Sunday mornings
come and go away.
I see the sadness
written on her face,
when she's lost in sleep
there's a language
that she speaks,
between her lips,
and the tears
staining the sheets.

I'm walking down
the railroad track.
I have a cigarette,
a bottle of jack,
and a wife at home
that thinks
I'm coming back.

... would you then still stay?


10W
SøułSurvivør
7/30/2017

7/15/2017

A plank of wood,
sand mites bite our ankles
my ankles

One in the morning at the
Gated Beach Community
and the signs said

Without parental supervision,
No one under 16 allowed
but there I was, 15

Dealing with a bad lease on my brain, don't forget yours, too
parents nowhere to be found

Or maybe two buildings over
Years later, it's night
I step over puddles, drunk boys

Walk around the complex laughing
Trying to remember when I found that sort of thing fun,

Remembering never,
I sit on a ledge--
And you'd never guess the sea

Was several hundred feet away
with the way the sky bleeds black
congealing, together

The Atlantic and it.
Remembering my old obsession
With blood, my old poems

Speaking feverishly of it
adding meaningless symbols-
the flower the color of it,

or the sky in the morning in august
trying, selfishly, to make sense of my life.

I wish to run a fever-- forget this place ever existed
Or you, truthfully.

She's like the moon
Not because a part of her was always hidden
But because she'll be gone soon.