The alcohol’s numbed my lips
But honestly I promise
If I could speak
My mouth is tumbling with words
So I’ll tip back
And keep looking for answers
Written in the froth of another draught
Cause we both know
We’re not that strong
Ernest as your tears attempt to talk
I’m preoccupied
Ordering another
Shot of heartache please?
No, make it two
We’ll drink to existence
Secretly hoping it ends
But would you mind taking
That bullet out of my glass
I’ve bitten it one too many times
Shame I couldn’t say it sober
But cheers to another stupor
The longer it lasts
The less time we’ll regret

I will, I will, I
promise. Karma’s
got me by the balls again.
I will, I’ve killed, but
now I sense
you’re not amused this time.

Oh
I will, I will! It’s
just so much
to try and handle all alone.
I will, I will, as
you forget you used to be
a friend of mine.

the winds changed
leaves left reminders of
death on pristine grass

(mowed mind you
not naturally toe-tickling)

bindweeds caught me hypnotized
lost in mild self hate
warm beer warping my taste buds
leaving an aftertaste vision
the adult child daddling her fear
unable to dodge the bullet,
or give her mother her youth back

There’s nothing quite as offensive
as a lit cigarette in a room of non-smokers:
the mark of a guest as unwelcome as
the pungent sick he permeates with.

Though, in all measured, fair, and honest
assessments, perhaps that room
could use a little shaking up;
Perhaps those boys and girls
need
their cages rattled.

Well son,
light another one, and get yourself lit too.
There’s a lot of folks that just don’t smoke
(Read: You’ve got a lot of work to do).

money is your god
and i know you know you know that
fact
and the graveyard is the
only place left for people
like you
the graveyard is where you
must all go
the graveyard where i can
drink rum and laugh at
the size of it.

courtyards wine ice-tea
spaghetti penne sausage
chili sauce bruchetta
grass stars dim-sky-pointed lights
great service white tablecloths
and you

’bout right

Of course hope covers us
of course mercenary love lacerates us
of course music rocks our drownings
of course madness grasps us in the middle of these struck down people
of course sobriety reflect a certain elegance
of course silence unseams souls guilty of having
created nothing, not even a plastic toy to last an eternity
However when you have no one not much is real, not the
city lights, dirty water or paycheck in your pocket
When you have no one,wings spread in loneliness at the top of a bridge

Nature is no mother of mine,
she twists me every chance she gets.

I’ve come to speak as an older, English,
Gentleman.

Strange the effects that older,
English, books can have.

through the night
rain fell thick and thunderous

by morning the sky was clear
blindingly scattering photons
sharply at a watery wavelength

by morning the ground was as dry
as the fallen leaves
leaving me pajama’d and wondering
what i’d dreamt
or not.

Chivalry is dead
And I killed it.
Slit its throat
While it slept.
Watched the life
Drain and disappear.
It was I who
Held the sword—
Promising to restore
Peace and reconciliation.
But as backs turned
I took lethal aim.
This is how it ended—
My guilt stained like scars.
The humid air still quivering,
Moist with betrayal.

tipping the scales
a bit of a misnomer
i’d think

toppling might be more descriptive

They’ve seen something in the forest
just outside the lantern-light
but Adventurers are adventurers
and don’t quite give a good god damn
So stepping lively through the waving
branches of a white-pine grove, the
Boys in Black ain’t looking back: they’ve
half a map and half a plan

Of course, for all adventurers
the first one’s always rather rough
and every little detail not quite
taken in account, so
when the man in back was dragged away
by creatures unbeknown or seen
the other young adventures
kept not their wits about

Fortunately, however,
one lone brown bear, though quite a sight
is no match for six stout walkingstaves,
so was dispatched quite quick
And the boys were quite relieved
when dragged away was dragged on back
and plan were laid for next adventure:
Bring more than just sticks

i pondered your loss at length
perhaps carrying out the possibility
beyond the line in the sand marked
“healthy”

thank God you’re not gone.

See, the folks we love,
they get drunk sometimes.
Sometimes, they go and
do things that make us question
(not really, but we think so)
weather we really love them
anymore.

Sometimes, though
the folks we love,
they get drunk,
and then they bare their
very souls
(drunk words are sober thoughts
and all that, though I hardly believe it).
Now, what to do with the
mess they’ve made the morning after?

I can only say
What I’m thinking,
But I think
More than I’m saying

feels like i’m gripping the edge of this
speed boat through the swamp
dodging mosquitos and gators
thinking the crash is going to come
any moment and will i be holding
on tight enough?

Funny, really, to think about
that we mostly know each-other
these-days, anyway
Indirectly through the meandering
THOUGHTS
we sometimes feel pressed to press
pen to paper or finger to key, as is
the less poetic, but far-more-common
scenario
to iterate for (potentially) the entire
rest of the world
to read along with at home.

Funny, really, to think about.

Terrifying, truly, that we
know each-other so very, very well
Kindred souls and all that
…(not in a gay way)

(Happy Birthday)