the house i grew up in
a howling wind
mother nature coming
to take what’s hers
the tornado hit the
house i grew up in
hit the bedroom
where i first thought
of suicide at the
age of eight
when i saw the
picture, i laughed
once again
she took her shot
at me and missed
it’s not like i’m
running
i’ve lived in the
same county my
entire life
apparently,
someone has
piss poor aim
———————————————————————-
tears of rage turning to blood
i get lost in your
darkness waiting
to be taken
to have this soul
devoured
to be held in your
arms and melt
tears of rage
turning to
blood
a pain lost upon
anyone who doesn’t
understand suffering
and as i look in your
eyes and calmly tell
you i love you
one day this pain
will hopefully give
you the kingdom
you deserve
——————————————————————–
purple sunshine
there’s this little woman
who sings me spanish
lullabies in my dreams
her kisses taste like
purple sunshine
or perhaps the cocaine
is now laced with honey
from the last living bees
on this earth
she peels back my skin
and finds puzzle pieces
that have been broken
and misplaced for years
in the moments where
she takes the time to
pretend to care, i
struggle to find the
words
we spend the mornings
in bed together
drinking coffee and
making each other
laugh
i always wake from
these dreams and
get sad
she still only thinks
of me as the poet
from the other side
of the country
The Beatnik Cowboy 