reason

home slightly gray moon shadows of the catsjeweled eyes aglowscent of orange by couchi hesitate and sigh quietly like when i pretended to prayday long hard patches of humanity where tiny flowers growred like blood warm like thunder roars when in your arms i wasbefore waking from that stagnant dreambland counter kitchen clean black red Japanese bowlholding my spaghettioswarm shower awaits ssssshhhhhhheeeeeeeit complains coconut patoulli soup loofah scrub north to souththe sin is rinsed away beloved side of bedmy body you will takeinto uneasy rest

i want to rip my hair out

i’ve seen multiple coroners tents these few weeks white tiny like a fortune teller’s but there are no chances no predictions no suspicions just finality i’ve not felt myself murder being televised 5G capitalized on death’s dealings my smile and gentle nature up on stage demands the talent and strength of an opera singer the gall of most world viewed presidents laying down or standing still mind woodchips all of my plans palms to the sky warm sun light reminds me that there is a God i’ve seen the death of my father dressed in blue he brought down by what he held up all of his life i’ve seen the death of my mother and the sting of unfamiliarity that divided us i alien child no umbilical cord on my feet walking slightly off smell of medicinal debauchery from last night peppers the air snippets sensationalized wishing shards of words empty whirling eddies of promise obscure delicacy is what i want when i want to be alone middle age was always middle age at any point in time imbibed in the yolks of many situations took on the foil as well as the queen as well as the beggar as well as a fiend feeding rats in the alley in the middle of the day with words that mean nothing but carry weight just the same i’ve seen too many coroners tents bottom line no one gives a fuck is the appropriate cause of death on the only certificate some of us will get privilege tells me to take some time trim my cherry tree smell the air inventory what i have and be grateful count the finches outside fighting on the bush that has a doctor and expensive fertilizer i want to tear my hair out at times rage knock over bureaucratic tables like Christ in Jerusalem

nothing quickly chasing me

swirling lava holy water

smoke eyes turn off

don’t look down up 

or to the sides

don’t look in the heart

or speak to the breeze

hear for beats of far off drum 

they’re marching inching to the end

maybe for the best

drips drops of pain

pictures of her

inside of him

innocent perhaps

but i’ll never know the truth

so yesterday was i

but understood

i promise you

the wider my smile 

the stronger the pain

of where i think i see this going

edged cliff here i go

nothing quickly chasing me

where the dusk of the living sighs

You higher power

Holy Ghost

Dove of Peace

Lord of Abraham

i have always loved You

not in a temple home

or candles steeples crowns of thorns

i’ve loved You through his venomous smile

the flowers on the bush deathly sour

the raindrops of my heart

through the ruffian storm of my disease

the nails that bind me to this salt

that seasons human behavior

gawking at birds pinned in the drowsy sky

dots of tenuous freedom

i’ve loved You through his lips of lies

midnight dips

of hazed oblivion

through my veins i thought of You

hollering the choked mangled Hallelujahs

i have always loved You

on beds of death

i’ve laid my head to fester

my lips quivered caving inward

the name of the unobtainable Highest

cardboard hallowed sidewalk snares

i’ve loved You

fearful through the steps i took

where the dusk of the living sighs

where crows go to bury their dead

a tight jawed loon that’s what i’ll be

silently i will slink

behind the dying ugly trees

they die like a Shakespearean villain

across from the dirty river

their dusty peeling trunks

looking like they wear shoes

but its only beige mushroom caps

growing from an addict’s turd

ant trail metropolis up and down

the droopy branches bound by old cassette tape ribbon

the sugar burdens on their little thorax

weighing just as much

as the burdens on my curved shoulders

obscure illusions and esoteric lies

the native boulders akin to WCF’s face

emblazoned with red stripes and nonsense

the names of petty thief street artists

stretching down from the lived in hill

where crows go to bury their dead

dime sized nettles in my unkempt hair

will tangle with the strands in silence

and with a little time

the thorns of broken thoughts ruptured memories

will burrow even deeper

like wet mud i step into it

but quiet i will be

be silent the people have spoke

a stone chorus in space

i hear them on cold nights

they are getting colder by the way

i’ll glance beyond the conniving lights

alone out of the way and in silence