Catastrophes

poetry

And the brains are left to rot
up on the table, and under the windows,
and honey I think you
left some on the bed

There’s a mess in the dresser
from the paint you spilled
so I think you ruined everything

I’ll scrape the brains tomorrow
and scrub the hardwoods
and maybe clean the sheets
but the paint’s not coming off.
No, I think you ruined everything.

Debt from an Asylum

poetry

Get me a pill a sadness kill 
an acre of kaleidoscopic hope
a jolt for my shadow child, and
vivid crayons to seal him on an
immaculate page, and I  
I will be your eldorado 
your rumbling mut 
your lucky charm
your warm coat for the winter
I will be a sunshine touch on your  
acoustic heart strings.