I chased a bright red
sunset to its shore,searching
for its end.
When last I caught it, it had vanished.

The juxtaposition startled me when
I realized I’d been chasing
our own brightly-colored ending,
only to find it
gone.

Yeah,
there was this sonofabitch named Benny.
Played the drums real good,
like they was goin’ out of style.

Had a big ol’ set and flying saucers
up on poles that he hit with sticks
and he paid a lot of money
and he did it, boy. He sure did it.

Benny couldn’t add though,
ain’t never read no books or nothin’.
Failed the 9th grade and didn’t go back.

But he can tell you all ’bout drummers
you ain’t never heard of, but you sure heard.
An’ he can sing every word to
every song the Beatles wrote,
and get’s ’em too.

And Benny, that sonofabitch,
he can tell you about life,
and Charlie, let me tell ya
that’s good enough for me.

blue sky spattered
with frames of trees
through which we spot
clouds.

the kind which don’t bring
rain.
never ending this drought.

I heard the words aloud
clear and thick and sultry
like a mad man’s last speech
and it touched me just so
with my fingers tight on the steering wheel
the headlights were bright enough
to make the tall trees glow
but we were rapt and hypnotized
so when we burned alive
we did not feel it
but we understood that we were dying

our conversation concerned
beer
cigars
that’s how we knew we’d be friends

what parts of him left strewn
accross the ground
looked like spares
and that put together
they felt unique and
part of a whole and
where significance was
placed there was no
longer
you could see
naught but
extra

but spare

skin,
arms,
period.

there was a chill in the air
sweeping in from the cities
where all of the breathing
organs felt best
and prime
but could’ve had just numbers
and definitions attatched like one
and two or lung or liver
but they had names
and had for moments the light
of interest shined upon them
and they all swelled and
burst and felt significant
and unique

for they had not yet felt
the chill come sweeping in
from the cities,
and the worms crawl around
them and the totality
of being a spare
or an extra
or skin
period.

the proof cant be in the non-existant pudding
when it’s you who stands by and stares at the
packaging of powder
knowing you have milk in the fridge
unwilling to mix and see fruition content with your
pure
solid
potential

They have a word for people like you,
‘vegetative’ it is, I think.
You have not moved in sixteen years.
You have not thought for yourself.
Your bones are breaking under your own weight.

I know another fellow though,
real live gentleman, stuck in a rut is all.
They’ve got him on a breather and
a big folding bed and he’s intubated
like a science project but god damn,
when they get him back on his feet
what will be your excuse?

The Hell with you, I think.
I think the other guy though,
after a few good sits
and a few more colorful dressings-down,
he’s gonna be alright.

I move along
harvesting fruits of my youth
pulling weeds off my back
Quietly resisting the itch to
pull my heart between my teeth
tune to the echo of eternity within
but my blood hummers like a debt I owe
and Nothing covers me

On my one-way journey
I dance an inch above the ice
lie on grassy mountains
hum with birds
howl with wolves
feed off the surrounding glow, and
in a flow of wonder or sadness
in hues of blue
I dig through the sky till all the light comes through

To the bitter end
I water the fool within
watch her restlessness grow
trying to decipher shadows and sounds
and grate the pavement on her passage

So it is
when black crows caw for my flesh
my bones will grow bigger and
fill the frame of happiness

light exploding through small arched windows in doors
warm and temper the cold and clutching fingers
wrapped around the bleed in his side and stomach

There is no sound but the ticking of the loudest clock
that he’d ever heard and it is not long before he realizes
that in this mess and easy chair he is going to die

the explosions in the window get brighter
and the ticking clock gets slower and slower
just like every movie says it will
and he tries to breathe deeper but only gets shallow gasps
and he wishes that he hadn’t taken all that air for granted
and there’s nothing he can do about that now

The tick sounds one last time but does not decay
it just stretches on in to a sharp warm hum
and his body begins to shake like crazy
and his breath is not shallow, but gone forever
and he can not see, but he can see everything
and he can not feel, but it’s not bad so much as perfect

And when I walked in to find him dead from two cuts
laying on a La-Z-Boy with the back door kicked in
he didn’t tell me anything, but if he did
he would have told me that he hated getting stabbed
but in a way it’s alright because the rest of the thing was beautiful

Absence makes the heart grow fond
or some shit.
But there is a point of diminishing returns
somewhere between day eight
and mile 600
and then the routine readjusts
and then they start to slip away
and then they’re gone.

Statistically, though, there are outliers.
and I think you may be just that.
Not your hair though.
You can leave that shit in Dodge.

the hype, i fear, is becoming nearly anticlimactic
as the waiting builds to crescendo never coming
but then,
when the peak is never reached
you never head back down.

A smile found
my face, finally,
after they left and it
all passed.

I am home, now, alone
in my quiet kitchen illuminated
by nothing but windows.
All is calm if only
for a minute
and I am contently
discontented.

O sweet Mother-Child,
a barking siren to us all,
you may bring me the most
of any- who else
might make me equally
enraged and sorrowful? I
grovel at your feet
to know.

For now no one may
tear me from my solitude
as I anxiously await the next
storm.

any given flight around the world
begins and ends with misery/anticipation
as you say goodbyes (even if temporarily)
and uproot yourself 13 time zones.

the food/comfort gets you there
the friends/work gets you back
diarrhea is my only loyal companion

And his soul was cut out
and stretched across a table
and with pins, it was held open
while a big black sharpie
was taken to it, corner to corner
then once again
so an X was clearly visible
as if it were a tree to be cut down
Then it was left out in the open
in the sun to dry
and the carrion birds picked at it
and after a week
there was nothing left
but tatters.

I wandered in hoping to fear you
and that you’d tear me apart
and that my blood would flow freely
down the crevices in the masonry
of your fine study
but I was not so ruined
and when you told me
that everything was alright
I almost evaporated

But then the clouds rolled in
and things got a little darker
and I said ‘see? It’s set to
start raining, now!’ and I
waved my arms in triumph
but you would not be deterred
and that smile almost killed me

So I tried to show you the blood
on my hands and on my jacket
and you wrote it off as souvenirs
of some accident. And when I
drove a dagger through your chest
to prove I was no good, you shrugged
and said that everybody makes mistakes,
sometimes.

I’d scrape your knees and elbows
feed your dog meat behind your back
spit in your best friend’s coffee
and still come short to your petty misery

There was a time I was eager to please you
and you pleased yourself with my soul
robbed me of my candor on top of my meager money
now you holler at me on the street and
call me your little-no-one

So don’t say I left you with nothing
my marrow is still fresh on your lips

Yet you still thirst after a puddle of tears
like some thirst after god or happiness
but not today
I will not cry, pain is what holds me together
one day, far away in time,I will sit down and cry
remove stitches and acknowledge my past

I looked up
at the stars and immediately
looked away.
They mean nothing
if you aren’t
looking too.

You are my bridge
which crumbles at the last
minute,
just before we reach
the other side:
safety.

My darling light, how
can you dim? knowing
I need your elusive illuminations.
Might
I rely on you just once?
I am worthless under
your shaking branch.

alas, i talk big but know when the time comes
i’ll be incapable of putting that foot confidently
forward into His presence because i know where
that foot has been.
what these eyes have seen.
what these hands have done.
the wrath due is deserved.
and when gone paid by another,
what claim have i to stand?