"Rising"

Dirt in my nostrils
blowing it out

yelling

bloody tongue
bloody teeth

stones covering my legs
and aching chest

but I will get up

as the bombs fall
on the cities and countryside

all of us
will get up

rising again and again
to be free!

Hooligans

Dudes boisterous and loud,
Party animals laughing it up,
Parading thru the town streets
Like a bunch of wild hooligans
Downin’ the green beer and
Guzzling loads of Irish nectar,
What most would call whiskey.
‘Tis Patrick the saint’s own day.
Do a jig, tease a fairy.  What?
Where did you get that from?
That’s not the spirit of the day.
Leave the fairies alone before
They talk the wee people into
Punchin’ ya in the gilhoolies or
Wackin’ you in the noggin with
Their leprechaun pots of gold.
That’d make your eyes pop out.
It’d be worse than a hangover.

Amnesiac Memory

It starts with 
Just a trigger
A buzzer, an alarm. 
A shot fired from a practicing gun. 
A dart of aim, 
A gong of cacophony, 
Rattle of screeching steel tyres 
Its skin, tearing apart. 
Fire sparks stretching on the road. 
My voice, a shrill of tongue
Still unheard. 
Hard rain dripping 
Striking the tin roof. 
Any sound is a game here 
Playing with the disturbed politics. 
Sounds metamorphosed to war cries 
Creativity escaping through bullet holes. 
Broken vase of poetry 
Dead flowers of elegy
Decorating the epitaph 
Of silenced sound of amnesiac memory. 
Is it also easy to forget war? 

Wretched

Deeper I've drawn by distress, 
Flooded by the flooding river of discomfort
Leaving me shaky and shaggy within my heart and body

Turbulent sea is where I arrived
The whales and dolphins wanted to have a catch
After being freed from the shark
Trying to combat and to turn tail

The ribcage and the cardia jumbled
Eyes and its conjoins became reddish
Like the burned wood or an ember left to be eaten by the ash

My Heart

She ripped out my heart
And stomped on it,
Which made it break into hard,
Stone cold, razor sharp shards.
If she’d try that now,
She’d hurt her feet.


The Bar Room Floor

The bar room floor
Is more comfortable
Than you’d think it’d be.
The fall didn’t hurt much.
I know my drinkin’ limit.
I done passed it a while back.
Shoulda just stayed in the chair.
But, I needed to get to the bar
To get that “last call” drink.
I hope people are kind enough
To step around or over me.
This ain’t my first time down here.
Lately, as the nights wear on
I’ve become a regular fixture
On the floor of this fine establishment.
No worries, no woes, just a drunk.
Barkeep says I certainly make
A great conversation piece.
Likes my routine.
Closing time, everybody’s leaving.
Damn, lady.  Watch those stilettos.
I wanted to keep that hand.

with plenty of whiskey
 
these are the nights i take 
my night time medicine 
with plenty of whiskey
 
no one likes the fucker that 
overstays his damn welcome
 
i see the evil eyes when i'm 
out in public, the whispers 
as i walk by
 
one day they'll get to see the 
monster they believe me to be
 
though i'm sure they will be 
disappointed
 
everyone else has been
 
my father could never bring 
himself to say he loves me
 
chose to die instead
 
my mother does it out of guilt
 
my sister has moved on
 
any chance for a lover was pissed 
away so many years ago
 
and i have no fucking interest in 
dying old and alone
 
i'm sure there is some gutter out 
west with my name on it
 
a concrete pillow, a pet rat
 
and a random needle with just 
enough to see me through
-------------------------------------------------------
the best kind of neighbor
 
six days before christmas
the guy across the street
decided it was time
 
he took his gun to the 
basement and shot 
himself in the head
 
i have no clue if there 
was problems with the 
job or money or the 
family, etc.
 
some people argue 
that makes me a 
bad neighbor
 
i tend to think i'm 
the best kind of 
neighbor
 
i help when asked
 
wave when waved at
 
and most of the time
 
i simply mind my own
fucking business

In Lieu of Flowers

A first cousin my age dead from an overdose. A childhood friend dead from a rare cancer. My very nice mother-in-law dead from Alzheimer’s. A twenty-something student of mine dead from an undetected heart condition. Death, death, death, death. Some say it’s by design, but others that it’s mad slaughter. I don’t know. Maybe. There are times I’ll find myself staring at the back of people’s heads on the commuter bus with just so much sadness.

WreTcheD

i sauntered down our old town. now altered to a cemetery, the garden we used to play. two, three, four....&... houses, were wrecked. and the people i left, were asked to make mansions with the skulls of innocent men. 

then, it was a garden full of ripped mangoes. now, a cemetery; a black one with hills. i could remember writing my name on the middle tree that drops juice,  went to taste its horny, but found blood answering its sugary name.


i then met an old man, & he said the hills which i ride, are the graves of my townmen. and the dew which falls at dawn, is no more water, but the tears of chained, raped young women. 

God, onto you i hinge, give me back my name. the dialect i used to speak, is now the language of death. for now, even my name is another name of grief. 

Of Gods and Mice
Open my mouth
starburst spray
I’ve loved you for centuries
you never felt it
like the purple chez
that crushed velvet so plush
it feels right to run your hand over it
or revel in the crunch of boots over fresh fallen snow
I picked a basket full of moon-glow for your melancholy
place it in the corner
it births a milky way
I cross over to pull you out
drag you by your feet
back from the dead - back from Herod
Clean your track marks
ripe with infection
bathe you in rose water
dry you
pack you up and send you off to try again
and again

Still I Write
Try to make sense of the data
all this input
no output
where’s it all going
cuz I got nothin to say
and nothin to give
Yet I keep pullin it in
day after day
Instagram after Instagram
this uninteresting
batch after batch
of people
I don’t give a flying fuck about
what they’re wearing
where they flew to over the weekend
I’ve got a mortgage
I multi-task at least forty times a day
trying to do things that I can’t
but have to
cuz what else is there
Still I write so much
as a dumbass clock
that’s broken - it’s right twice a day
Somewhere in this gibberish
has to be something
of interest
some inspiring words
of wisdom
that will later be on
a Facebook post
under a daisy photo
some shit like that

When Jesus Went to Get a Tattoo

When Jesus went to get a tattoo
The Philistine dude who runs the
Combo head shop and tattoo parlor
Suggested all sorts of cool designs.
Crosses?  Too many bad memories.
Hot babes?  Near naked hula girls?
Sweet smiling Spanish senoritas?
Maybe too hot for the Son of God.
Snakes?  Totally out of the question.
Wild eyed devils?  Oh, right, sorry.
Unicorns?  Quite popular right now.
Perhaps, tribal art on the privates?
I take that look as a definite ‘no’.
Fancy script?  Have a nice day?
Ride to live, live to ride?  USMC?
Your place or mine?  Hell bound?
Free spirit?  Deities do it better?
The ever popular: Satan sucks?
Gods just wanna have fun?
With so many choices, it was just
A real heavy decision.  Doobie time.
Laid back and mellow, with a casual
Scan of the room, he suddenly found
Just exactly what he was looking for.
If he’d settled for anything else, I’d
Be surprised.  Super job, looks good,
A big heart with MOM across it.