Older

One more tooth to gut

Collateral damage from

My battle waged with time

Slack flesh wrinkles 

Across sinew and bone

Hands that shiver 

Like autumn leaves 

Aching marrow 

Swollen feet

And days that fall

From calendars

Soundlessly.

Old loves

Still in hiding

Deep within me

Like old bones under

The mulberry tree.

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Your Right

A simple minimalist

With a silver surfboard to soar

Across the fields of ignorants

Vomiting chaos and cross thoughts

And sickening vitriol 

A solitary headcase that insists

The system is rigged against

Him and only him

When we sit at home hungry

And listen to this nonsense.

Cause if there’s anyone the system

Has never been rigged against

It’s him or anyone able to

Physically purchase the Oval Office 

Like it and the populous were a property

To lean on.

Listen to this.

It isn’t rigged.

This is a corrupt and cavernous

And often obtuse collage of systems

We’ve developed to insure 

Precisely this didn’t happen to

Our democracy.

And sadly, no longer

This strife isn’t over who you vote for

But rather what you’re eager to surrender

And what philosophies 

You’ve chosen to shelf, just to win

Because your state is in such disarray 

Based on the fractured fact 

You’ve devoured.

Remember the late 60’s draft 

Anticipate something like that.

Own him and his thorough corrosion.

Own that this November.

And vote trump 

If your not nasty.

I’m nasty as fuck.

Static

Some sort of self employed

Pragmatic.

Feet made of bricks.

Static.

Nothing to connect

Karma

To my aquarium.
There is nothing to forget

A broken heart on parole 

Convicted of the theft

Of an irrelevant fantastic
Wading in the mud of

Mirage.

That heavy knife of fear.

There was a girl that

Liked

More than my eyes.

I miss her like rain in this

Drought.

A Date

I told the stars about your talk

All they did was blink

Knowingly, as though they knew

The way you walk, how you stick.

You got the idea of my intent

And you said, “sure.”
The morning wind, densely viscous

Struck me with its wet heat.

You were the first word

On my tongue

And I savored every syllable

And braved survival through the wait.
Gumball, anxious at the door

Sashayed his Pom Pom tail

Celebrating my arrival,

And querulous, “how’d the date go?”

But my head stung.

“I should have kissed her.”

She had a broad smile. The kind of expanse that fills you with ease. I never got that. Those rich heart rich expressions. Annie only ever gave me glimpses. She used to smile that way when she was younger, before I met her. When she was young and naive.

I wanted to let my head hang. To give up into the drunk, but I guess I suddenly had company. So I drew back, dragged my acoustic into my lap and poured my soul over it. I picked out a melody that ran on and multiplied. She poured herself something and came back with a mason jar of elixir.

She used the canvas of her bag to draw her nails across like a brushed snare, and the matted carpet like a Tom-Tom. She found the heartbeat to suit the life blood of this semi-lucid melody.

We toyed with it for a minute, until she left it to plug my Strat into the box. From it she pealed out a somber phrase of notes and trepidation. The humanity of the song came alive, without the taint of lyricism.

We played on until door was rattled by the neighbor I’d as of yet not seen.

Then, we sat. She snickered and I cast a disapproving eye. But right she was and I fell into it. We laughed too hard. It was wonderful. There wasn’t anything wonderful anymore, and it was like virgin candy.

When everything diffused. The nervous humor and carefree surrender, we sat like old loves in a cool park after the sun had fallen.

“I should take off,” she said at last, and threw her last ounce back. I could feel the hot flavor going back into her young belly, and wished I was young again. She closed her eyes and let the hard burn take effect, and I longed for the days of simply enjoying the pain. Back when I was human, and that splash wasn’t just a meal.

She pulled her black hair back over her dark printed shoulder, that dense violet Locke doing what it chose, rose up and assessed.

“So, I’m gonna bounce outta here. You’re good though?”

“Adaline?” I responded. “This is me at my best.”

“Ok. A little depressing, but I can accept that.”

She took up her bag and was out the door as swiftly as she came.

Brea

I wanted to see as she saw me
A separate sea or a
Struggling army
Of a boy on the cusp of a man,
believing that it would be me
for her
I wanted to she, through her eyes
But more through the mind
Of a people that sang
Through a palace, disarming
To me.
I wanted to feel through her skin
What a petal felt
What her own skin felt like
What metal of railing and thread
Was like
And I wanted to be inside her
I wanted to be reminded,
I was the reason she wanted men
I was the season that followed fall
She was the lung that consumed me
And that she was always
Altered
I wanted to make he falter
My the mention of my name
And oh, how I did.

Southern Comfort

PFC Monty stood swaying underneath the waning moonlight. Thin cloud like razors of cigarette smoke slid across the sky, indecisively dividing and inviting the light.Southern Comfort wasn’t letting him down. He stared at the reflector of that some damn Nissan Frontier that was parked there every day since the day he’d arrived. He stared into and swayed towards it, watching the light eclipse as his eyes declined.

He didn’t wake up when he was dragged upstairs.

He didn’t recall fishing for his keys.

Vividly remembering the three month old baby on the autopsy table, and the sounds of the water against the brushed steel, and how it didn’t smell like an adult smelled.

He recalled throwing up off the railing, that next day, late for formation.

He recalled being kicked in the head by his roommate, lying on the floor, too destructed to move yet, and waking up at four AM for two hours in the rack. The sweet malt of southern comfort bile in the back of his throat.