i'm screaming against windows
in a 4 x 4 room by a crowded street,
anticipating a turn of the head
or slam against glass in wonderment.

i'm thrashing above and under
a crowded pier,
onlookers engaged more
by alcohol and bikini bottoms
than the girl's lungs full of seawater.

i'm sinking into a bed, certain
black moths and butterflies outside
are the only insects interested
in this bedsheet quicksand.

i'm throwing the bird who cries,
wings flapped and gripping the ledge,
overboard to dull any will left
in its blue body.

nobody notices the 150 pound girl,
so who would listen to an animal's forced swan-song?

i want to dig out optimism
from the brown marrow
constructing these bones.

strip the faith and belief
from light and dark flesh.

maybe then,
the dirt my feet sink into
wouldn't stretch deeper
around ankles and calfs

until i'm submerged
from the waist up,
neck up.

body buried
thanks to naive hope.

she’s smiled from the sidelines,
watching as you waved her away and soared to the sky.
she’s hoped you remember her
as you spread your wings farther,
kissing the wind and touching every cloud.
you come back again,
welcomed by open arms and a girl unmoved.
she’s wondered if you notice
how hard her knees have buckled.

how does she tell you she misses you
without making a scar on your absence?
how can she keep composure as the minutes pass,
broken and jagged
like the word “okay” feels
as it slides down her throat?
how does she use her quiet assurances
to explain she’s still at a loss for words?
how does she express what she needs to
without losing you in such a declaration?

there is always somebody or something
waiting for you,
something stronger, more intelligent,
more evil, more kind, more durable,
something bigger, something better,
something worse, something with
eyes like the tiger, jaws like the shark,
something crazier than crazy,
saner than sane,
there is always something or somebody
waiting for you
as you put on your shoes
or as you sleep
or as you empty a garbage can
or pet your cat
or brush your teeth
or celebrate a holiday
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you.

keep this fully in mind
so that when it happens
you will be as ready as possible.

meanwhile, a good day to
you
if you are still there.
I think that I am---
I just burnt my fingers on
this
cigarette.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.