Sun, heat and sweat
and what remains but the bone
the indecipherable whisper on our ear
the bitter aftertaste of a potent drink
you show me your tattoos, i show you mine
you show me your scars, i show you my poems
you show me your breast, i show you my
sun, heat and sweat
the ghost of a body that has not yet died
pill after pill till the stomach is pumped
till the brain swims in endorphins, nirvana, heaven
till the night screams to be heard and the moans fade
till the bone-sun rises and clobbers our throbbing skulls
no more
for once i want to sleep by 10:00 pm sharp
for once i want to know what the birds sing
what maria callas means by "vissi d'arte"
for once i yearn to be silenced
by another's dream
dissolve in the radiance of a pure syllable
vanish beyond the confines of light

Coward.**
You can't even cut the cord
On promises you don't intend to keep.
Drunken wishing words once spoken
Asking for time
Time to grow
But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?
Why grow up man up speak up be up own up break up
When you can just sit back and enjoy the ride?
The calendar will end it for you soon enough,
What's the point in saying it before time runs out?
And she's a smart girl right?
She'll figure it out on her own,
She might not even need you to say it.
Score.

Or how about your friend that you didn't stand up for?
No, you'd rather keep quiet
While your current and ongoing **** buddy besmirches a friend's reputation.
Why step in, none of your business,
Right?
Why risk losing good ***?

Whatever happened to vigilante justice?
Whatever happened to standing up for what was right?
So focused on physical altercation,
You can't see right in front of you the damage being done.
Don't you see that sometimes justice doesn't resemble
Dressing up in skate pads and a leather jacket?
Sometimes it just takes a sentence,
"Hey, I heard what you said about my friend,
That's not okay."

Too scared to let someone you love down,
Even when it's the whole hearted truth.
A truth you **** well owe them if you know.
Too scared to stand up for your friends in the face of ******* and ****** gratification.
A quite literal ******* coward.

What did I ever see in you?

****** that's good poetry!
Consonants strike like hot cooking fat on bare skin
Nouns flowing; a Jimi Hendrix riff
..... Or maybe it was more like Clapton?

Digress

You're welcome.
Glad to know that when blood spills
Some lands on a page. Making...
A *******? Nah,
That's cliche and lazy assed
More like those Japanese ink paintings
Before those cooky Catholics showed up? Ish?
smooth and elegant lines in spiraled mountains and heart monitor tree Scapes

I'm Hercules on your own Queen of gods teet (congrats on the great ****** Milkyway!) spilling that good bluesy verse on the
W.
W.
Dot

I've bled you dry for years, "warrior poet"
You're welcome.

It feels like a calm before the storm.
Avoiding the red flag triggers
Like trap doors leading to the underworld
Or a rabbit hole that only leads to
Me in the fetal position
Begging the universe to bring you back.
Instead of wandering this *****-trapped  wasteland,
Searching for the road out,
I'm clinging to the dirt,
Refusing to get up.
It is quiet like this,
Nothing scary to stumble on,
And no gaping holes to tumble down,
Just me, and the dirt
Solid, grounding, still.

I can breathe here,
But I know I cannot stay
Staying means starving
Staying means giving up a future
Staying means stagnance.
I cannot stay.

So it really is the calm before the storm
Because I feel fine now,
In the quiet aftermath,
But soon I'll have to get up
Navigate this minefield of memories,
Sadness, longing, and grief
If I want to see the sun rise.
And I will.

I once said it about you,
Now I say it for me
Here comes the sun.

Your efforts are a comfort,
But I must take care not to
Wind myself up in them, not again.
No more making nooses from the tangled web of promises.
No more lassos of hope,
For they cannot catch the wind.
And even if they could,
Wouldn't that destroy the very purpose of the breeze?
To halt movement,
To ensnare freedom itself
To trap you in love
I couldn't.

Now is the time for observing from a distance
For putting in my twenty-five cents
To the coin operated viewer
And walking away when the time runs out.
No more waiting,
No more wishing on stars,
Time to walk down the boardwalk,
And see what's really in front of me.

I thought I was growing tall,
Making progress,
Even if that meant outgrowing you.
Turns out those pains weren't growth at all
They were cracks in my foundation,
And all it took was one taptaptap from you
To make me *snap

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

I held it
That cactus of a beating heart
And I thought it was an honor
Thought the cuts in my palms meant something
Marked me as worthy
And the blood running down my wrists to my elbows
Sealed this bond like blood-brothers.
The tears shed when the needles dug deep
Meant I was chosen
I was special because no matter how much it hurt,
I could still hold on.
Reliable, dedicated, adoring, lasting
Loving.
And when others wanted their turn,
I'd surrender over my treasure
Sometimes ginger, sometimes impatiently forceful,
They would take their turn with you.
But they weren't interested in pricking their fingers,
Or shedding tears over you,
So you'd come back.
And in my slashed, stabbed, scarred hands
With needles still stuck in my skin,
I would cradle you.
Pull you up to my chest and breathe in hope,
Only to sink your spines in deeper
Anchored to me.

I thought the pain was worth it
Thought no one could hold you like I could
Told you I'd wait for you to shed those ****** and spines
Wait for my hands, my chest, to be enough.

But you, cowardly heart that you are,
Will never shed those spikes for me,
Trade protection for vulnerability,
For love.
Nor will you stop from wrenching yourself from my fingertips,
Give up the thrill of a new conquest,
The satisfaction of new blood drawn.

And if it's true,
If it was all a lie,
A ruse to buy you more time, more blood,
And if my hands are not feeding me insecurities again,
Then maybe it's time I put you down
And wash my hands.

I waited.
You never showed,
I'll bet you never will.

numbness, my old abusive life partner, trickle down my spine and gush outward like a broken levee.

stay up far past a reasonable bed time to think about a reality where purpose is more evident. work, work, work. learn the circuitry of computer programs that will never solve world hunger. listen to sad songs on the drive home. empathize with roadkill.

float above your body. smell the surroundings and mimic all of the textbooks you've read on active listening. grin and nod while your mind transforms more and more into pile of melted wax. become nauseated by the stench of your own life. let it seep into your bloodstream like a rotten batch of dope.

think about death. think about death during breakfast. think about death when the sun goes down on an uneventful Sunday afternoon. think about death during ***. think about death while getting drinks with friends. ponder why this earth decided to play the role of an impolite and overworked host. feel sorry for the sun for having so much responsibility.

cry until the faucets allowing your tear ducts to stop are broken. let your dinner become play-dough. be a gracious host to the parasites in your mind. swim with them like the dolphins. lose grasp of why waking up is so important. swallow whiskey like saliva. promise yourself that you won't drink four tall-boy Pabst Blue Ribbons on a Tuesday night. drink four tall-boy Pabst Blue Ribbons on a Tuesday night.

hold numbness while it cries in your lap and promises that it will change-that things will be different. allow it to feed you lies like someday you'll enjoy the sunrise and someone will realize that you're not too broken to love

rip skin off of limbs. try to make it another day.