at night we hold our knees tight chests broken
we wish see light while dark slips by unseen
the road moves fast we bend to it alone
the day its stars do smile at will between
your soul sore hands do beg for any mercy
our arms in flames scream out stop now unspoken
her eyes dull knives blood shot tits dried starving
with you i die in vain no chance running
even she tires
in between struggle
hidden from eyes
who quickly judge
are corrosive agents
of our waste
since we forget
time quit healing
all of our
human error trespasses
we point out
aggressions and judgment
cajole cancel postpone
ridicule doubt denigrate
shoot kill regulate
all for nothing
long gone are the days
my black back pack torn on the left side
my pencils and pens leaking poking into me and each other
between the barely cracked calculus and English literature text books
hid my shame
granules and grams of daze
smoke screen of reality
that monument to beyond desperation
magic and inaudible inside the halls
carpets the only witnesses
to the end of that road
paved with bad intentions all the way
men and women have become a mush
in the gut of torn illusion
bile dripping from its fangs
a smell of the bottom line of nothingness
lingers in my eyes as tears collect like astonished ladies
my right Doc lost somewhere on the 8th floor
my spirit mortgaged to the deceiver
who at the end of the spectacle
is not the one to blame
there are no rhymes roses stars or razor blades
just a fleshbone ghost out of place
man o war spirit
time silent paralysis
wafting through my walls
if we could be safe in our seats we could share of our misery shed tears and sometimes maybe smile just because we’ve learned to navigate it doesn’t mean we deserve less than this we too like softness color flowers and art we too like chicory coffee and 5 dollar donuts we too understand the worth of work the taste of sweat and the temperature of let blood we are dignified in our wreckage we stand tall in your false shame we smile kindly forgivingly at your hollow grief for us today we sit on this humble chair where when asked we dissect our terrors and we remain grateful to this stoic chair for holding our hands as we let loose of our fears
in that place
quietly she lives
nobody knows clearly
when or how
her smile stolen
yet she remains
silent like mice
under the rain
eyes deep brown
only dark matter
they have seen
why i wonder
the last of the daylight cracked through the building sides one could tell it was after 5 pm the watermelon sized baby rats were out for their breakfast
she laid down to think of Jupiter her drug crooked back to the pavement scrawny bedazzled legs extended upward on the art building wall hieroglyphs of desperate youth her eyes scanned like Oklahoma driver’s radio then she noticed her left boot lost its heel the right boot had none to begin
sooty mullet waxy matted with environmental phlegm coughed out by bullshit talkers she looks toward the up and the moon tries to enter her nightly stage but as always held back by adoring tongue wagging angels watching for a ghetto bird sting
now stretched legs stiff uncrossed arms posed around her ribs she aches slightly the shallow in her breath helps to stave off those unaffordable desires that quickly become her monster jaws grinding she settles noticing a lone cluster of plastic hydrangeas bleached by the satellites looking down as a cherub babe
her soul comes and goes from door to door looking for a score body limbs head torso dirty flesh colored blanket 100th hand Betsey Johnson gym bag mildewed Wet n’ Wild goth girl pallet from 1985 somewhere between Hollywood and Union Station the overlay has lasted 20 years
the streets cacophony of laughter and cries lights scream to her good byes cop cars dog fights stabbings overdosed doves starvation American relief fleeing from here the NARCAN generation paper plate nutrition styrofoam hydration we recycle ourselves shallow is her breath brow sweats but no bread
inside hep C rots necessary functions ulcers void of burn no food no internal bleeding red cross she’s nailed to it the drums somewhere in Africa a cradle hands outlined in caves a body engulfed in darkness a mind she remembers remaining there
without knowing she’s there legs cramped stiff against the wall forever head reborn again sewer water baptized her eyes closed chest deep in its stillness head cocked to her right shoulder the angel of it won
cyber Monday tired long drive
random Target children crying wanting
mothers sighing fathers walking behind
cops strolling looking for something
not in particular looking plain
inside partly broken hard times
we all stare out far
our thoughts hidden polite smiles
riddled with worries this that
crimes in our head saddened
skies blue clouds fluffy right
still deepening in the heart
a desire to be upright
while looking inside of grief
snow is fake elves shelved
Palestine hurts Israel bleeds here
America sinks as she steps
on heads backs shoulders hands
the people we hang dangling
Betty Crocker’s ads cannot repair
the damage of those here
walking shopping pretending most wonderfully
to be free to do
to love to speak openly
but we’re not just drowning
underneath raging mad correspondents with
all the lies that linger
here at a random Target
on cyber Monday we are
words less spoken 