It is difficult to laugh
than to cry.
It is difficult to live
than to die.

It is easy to do wrong
than to put something right.
It is easy to forfeit,
all without a fight.

It is easy to yarn
than to share.
It is easy to be indifferent
than to show that you care.

It is difficult to sit
and to patiently wait.
It is difficult to love
rather than to hate.

The undead surge endlessly.
Drained and muddied will.
Holding them back with everything left.
Delightful blood they've come to spill.

Barracading the doors - only surrounds.
Moans and groans dauntingly loud.
Sleepless nights hoping they don't breach.
The scariest thing is how they sound.

We thought they weren't real.
Just comic book stories.
But when they came knocking.
The first to go was four-eyes.

All the horror movies.
Won't leave you prepared.
To face to undead horde.
Brains aren't meant to be shared.

those days;
just like old television shows
on a retro box.
black and white, silent pictures
that make my head hurt.
whimsical musings tarnished;
a damaged Charlie Chaplin film—
a lifetime burning
on the **** projector
4 hours away in an Ohio Autumn.

these days;
a blue wool hat i wear in
90 degree weather,
always misplaced the first of
November,
and Hypothermia is the name
of my favorite child.
i dropped everything
to cradle it because
it’s insane how heavy an
August shadow can be,

and yes! i’m the red gloves
found under the bed
several months too late,
the drunken mess that got
thrown in the leaf pile
by the curb last year,
the 3am snowfall that everyone
******* about on facebook…

spring just isn’t the
same anymore,
and people still *******
about that too.

This cheap bottle of wine worked better than my therapist.

I'm a champagne bottle
Brimming with an explosion
That bursts forth;
Three AM, no warning.

Shrapnel.

Get a coffee
Light up a cigarette
Write
Get published
Become famous
Get bored
Write again
Write again
Get more bored
Write, write, write
About boredom
Become miserable
Write
About misery.

Die famous
But miserable...


-- Eleanor

I have been recollecting our shards
Shattered glass of incandescent past
And I do not care if it cuts
My porcelain hands do not feel
For you have drained my blood
I have nothing left to bleed
But somehow I'm glad that
If you are reading this by any chance
Know that I didn't love you just once
From the first meeting until the last
And all the days in between
My love will stay unthawed
Frozen and locked here



-Petrified Heart, Margaret Austin Go

It's funny to build a tower
Only to play in the ashes
Three times the picture shattered
I'll gather the shards
And make myself a mosaic

Weathered stone
        Patiently waiting
               Watching seasons
                      Wanting only To return

O generation of the thoroughly smug
and thoroughly uncomfortable,
I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
I have seen them with untidy families,
I have seen their smiles full of teeth
and heard ungainly laughter.
And I am happier than you are,
And they were happier than I am;
And the fish swim in the lake
        and do not even own clothing.