The Suck Cross

August 26, 2014

Balance over what gazes back
across the plank in the eye
arms straight out to the sides
nailed true east and west
hold steady
maintain the stance
care and caution are key
an abyss under waits
hungry as a newborn
suck response nipple seeking
best advice:
avoid being milked
stay the course
above the staring dark
high
that craves the fall
into its depths
beautifully black
swirling vortex
sucking
more than metaphor
no simple trick
to get across the trap
to tap the cross
drain its sap
drink deep its sticky soul-sucking sweets

Imagine Cheap

August 25, 2014

imagine, if you will, belief
not just any
but the package deal
phone, internet, cable all bundled
the whole enchilada
god, afterlife and soul
you get it all
in one convenient bill of faith
the first one, the biggie
I wonder how much it matters
would you buy it without the extras
like a train, tracks not included
nowhere to choo-choo
nothing but the grand pooba
just sittin’ there, chillaxin’
idly observing its creation
not a lot to write home about
the gospel according to boredom, right?
who’d want it
but you tie on a soul to the deal
that what separates humanity
from unthinking beasts that creepeth
and you start to have yourself something
throw that in a pot with a potato and baby
you got a stew going
even if it were temporary
selfdom, a special spark making you, you
that’s an offer to snap at
if it were more though
more akin to homeowner
than rent to a landlord
the ability to transcend the land
into spiritual space
forever and ever
a special place to call home
once done abusing the vessel
well, well, well…
what sweet corporate whorin’
three for the price of one
you’re bought and you’re sold
a ticket, a meal
and a destination on this train
but a bargain this good must have hidden costs
you think
and it does
a small line item:
your brain
cheap, huh?

Alcoholism is Not a Disease. It’s a Solution

August 22, 2014

baffled against the landslide of tears
the strain aches the head
pressure builds to a blind pulse
behind a dam of sticks ablaze
a funeral pyre
the crackling of burning consumption
chants a eulogic dirge
waking me from half-slumber
anxious and paranoid
gas flames like blue light specters
haunt uncertainties
unlocked doors yield to the night
pouring in
bringing the horrors it nurtures
pain pounds the temples
ready to tear wide
birthing satanic horns
twisted calcifications of gray brain
erupt, ease the stress
dead bolts engaged
oven knobs on off
finally now
to sleep, to dream badly
as river ways upon the cheeks dry
like the Colorado river
through the drought stricken southwest
portent of a changing climate
and I’m wide awake again
sober, bloody nails
clawing my hair out at the roots

Sink

August 21, 2014

I’ll take some, leave others
a McDonald’s, Walmart free past
yes, please, for now too, but
a Jim Crow, sodomy law past
no, leave it buried
dead forever
bygone days hold appeal
to simple comforts
old-fashioned trust, ease
family
husband at the helm
beating all naysayers bloody
the cruelty of unquestionable authority
gets forgotten in nostalgia
but not by the white men of today
irrational shrieks
like the howl of restless spirits
unable to achieve peace
ghosts dying to live again
rattling chains
against unclean vermin
diseased roaches
welfare mooches and food stamp frauds
uppity niggers
no longer pleased to receive the scraps
unwilling to remain humble beggars
they hate us when we are
and more when we are not
power slips from their grasp
like blood drains from the face
pale corpses holding nothing

God is Boring

August 20, 2014

When at first we met
war was waged
and we didn’t know
whatever it was
they used in their combats
what it was that murdered themselves
in legion
did to us nothing perceptible
once, however, we knew
we slaughtered them with impunity
into perpetuity
all their weird worlds were ours
when you’re masters of the known universe
you crave knowledge of it
nothing standing in our way
waggling tentacles menacingly
expansion was the order
race after feeble race of alien
fell before mighty man
there was no learning from any of them
we gave their species’ names
the Fifes, the Gilligans, the Sandlers
wiped out every one
it was lonely in the neighborhood
a crisis both existential and religious
maybe we really were God’s special chosen ones
maybe in all of space absurdity ruled
and not us
what could be more perfectly surreal
than absolute power
and what, at that,
could be any less fun

Quantum Whimsy

August 19, 2014

Another world pushes in
forces me to imprint upon it
like a newborn duckling to its mother
I must follow
conform to its dictates
follow every whim
until I am what it wants
wants me to be
not who I am
but it
I am an alternate universe
a man of quantum realities
ready to alter you
on your journey through

Stain

August 13, 2014

the spot grows
ink splatter turns to blood
I scour and scrub
trim and prune
attack with chemicals
assail with joy
expose to sunshine’s natural bleach
but there’s no withstanding the expanse
a scourge of kudzu
an invader upon the land
consuming
becoming
the man I was and am not
destroying who I will be
impotent bursts of blind anger
bottled up
welling up
screaming up
into the lives of whom I love
and will have
if the weakness I nurture
becomes strength
when the spot envelopes
and I in turn
embrace it
when no longer
can I drink it into submission
crush it under drugs
it holds my head in its hands
turns it gently, directs it, guides, pushes me down
to it, I open, give it my hand
all my love, all who I love
until…
do us part

Pop Stark Raving Mad

August 12, 2014

Originally posted on Midland Prose:

Missiles rained, exploding hospitals, hurling the infirm
whistling end over end
like a blood-spouting pinwheel in the wind
bodies S-shaped in the air, passing in flight
bombs bursting, flash bulbs popping
catching star-crossed lovers
forming a swastika
synchronized corpses in the searchlight
and all the while a pop singer died

Priestly cassocks lifted exposing erect cocks
holy scepters bobbing tumultuously
before the clear happy faces of pre-adolescent boys
and all the while a pop star died

Fires probed the hillsides of the wealthy
questing past fortress gates
reaching out for mansion rooftops
burning them out of house – poor rich men
homeless for a couple hours
servants trapped by flames in their laborers prison
and all the while a pop singer died

A battered wife forgives her drunk husband (again)
a gay teenager turns the gun the wrong way (inward)
a sweatshop raided, eleven lives deported
and all the while…

View original 56 more words

Your Place

August 11, 2014

Consumption of the hours
waiting on benches
in rooms, for the machine
shielded eyes against the glare
sunbaked concrete
burns scalp and skin
sweating impatiently for the bus
to work
the time of life erodes
in the Laundromat baby cries
washer, dryer; hum and thump
nothing to do
nowhere to go
tick, tick, tick
goes the clock
goes the clothes
goes you
to be poor
takes so much time and money
nothing free
nothing given
filling forms
navigating bureaucracy
the waiting room becomes a home
more than the apartment
roaches, clogged drains
and landlord’s management’s voice mail
three miles to the market for liquid plumber
for bug spray
cavities on the credit card
19.9% interest on the amalgam
coin counters shaving 10% off the change jar
check cashing service
takes their share
pay day advance loan for rent
on a place you rarely are
storage space for rats
poverty is expensive, relentless
always crushing
keeping down
like politicians talking down
they call you lazy, parasite, mooch
one infection
one broken bone
one misstep, bum bounce, missed call or ride
your soul is forfeit, you are owned
temporary is your new designation
you are a limited time offer
waiting again for a placement
somewhere, anywhere, needing so bad
hungry desperation
gnawing loneliness
a night of indulgence
free love to numb the pain
expensive pills
popped only in lucky expectation
you’re not though – you know it
lucky with child
lucky with time bomb
ground down
so far down
you just can’t know
there is no way back up… back up
back up… what went wrong
look back, look ahead
stuck in the middle
the days are a vice
holding you to your place

Bust

August 4, 2014

His hair doesn’t silver
it grays under dust
on the bookshelf, accretes
layer after layer after year it goes
the colorful paints upon the bust
crack like skin does wrinkle
statue and man
Shakespeare and I
greet fate together


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