns mimicking the

sound of a terrified

child on a amusement

park ride,

that funnel keeps

spinning and touches

each life forever

and while all God's

people scrambled for

safety and pray for

God to spare them.

i'm rubbing my hands

thinking this

is all wonderful,

but what's my backdrop?

is the camera getting me

okay?

before i check my light

and makeup and lead-in

time wondering as

i read the copy if

the hotel has a bar.

5.13.03

writing books

i keep writing books everywhere,
my pocket, bedside, in my car, in the bathroom,
on the TV, in the kitchen,
like my words were so gourmet,
so incredible,
that they should
be everywhere because
heaven forbid this
pile of stinky shit in my head
doesn't get down on the page
for all my world to see what
a fuck-up i really am.

2.7.02

dreams

if only dreams were bottled
and sold in a store,
where they could be opened.
revealed. achieved.
and realized for all to see,
and breathe,
and hold.
if only dreams were bottled
so they could be given,
wrapped, and put under a tree.
in a box. pulled from a pocket.
and shown with a tear, a kiss,
a hug, and the reality of knowing
dreams are real.

12.28.01

Girls in Color Panties

'will you just grab me and make love to me now?'

she said to me as we met at this party
where everyone danced and drank in
their underwear.

her tongue was magnificent
in my mouth and i felt awkward
and wrong because all i could do was

hear those words echoing in my head
while looking around at all the colors of the rainbow
that paraded by me smiling

in thong panties and magnificent
bras that held such beauty.
my fingers stroked the underside of

her breasts and her breathing
grew faster. her tongue worked harder.
words still pounding with each pump of my heart in my ears.

while
the girl in the powder-blue push up bra
smiled and motioned with her finger

for me to come to her, but i couldn't
because the girl in a purple laced thong
walked by first and asked...

2.14.02

flaws

there you go,
hide in there
that darkness
afraid to show
your flaws,
afraid to face
your short-comings
terrified that one
mistake from
your past
will step forward
and reveal all
that is wrong
with you,
here, now,
and forever.
so go
and hide and
i'll act like
i don't see
you.
for now.

1.13.04

Because

because the illness has changed you,
there are no good days or bad,
all of them are mixed.

because you roll over and turn
from the day and hope that
the night falls.

because dreaming fills you with
who you used to be and then
your eyes open to what remains.

because being awake is a constant
reminder of why you fight so much,
you are known as a prick.

because you can stand in a mass
of people and still fall
into your dreams.

because that song you long for is
not as dirty or as filthy
as you think.

because you've fucked up and so
has everyone else around
you.

because you're 'sick and tired'
doesn't mean you have to
stop fighting.

because you are who you are
and people still talk
to you.

because your eyes hold
secrets as well as
your lips.

because tomorrow really
doesn't matter as much
as today.

because you never stop asking
questions or pushing
ideas, just

because.

12.11.10

Caption

a phrase
a group of words
a list under something
to capture a moment
a sound
a vision
that dances above it
with a cluster of
choice words to describe
a moment that is
supposed to last forever,
but in reality
is lost with a
turn of a page.

04.07.03