XIII

Biked all day.
listened to sweet jams.
I hope to see
how things turn out.

What the fucks the point. . .

You smell like i hate you
You taste like old news papers
from past tragedies

everything i do never
set precedence.

I was the last ride
of a dead president

good dreams
and assassinated
character.

Now the days move slower
than honey on cold glass.

I make love to the street post illuminated night
losing time in private properties

buckled feet
to the animal mother.
save for a few fights.
my time could be worse.

i could still be making childhood visits to
Dade county correctional.
clutching crosses till my palms bleed

a miracle
i made it this far
escaping to the golden gates
and all the noise
of people thinking for me.

I did my best
and sometimes i had to except
that somethings you just cant win
no matter how hard you try

Morning comes.
I fall to hell
and fold my hands in prayer
that i make it out of the coffin
card
in a gypsy's hand.

XIII...

oops sorry im tight.

Cowboy Killers

the god of molasses
every time my crusty shutter
open to the the morning harbinger.

a constant plaguing sound.
humming in my ear
the deafness
a hollow sound.
uneven balance
in old broken shoes
keep me a skilled navigator
of unforgiving waters.

Just another fifteen minutes...
The rotery belts turn
crushing the ice
into my steam conductors.
hydrolic arms push
the earth further from
fantasy into the hard lights
of another day
full of nicotine exposure
and a cerebellum implosion.

Vacant green eyes channel the glass
on the drives across town.
my voice is in recension
but its bad all around.
NPR zombies
drinking my brain jelly.

The neutron star
on the edge of unfathomable journeys
apparently began dumped out
at the local gas station
educated guesses would say
i get lied to every mother fuckin day.

shred it and forget it.

If trust was a cheap thing
Momma would've raised a fool
spitting seeds across the city
shooting my sewers full of toxic waste.
breathing in paint thinner
sitting naked
on magnetic north
in Pluto's summer solstice

I may be fucking crazy..
but at least im not stupid.

Deathcatcher

I weave threads
gray with time
silk followed folds
binding the edges
a bone of an animal i killed
a feather of the bird i live to be

the dresser vibrates
the bible crusher
vodka obstructed message
has traveled from space
and back
to destroy my nightmare.

The sleeping giant wakes
scouring the wasteland
eating the ultra violet radiation
creating fusion in the dead reactor
powering the gospel of past spirits
that've been further down the road
im walking along.

a church
with no organ.
you dont lose much faith
when the deafness sets in.
ringing constantly
folded hands
trap the last light.

The evil eye
fuels the vultures appetite
a stiletto touches me deeper
than cheap words
hanging me from noose
with every wrong letter
the floor slides out
a
little
mo_e

the swan drops the sound
if i was drowning
would you see how blue
i could get before you
placed a straw
on my lips
to smoke a farewell cigarette
while you pop my last breathes
as they float to the surface
inhaling the essence.

A firing squad
of anxiety
cluster fucks my quick reflex
to fight or flight
when im all out of forgiveness
and short of breath on retreats
for other days.

the war is over
but the battles never stop
like the out of touch Japanese
my eyelids set
on a rising star
where instability
is defined
by bursting bolts
and gauges with broken needles

you spin the charm above your bed.
you spin the charm below your ankle.
a curse is lifted for a night
and the feather knows a road
where a few letters
could save a soul.