I read a chapter on beating-heart cadavers
how they lay looking alive
chest rising, blood pumping
but brain not functioning
I started to cry
because once upon a time
you were a beating-heart cadaver
and now I know what comes after
how they probably slit you
from below the belly button
to just under the Adam's apple
practically unzipped you
then systematically took out organs
cutting arteries, clamping things
all the while your face
calmly looking asleep or maybe
hidden under a shroud
despite the initial stomach drop
I realized I couldn't have been
more proud of you
I couldn't have been
any more
proud

This marble pedestal,
that has me so high up
like an extraterrestrial,
is causing a lack of oxygen
my thoughts drift from neurons
to the tip of my pen
so many questions without answers
so many things giving me cancer
my own thoughts jousting
after the sting of a friend's syllables
even though I try and be gold
they still hold me up
push me to the clouds
where I will die for want of air
but if I jump down
I drown

I used to be golden
now I'm covered in tar
My lungs give in when
I've traveled too far
please let me shine for
just one more moment
please let the light
reach out
so I can be gorgeous
for someone who won't know me
fill up my waters
then break through my levy
my hands are shaky
nobody can steady
these legs full of jello
all I want is a
hello old friend
hello

I'm sorry but poetry does nothing for me. Half the time I don't read it and when I do I like less then half of what I read. I think I'm done for a bit, maybe a long while. See y'all later, hope your sad words give way to physical smiles

Ice and hail have pounded their songs
deep into the earth
men have brought fire and axes
torn into the rock with picks
no thanks given
no compassion shown
to the land that bore them
yet the soil will live on
long after they are gone
grow over their towers and bridges
crumble their walls
slowly until not even the animals
will remember their calls
till the trees stand tall
roots buried, gaining sustenance
from their fall

This one time, Eddie and I were in his house, their neighbor fed the squirrels and they had over run Eddie's backyard. He saw one on the fence and asked me to grab his bow. Standing at the back door he drew back an arrow, took a deep breath in, let it out slow, and let the arrow fly. It struck the squirrel right through the eye and flung it from the fence top. Eddie's pops saw and congratulated him on the shot, but said we were not to waste the squirrel so Eddie cooked it up on the BBQ and we ate it. It tasted terrible, but I'm ****** if that wasn't the best shot I've ever seen. And I'm ****** if we didn't eat every last bit. And I'm ****** if Eddie ever dies for a second time, when no one remembers him.

There are generations of kings
and peasants buried in my bones
though I claim to be neither
riches and starving stomachs
reside in my skin
though I've only experienced one
there are daughters and sons
doves and guns
my flesh is a tree
torn from the earth
my death will be
another's birth