there is no reason
other than your skin
taught cold against me
your favorite words inaudible
we speak the silence
pink tongue yours me
unjust gray verbs making
me ache for you
ache
Poetry
Montegue
never knew vulnerable was so hard
or how bright your dark side of the moon could shine
or a heart so easily torn apart
at the death of a wilted flower
347e
the thoughts of the sounds you make your face in pain your eyes ash gray grow like wild honey suckle vines outward from the insides of my composting heart
look she says can i get a break today my blood borrowed by thirteen murder scenes lined up coming from my vocal chords ready for the gate to fall
i know the demons they feed well from me the prescription don’t eat before the range or you’re gonna get rotted rice and peas rolling down your caved in chest
the elders said before you were set free to the prison this would be caution daughter and sons your fathers were heavy into maleficent fun be advised that their sins you’ll be liquidating
we spoke then silenced
we both tired and bored
then i’d ask where she was born
somewhere she said
but im not really sure
i want to tell you
she smoked then got up
to get a frozen tamale
from a dirty plate
in the moldy microwave
guilt and sin falling
from her face
like bombed out plaster
he joined the conversation
when she and i silenced
midwifing her and me into
a new set of unasked and unanswered questions
we all three sat there smoking
drinking diet cokes sniffing the air
she rasped i need another drag
on Alameda st.
monsters are worst during the day she thinks slowly mind trailing snail like
their colors the monsters she confirms are like a.m. radio dull warning of their arrival yet
their eyes watch as thirty six who is now old
steps in the puddle with patent leather
baby doll left shoe tarnished forever
on Alameda street
thirty six hears the screams
the burn of fire water cold sweat cold hand
like old silver buffalo she watches
they move with pain purple sprouts twixt
calloused knuckles from fighting air
social malignancy history blithe
we all are on Alameda street
dusk whispers urgency between clenched teeth
the yes daddy girls learn their beat
the lonely boys stretch the meat
nothing changes into double negative
we may all be on Alameda street
wallpaper
it’s too bright now
eyes soulless red stung
see and take note
this can’t be all
the vast void turned
into the window framed
with nothing that was
something in the past
next to the hands
that are cut from
the palms bruises witnessed
how she tried against
the tides of repugnance
the moon births change
the breath shallow grows
exhausted surrenders in the
prophecy of city walls
final mortal sleep tonight
so long clandestine wallpaper
lamenting to Lee
hey it’s me
walking the street
mid day time
end of summer
meteopolitan smoggy air
how are you
maestro viejito hermoso
noticed he’d fallen
sweet weeping child
or is it
you haunting me
either way i
need to say
there’s thunder sobbing
up from throat
in the sudden
downs of life
he sits there
back to me
but back when
i sat there
too stoned to
hide my face
there is no
art in suffering
beauty estranged in
white soiled nothingness
grace crosses street
no one to
touch his shoulder
three six opened
three six opened
her eyes dewey cold across brow
another nightmare dissolving
the peace facilitated by round artificiality
three six rose
from the grip of lonely cold
the cat slept
nestled in the sheets quietly being
bloated eyes blinked
flushing stinging light out from them
three six returned
to the place of internal judgement
law of conscious
almost crying she looked around slowly
there is more
than the stark rawness of soul
somewhere is warmth
stomachs unknotted free from evil butterflies
my last one
he’s in a little cedar box
with an American flag tied to him
she sighs through the cat hair
and dust in the sunlight of the room
particles dance float and flip
she speaks in tender fondness
sweet pink cotton candy memories
for my ears to receive
now their father is gone too
the remains? they will cremate
him soon
she ponders for 37 seconds
should they share the cedar box
then she changes her mind
the radio music pounds in fog
from somewhere in her bathroom
i don’t think the children would
like that
for my second husband to share
a resting place with my last one
haiku for Norma and a footnote lament
stone sure smile again
fuzzy end of lollipop
empty glass comfort
Maestro im just another number at the DMV line of life im tired of crying im tired of laughing im tired of hurting im tired of wishing im tired of living im tired of dying surely truly this must be purgatory
words less spoken 