Wednesday, July 27, 2011

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'


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.


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.


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.


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 like the flood she was feeling now.
muscles twitching and aching spasms.
filling the room with screams.
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.


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
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.


Tuesday, July 12, 2011

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


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
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
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
someone had tripped me
instead of
me falling on my own.


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.



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.
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
before i check my light
and makeup and lead-in
time wondering as
i read the copy if
the hotel has a bar.


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.


Wednesday, July 6, 2011


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.


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.

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...



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
for now.



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

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




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.