Another Set of Words about a Girl

Standing in the cold of being alone
Feeling the blood pushing through for naught
Its okay, being alone
Fine if you have no one to hold.
Watching a girl at the end of the road
Seeing her bop to the sounds in her head
Its okay, seeing her
Fine if you have nothing to do.
Waiting for the day you can say hello
Marching by and smiling charmingly at her
Its okay, having buoyancy
Fine if you are made of zest. 
Hurting the soul you pretend is so strong
Being yourself though you shy away
Its okay, just existing
Fine if you cannot speak for yourself.
Walking that walk home in the flurry alone
The veins full of focus and pain
Its okay, hating yourself
Fine if you can feel some kind of love

Nothing in This Story Is True

Husbands in the furnace dancing
As we cook for them
We mark the time with oven mitts
Sloppy with cosmopolitans

Nothing is ever excremental 
We like it that way
Sifting through the day with elation
Delight an associate 

Nothing in this story is true
Legitimacy is a metaphor
There are similes everywhere
Just like bored housewives


Shocking Lack of Blasphemy

Like any adolescent I have to strike out at the world. The angst inside erupts like diarrhea from my fingers. Screaming forth comes nothing, because there is a shocking lack of blasphemy. Dry heaving I stumble and my eyes bleed tears of strain. The only thing that can escape is my own name. 

The Day My Penis Exploded

I was at the park the day my penis exploded.
I was eating an egg sandwich when it happened.
The bread was dry, the eggs were unsalted.
The bench I was sitting at was cold and green.
A woman and her child were passing as it burst.
She got bits of penis in her eyes and hair.
When it went off it made a deafening bang.
My ears buzzing as I watched the child cry.
Looking at the pavement I noticed the head.
It looked like the tip of a thumb to me.
In spite of it all this spectacle made me smile.
I knew inside the penis doesn’t make the man.
The testicles do.

In The Morning The Pain Is New

 Polite monsters bow before they slay
Monsters can be so nice pulling at you
“Thank you for these intestines”
“Thank you for the pretty brain”
“I’m so sorry for the death”
“I’m so sorry for the pain”
In the morning the pain is new again
Mothers can be so cruel pulling at you


For Your Sister

I’m not fucking you
I close my eyes, your sister reclines
I’m not married to you
I put down my head; it’s your sister in bed
I’m not talking to you
I say things, in your sister’s ears they ring
I’m not me for you
I’m here; it’s my brother you hold dear


Achieve Or Be Bludgeoned

Potent proclamations pounce 
Beside beseeching brethren
Mothers mouthing moaning
For flailing failings
Achieve astonishing accolades   
Or obtain obliteration
Daddy’s damning demeanor
Cramming corroding creativity
Shotgun’s seductive serenade











 






   

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