To see the world through a haze of smoke
To see the dirt, the hate and the H
Under hungry, haggard finger nail
he’s choking (in) the street
he’s lying (in)to the street.
They stand around
Insectile, rolling withdrawal
Like the turtle crushed the world
Between his shell and the concrete
like a sigh, head hung low
deeply and profoundly insulted
your proudest, deceased relative
that’s all it was
but they hungered for it
clawing off his skin
stripped from the bone
penetrate, barbed cone
slurping marrow marshlands
just to prove
that it was the genes
that’s what made the addict
and that’s what made him weak.
Fingertips cutting off the circulation
one cigarette at a time.
Could I reach the page end?
before gnat beating
unconscious aortic corridor
Ted Bundy was as much of a Poet as a killer. He playfully crafted words knocking down walls, potential growing, with a jury dedicated to justice. Would the women, and daughters die on the page the way they had at the end of his fingers. I fear we’ve lost the literary giants of our time to the literal. They kill off their characters off of the written page; terra.
Could the cults, blood thirsty, writhing with union hold the Allen Ginsbergs, the Walt Whitmans, the Franz Kafkas? In a time where the only thing to fear is your own children, to be a genius may mean insanity.
What beautiful tragedy lies within the confines of John Wayne Gacy? What were the last thoughts before the planes hit and bodies fell from the sky like unfortunate hail?
I told him that I’d be great.
That my words would soar and I would dedicate each breath
To changing this world of angst
But read it back to me
Throw me a line
You’ll know how impossible this is
This must be
The shit I put a bow on and call gold
My platinum predecessors
Know this path
They know how far behind I lie
They sit on thrones, burning electrical chairs
Laughing at me.
I am so many years from the gun
And when I reach the trigger
It still won’t be good enough
So what’s the point in trying?
What other option do I have?
Now she is concerned
Breaking me down
Peeling back layers
A fire in the rain forest
A tree remains
The sun shining through green
Pictures of lost children pinned to the oak
And guitar lessons
The last of its species
Now the fire stops by
“Are you alright?”
Even the words are hot
A plastic leaf falls
And crumples in the flame
Toxic vapors emitting
What words are there to say?
Giving mercy, after there is none left to give mercy to
After this genocide
Thank you for your kindness
Thank you for your bountiful love.
I’ve never had a friend quite as noble as you.
To break me, torn glass in the gutter
No one has ever been so good to me
To pick up a piece of that glass
Cradle it in your palm
And ask “do you know how we love you?”
I know not of something that can hurt you enough
To be a valid response.
So I’m an alcoholic
I started and I’d be insane to stop
For once in my life
I’ll finish what I started
There will be an end. A point.
I’ll drink myself straight into the grave
And the children in grown torso
Will speak of how they tried to save a lost soul
But that soul was nowhere to be found
Well I’m here and I know
Just as they must somewhere,
Beneath the layers of rotting termite wood
That they aren’t here with me.
That they couldn’t give a shit’
If they were paid
But that’s okay.
I can’t depend on masturbating assholes
Torn like carved turkey
I have to be alone
It’s the only way
I have to strip back the skin
And the love
And find the reality within
The reality of self-loathing and to give up eagerly
On everything I’ve ever “loved”
The truth being I never loved it
I never loved you
I never loved.
I just waited for you to stop talking
So I could get back to the written word
And write my own little truths
And my own little shit piles.
It doesn’t matter how much I write
How many wrongs I right;
It’ll never be enough
I’ll never achieve the impossible
Impossible only to me.
Only I know the passage of inadequacy
I gave up the best
So I could learn what it means to suffer
I gave up love and happiness
So I could scratch shitty poems into human flesh
Maybe eventually flesh other than my own
But I doubt it.
It’s only in the mirrors that I see ghosts
The image shrouded by shadows
When it started
Surreptitious spirit blending into the background
Spending back word days
Peering into the mirror
Gradually it grew near
My reflection drained as it rose in stature
First it stood with a hand on my shoulder
Like I was
Someone for him to mentor,
In this instant, I can see it in me
My eyes are bushed and bitter
Eyes I’ve never known
A carnage of my character
A cleaving of my humanity
Check the reflected corners
The feeling of smashing a fist through the computer screen
And jumping over the edge
The feeling of inadequacy
Like you’ve ascended thousands of feet
But looking up you realize
You’ve only just started.
I work until I’m blistered
Like stockings on Christmas eve
My esophagus is filled to the brim
With toys and a curiosity
That reminds customers
Of a child
My sentences are no longer coherent
What good is my voice
If I can keep that cock standing
Under the tip of my tongue
But I never have problems
Putting plump fingers
Where they don’t belong
In the body’s
Yank up the skirt
Be proud of this boiled bitch
On the senator’s
I know how honorable