What it’s like

For when we murder
We always keep it in the family
For friend, foe, or stranger we are all children of nature
Laying on the street side
I’ve been there too
Stiff with rigor mortis, crippled with rigor mortis
Left by a passive, inconsequential, negligent hand
I’ve bled, and have been carelessly thrown to the shoulder

The storm drains are more of my blood than they are rain
Rubbed into the pavement
a gritty slushy paste
Blood clots, and tangled nests of hair
The ones too focused on the mirror
To look back
They are the night drivers in my life too
Weary eyes
Careless flash of phone screen
And murderous trivialities
Rushing to dinner parties,
And horny house cats
Legs stretched out on the patio
Howling at the moon.

Surely someday
That domestic beauty
Will know just as well as the rest of us
What it’s like to be road kill.

Love Life

You fight
But only enough
To keep me from quitting

We fuck
The hand are rough
The screaming jizzums splitting

Hiding behind
Imaginary assault
To keep genuine passion
In its holding cell

Flip the Bird to Completion

I’ve been fucked over
So many times
Sometimes when I struggle to take a piss
Trying to bleed a stuck pig
I watch my cock
Where it should have been
Now a middle finger
Giving me the bird


I know those coded phrases
The morse syllables
Quivering in uncertain voice
I know when you close your eyes
And I slide in
I know you think of him