I see death in all his mirrors
Lives have lost, lives he’s splintered

I see death on burnished clouds
Gaze upon him, for he is ours

I see death beneath his shroud
Turn back banner - taken how?

I hear death beneath the din
My life’s fears drowned to swim

I feel death atop my grave
Petals wilt - cry out in pain

I taste death beneath my blade
A startled sting of better days

I see death in all his mirrors
All shall weep, All you sinners

He kept coming back
That was his only skill

Respect is not something you can possibly
be born with. The children of
kings and lords
should know this
but most don't

Though this kid who kept coming back
he was no one's son
A vagabond
His body bony in all places
no meat
under the skin

A skin that had all the colors
from pale to yellow to blue to
crimson to pitch black
*****
scarred
sore
and something that looked
like bone peeking out of tissue

He got beat up every time he came to the
fighting pit behind the tavern

Never won a fight against
those well-fed, bulky sons of farmers
and blacksmiths and butchers
with puffy arms and wide napes

They fought mostly for respect
and the money was a side prize
But the bony boy
came only for the money
and he never got any
But he never begged in the marketplace either

The bony boy had
a pride about him
a pride that never left until the day
he could no longer stand in the fighting pit
after that fatal blow
It wasn't even that much of a strong hit
but his neck was so weak
it snapped

And they gathered in a circle
around him
mute
and stared

stared until their backs felt brushed,
shoved to the side by a pair of
hands weaker even than the bony boy's
Softer

"That's his little sister,"
someone said as they all moved
aside and let her reach the
bony boy,
crying

"So it's her that he fought for
all this time."

"Yes."

"And he kept coming back
every time."

"Yes."

"Insane."

"Wah, respect for the little guy."

"You know what, boys,
I think we should do it.
Give the little girl the prize money."

"Yeah."

"Though this ain't no fantasy land
and no poem.
So, no poem, no poetic justice.
We'll give the girl the prize money alright,
but she'll have to earn it.
Hopefully doing a better job than
her brother."

"Yeah, girl, just like your brother,
come back every time you need money.
Unlike him
you'll get it.
You really will."

"Right, now off with those
rags and let your fight begin.
I'll go first."

same thing
After a painful breakup
she would
have her sister over
for some ******* drinking
and nasty chatting

Usually
there would be a little over
ten shots of tequila
with salt and no lemon
that brought along their favorite
story

"When I told you to
lie down on the carpet," her sister
said, "and I brought the
dog over you and ******
him off in
your hair."

"Crazy *****."

"No, it was funny! It was funnier when
dad saw you with
that **** stuck in your hair and
your collar and he
beat up our babysitter's boyfriend who
visited that day. Hahahahaha!"

"Poor ******..."

"Yeah. Him dying in the
hospital put daddy
behind bars, you know?"

"I know."

"And then it was all heaven for us."

"It was?"

"Duh. We were free to
go out with guys then. Mom didn't mind. She
had her own."

"Yeah, I guess
life was
pretty nice to us..."

Just like that
Its over
You called me names like you've done before.
"You're sorry to the bone,"
is what you said to me
and now?
You're dead.
Just like that

A poet is no more than a person
A mother
A daughter
A lover  
Someone needing release
Or someone needing to recover


It’s the art they create when that ball of ink or stick of led dances on the canvas they so perfectly prepared.
And when the end result and their purpose become perfectly paired.

Girls with glasses are cute
but that's only what I think
and she doesn't agree
so she's wearing contact lens
and she's losing them more
often than not
and the house becomes
a minefield
and we have the thread
lightly

it's just a small apartment
it shouldn't be that hard
to find them or the
one that got lost

when only one got lost
she would use the other
and cover her other
eye and look around
and point things and tell
me to turn them over so
she could take a better look

and I would sometimes
say "I told you"
but I no longer do it

I look under the cover
and the pillows
and the sheets
and the carpet
in shoes, under them
pockets, corners, folds
sink, toilet, tub

one day
she covers her free eye
and uses the other one
to look at her phone

"Really now?" I say
on my knees, searching
in shoes

she shows me her phone
and what I see is a bottle of
perfume

"Been wanting to get this
for a while now," she says.
"After this I'm seriously gonna."

I take a better look at the thing
and by gods
no
it's not a perfume bottle
not in that sense anyway

its description says
that you spray the things
you lose often with it
and your pet dog, being addicted
to the smell, will find them
for you

I drop the shoe down at my feet
and sit back and laugh
for about a full minute

When I'm done she's out
of the room

And I shout after her
"I don't believe in buying dogs,
I told you."

I don't believe in buying dogs
You either adopt them
or don't have them

but please, whatever you do,
don't ever spray stuff on the
stuff that comes in contact with
your eyes
okay?