no one knows the things
i stole from the garden
how i used to ride the
sunrise every morning
until the plants grew right
into my mouth…
…so i ran out
leaving a clear man-sized
hole in the foliage
where the lumberjacks
would soon follow
Day: October 16, 2008
walking home
poetrya gust of
wind sets the
leaves above
rustling while below
the syncopated
scrape of
concrete.
yesterday
poetrythorns pressing up, out
from beneath the skin
death the new
birth to the old
gnashing teeth of stinging bees
raging war on the poor
the hated
the wounded
the raped and
cards tossed from hand to roof
cigarettes marijuana speed heroin crack
to wash it all away
that open wound
puss and then
one more limb to fall off
ripping open like a bag of lays
and there is absolutely nothing i can do
better than you