step into the light--
show yrself--
my black-eyed,
horned,
*******--
stir me up,
shut me out,
string me up--

end tonight.
the pools
of fear
swirling in your belly
drown the saneness
of my eccentric existence.
end tonight.

step into the light--
show yrself to me,
dripping with sweat,
draining me of strength,
drilling me with smartmouthings--

poison crib.
poison crypt.
pretty curls.
petty cruelty.

hitting bricks,
slitting necks,
creeping beasts,
show yrself.

the moon
beckons you.
the mercy
forgets you.
my fist
tightens.
my blood lightens.
endtimes
begin
with the sanctity
of illumination.

dance along their tombs with me,
dance along
the season strums free,
with death on our tongues
and snaking amidst our feet,
we can see we really need
no other,
make a sacrifice to me,
you're a wooden doll,
and I, a chipper boy
swollen with danger--
the black birds
confetti fall and veil
our skeletal frames--
the smoking guns,
the sour milk,
and the obese worms
call out to us--
dance along their tombs with me,
dance along
the vibrance hallucinates
a crucifix,
a caricature,
a christmas,
your bony fingers
feel fine
against the sockets
of my crimes--
I'm hardly alive
and
that's so encouraging--
the end
perpetually nigh,
the future stumbles blind,
you're a wooden doll,
I'm your match--
let's stoke the night
burn and beacon
until the flies
blare the buzz.

the wild suburban dogs
eat
the leftovers of a tom cat
outside
my apartment door--
the neighbors gone,
they must've done wrong,
the cops keep asking me
where they went--
a bluebird lands
on
a bent limb,
no song to sing
just worms to slurp,
a nest to think about,
and a debt
to me--
for the undeserved attention
I grant.

"C'mon. I haven't had *** in three months and I feel like I'm going to explode."

"That's not good."

"You're telling me. Wish there was someone who'd take care of it for me."

"I'll be over in a bit."

I drove in calculated trance.
I'd made the trek hundreds of times.
I was looking forward to showing her
new tricks I'd learned,
but I feared the segue.

The desperation call from an ex--
always easy to bed, I have yet to feel regret,
but finding the energy to strike up chit-chat
before the undress--
always the hardest part.

I couldn't remember the code to her neighborhood's gate,
so I lied in wait, until some sappy black SUV
strolled in first.

I pulled into her parking spot.
Rubbed my eyes.
Sprayed on a dash of cologne.
Dragged a comb across my hair.
Looked at the clock on my dash--2:00 a.m.
I aged much too far for these
fires,
but I inhaled deeply,
slammed the car door,
marched to the door,
rang the bell--
a bark,
a scramble of paws,
then bare feet patting wooden floors.
She opened the door,
gauging my face to see if she was allowed to smile.
I put my right arm
on the low-side of her back,
peered over her shoulder.
The house was littered with dusty textbooks,
dog food, bras,
cut out magazine articles,
and half-empty cups.

"You smell good," she said easing into a grin.

"Thanks. You too."

"Want to watch some Disney Channel?"

"You're still doing that?"

"Makes me feel innocent. C'mon." She grabbed my hand.
Led me to her bedroom in the back.
Cartoons laughed
as I pulled off my shoes.
She desperately fought for conversation,
"So it's been awhile."

"Yep."

"How are classes?"

"Good," I sighed, looked at her brows, "yours?"

"They are pretty good. I am finally getting to student teach."

"Awesome."

"Yeah, it is. I really love my kids."

"They lucked out."

"I wouldn't say that."

Her ******* looked bigger.
Maybe it was the shirt.
She was in tiny khaki shorts,
her toes chipped--painted red.
She let her hair down.
Sat on the bed next to me.

"How are the fellas?"

"Nonexistent. How's the girlfriend?"

"We're on a break."

"Sorry to hear that."

"For the best."

She kept curling her toes
under her ***,
her hands tugged at her shirt
anxiously,
the cartoons went to commercial break,
she started to open her mouth again,

"Sooo--"

I snagged her hands,
pinned her to the bed,
licked the exposed portion of her chest,
unbuttoned her shorts.
Pink ******* with white roses on them,
I pulled them off quickly,
threw them as far away as possible.
I gnawed on her thighs,
while sneaking my hands under her shirt,
her ******* were exceptionally vocal--
more so than any other woman's I have seen.
I tore at her shirt and bra until both were gone.
She stared at me wildly, trying to understand
where the old man she once knew had gone.
I ******,
I fingered,
I spat,
until her body ached,
she ran her fingertips along my waistband,
and undressed me.
Trying to inspire an *******.
She slurped
and rubbed at my *****,
I started to grab a ******,
but she said she was on "beastly" birth control.
I turned her around,
pumped from behind,
not wanting to look at her eyes
or gaping mouth,
I sent my mind off to fantasizing about
other mouths, *******, and *****
in an attempt to stay hard,
after half-an-hour or so,
her body convulsions became so grotesque,
I pulled out without finishing.

While she shook on the bed,
I pulled on my pants,
"Well, I should probably go."

"I was hoping you'd sleep over."

"We aren't like that."

"We used to be."

"Relationships change."

"So you think we still have a relationship?"

"Sure."

"So do you still love me?"

"No. It's more of a pornographic relationship."

I left her room,
while a tween sitcom mocked me with a laugh track,
I glanced at her family portraits outside her room.
Went into the night.
Went home.
Slept without taking a shower.
Woke to find myself unchanged.
Weary.
Meaningless.
Thirsty for love, sorrow, remorse--anything.

After murderous fall of moon, after starving cat's croon,
my body remains.

After getaway car turns to rust, after skyscraper scatters as dust,
my body remains.

After milk carton goes missing, after women disposed in kissing,
my body remains.

After the cackling retreat, after the burying buzz of her words on repeat,
my body remains.

After greeting card ages yellow, after whiskey tastes mellow,
my body remains.

After white suburb tastes of ****, after inner-city tastes black death,
my body remains.

After fifth or sixth televised war, after commercial break bore,
my body remains.

After drunken desperation, after belated bedroom exasperation,
my body remains.

After propaganda pill-popping, after church pew splinter sopping,
my body remains.

After farm fields on fire, after ***** clothes hung on wire,
my body remains.

After open casket sorrow, after sympathy borrow,
my body remains.

After winter of extreme tire, after binge and pyre,
my body remains.

After tearing nostalgic shoreline, after parking fine,
my body remains.

After dumbfound pride, after proving my hide,
my body remains--

awaiting a whitewash of hot rain,
awaiting a ***** cradle free of pain,
awaiting a salty crest daydream,
awaiting a snip from the seams and--

sweet release.