Rip my heart open.
Void inside..
Splatter my brains..
Tidal wave of thoughts..
Expose my soul.
Black flames burning.
Dissect my life
See pure desire.
Witness my death..
The miracle of a wish granted...

There's nothing quite like a pint
in celebration of good health
Or forty ounces
in celebration of anything else
I'll be drinking beer
to celebrate my arrival into Hell

In Whitehall stands a monument,
A column wrought in stone.
Empty as that mother’s heart
whose sons did not come home.
It bears the dates of two world wars,
And three carved words I read.
A politician’s shibboleth
About “the Glorious Dead”
Standing in November’s rain,
No glory came to mind.
Perhaps that word held meaning
in another place and time.
They have passed from living memory
those soldier boys of thine.
Now bronze reliefs and marble wreaths
Recall their deaths to mind.

What's on your mind?
And where are you
going alone?
Painted bones
On your phone
And did you know?
Writers like me
Love wondering
Who you could be

How oft do you
go far from home?
For business or
pleasure? Only
time for thinking?
If you were me
you'd wish you were
Somewhere drinking

But you
Aren't me
Are you?
And that's
The beau-
Ty of
it all.

Oh I need
To get some rest
But I won't
I'll just keep feeling
For now

Oh I need
To drink some fluids
And not the first thing that I place
into my hand

Sing
Me to sleep
I smell a fire
And I hear laughter
And I see black