Writing Challenging Boundaries
There are holes in the Ziploc bag.
Snow coated.
Breaks in the lines,
Sparking electrical wires
Melting alpine peaks
And itchy noses
Cut with methamphetamine
And the surgeon’s
Favorite razor.
The poets are scratching,
Shitting poetry
Bearing teeth
And grinding needles
In mildew corners
“Shit stings brother”
In that lavender pink
Codeine sky
The sweet thick stink
And an oasis of empties
Christ on the cross faded nausea
a stone does not mean to be cruel
contained in arrogance
it just is
nations perpetually christened
in genocide
but they must be
domineering husbands
and the bartender
has a fat lip
but she has to
sacrifice the women,
the children
anything
for the survival
of the white man.
the oligarchy has finished eating
kind enough
to feed us the crust
embezzled with the phlegm
of each of their celestial
C.E.O.s
multi colored
multi variables
some reek of mustard gas
some are only stale,
with cyanide following,
silent
others biZzare shades and huEs
anti freeze: bright blue
but finally another knot in my stomach
and the sweet taste in my mouth.
If I could just burn another
bit from the tip
I know I’d make it through.
It’s not a willing exchange,
the spiral,
advantage given, advantage given
we’re desperate
blind, gathering our things
but this funhouse is sealed
and we’re lost for good.
Making plans
Manipulating phrases
Chiseling poetry:
Fallen, forgotten, worlds
Nostalgia, fear
Connection, obsession.
7 worded nights
Fighting after they’ve taken
Your will to live
Fighting with nothing left to lose
Fighting with fingers
Mashed into
A potato fist
Clashing batons
Whipping, slashing rounds
And I’ll stand in the middle of
The battleground
With little, but
Crippled fists
From bashing faces
Into misconceptions
Of “art”
Only the greats would envy
If they could only see
If the product
Wasn’t so impermanent
As a newly born author
Picking up his first pen
In the street
Outside his first
Wholesale purchase
Of cheap liquor.
Mary watches over a street of pimps and whores
Jesus would remember
Would help all of us
But he’s too busy with a needle
In his arm
I carry a pocket sized Bible
Hollowed out
Everyone needs a place
To keep their coke
Im supposed to write lyrics
With spondees and pyrrhics
The words will be angry
Or the words will be satiric
Words like gangrene
Words acidic
Searching through Pappy’s drugs
He loved his roses, I, the hungry bug
Searching through tainted needles
I just wanted the love of the people
To be a man of the Steeple
But when human flesh
Is so like steel
For frayed neurons
Frantically afraid to feel
What is a boy to do?
When they’re the Nazi
And you’re the Jew
I
Hope is a thing with feathers
Weary, starved
The halo transparent
Constricting noose
Grips like chipped finger nails
The casings of sin
Atrocities committed
Infest like hungry rodents
the beautifully feminine mind
A grip like thumb and forefinger
Against the gullet of the queen
She never got to choose to drink the cool aid
She never got the option
To not be poisoned by her children
The children never gave her one.
II
The cracking sun damaged bones
The crumbling beachfront skull
That held
gut wrenching reactions
To hungry eyed needles and pricks
Reactions
So like our own
The consumer
The infant clenching skipping stone
Carelessly tossing
The rock prancing
Like Jesus across the water
Dropping into the sea
Like a round between the eyes
Rippling into
Deforestation
Plasticizers
Environmental degradation
The cause of death
For passive cadaver
Heat searing blade
Oozing
Oozing
Oozing
Stomach contents
Lighters
Plastic northern star specs
Pointing to malnutrition
And starvation
