text messages from people who arent alive anymore

fifteen minutes
and
a few lost and found kids

A throat
swollen and scratched
choking smoke clogging
barred doors.

Prepackaged personal
gas chamber made for two
emergency ejected vessels
following star charts depicting dead gods
no occupancy
we drift down the moon river.

old bicycle wizard
killing minutes with
toothless grins
casting spells all over
bathroom sinks
banging your think box
against the reflection
of someone invisible
on this side and another.

Curtain caller,
the lights give way
to hastily levitated
objects that bare the hexed demeanor
of rapid flash back memory.

The great deceiver.

--

Drenched in the wet afternoon sun
smokestack five foot
eleven knocking harder
and harder
throwing cinder blocks through the patio
sliding glass door.

The hidden spectrum
a.k.a. every familiar block
you dont go down anymore.
The color faded like former glories
founded in downtown fistfights
on dyke nights
with lead pipes
drinking whiskey through glass bags.
hitting on all the ladies
eating nachos at dirty larry's
with uncrossed legs.

my crossed fingers hugged
till snapped
and folded
like sleepy power lines
during frantic phonecalls from
panicked babysitters
in crystal lakes
at 3:33's
nation-wide.


the lights go out
and you arent alone
when you really wanna be.

clutching relics
hoping fortuna spins her wheel
like drunk drivers
soul seeking
near death experiences.

Some days
youre communing with friendly ghosts
others youre burning for your beliefs
when all you believe in is
is something better than this.

untitled

MJ come home i miss you.

In the essence
of a thought

how long it takes
for the air to hit my palm
with a finger pyramid cupping
the long sigh of a loved one

who's gone and not coming home.


The jewels of caved in eyes
crushing tears
out of unfulfilled sleepy lids.
So stupid to be so upset
about feeling so alive

an electric bolt conducts a city
with a move of my wand like
broken index finger.
Indexing old files of passed loves
and the instantaneous failure
like exploding cars
one day its a nice ride
til its not.

The hope of late night phone calls.
or looking in familiar spots hoping
almost seeing it visually in the opera house
that is your inner-psyche...

a face enters from left stage
leaned around a curtain corner

"So nice to see you."
A bite of the hand
a kiss on the finger
a wave
a tilt of the hat
with a scratch of the scalp
dipped in a deep smile.

God bless a memory
because these crosses are getting heavy
and i can live wherever i want inbetween the alternating seconds
that weave reality
back into the matter of all things.

The manner in which i conduct myself
is sometimes less than becoming of a man like myself.

But i care.
and i miss
y
ou.

Whoever you are
i miss you.