Boldly, bold balding,
going mad at the buzz of cynic critic--
busting friendships like comic watermelons
atop bloodstained ceramics,
the vultures remain--
always do;
I can see it all boldly while balding, sipping
tomato juice without gin due the doctor's call--
always do;
I can see it all boldly while scraping dirt under nails,
scattering my words at a heel'd walk-in and siren's call.

Boldly, bold balding,
flipping off motorist and through magazine pages--
repairing family ties with thank you notes, faux kind eyes,
never hurt to try,
for the vultures remain -- they won't give their name--
never do;
I can see it all boldly while balding, they ask me
to give two ***** -- when did I give one?
Never do;
I can see it all mostly and smearing, watercoloring
through the floorboards up to the ceiling;
the telephone sings, I answer and receive,
"stay the hell away from me",
and I will.

I will.

I really, really will.

No home, no front door to unlock,
a life of roams, tires burning rock.
With powders, pills, and subpar poisons,
I remember your childish face,
the reddish furl of your hair;
your spine-tingling body strut cascading into French heels.
No luck, no fat genie or 7 on the die,
rainy bucks, broken umbrella with sigh.
Like songbirds, sirens, and symptoms
gracefully disappear without a note of gloom,
your smile, the original resurrection,
slides from tangible memory -- into mythos -- into misery.

Fast food
of love,
eating, eating, eating,
there's no discussion, no daydream or
bright-eye'd plan,
only blankets, ******* Jack rings,
and plastic floating promises
in a draining bathtub.

The blackbirds circle and sing,
while you download new ringtones,
paint your nails,
and screen.

Once you've got the knowledge,
you can't fake ignorant bliss.
Once you've got the knowledge,
it's no-hit-all-miss.

Soften you up
with promise rings,
Hallmark cards,
and confetti strings,
the ******* frees,
the ******* ease.

Once you've got the knowledge,
you can't fake ignorant bliss.
Once you've got the knowledge,
how can you love yourself?

I'm under your skin,
with my pen uncapped,
I'm the love your mind's got
on tap,
as the cigarette burns,
as the knives unfurl,
I know,
you know,
that ultimately
you're growing sore
from the impending
marital bore.

So blow up the bridge,
walk through the alleys,
let the guilt of your heart
dissolve in coffee,
the time--now,
as it's always been
because

once you've got the knowledge,
you can't fake ignorant bliss.
Once you've got the knowledge,
there's a riotous beat in your chest.

Putting up the red heels,
washing off the blush,
Anna sits,
grabs her phone,
calls me,
"I'm hanging up the gloves."

"What?"

Anna hangs up,
her cellular words
whispering on the wind.

She's going all in,
ambition ******,
picket fence planned.

I fester at the side of the shower,
while laugh tracks burst in the room
through my barricade door.

My world shrinks,
the fever girls find wedding bands
and turn to vapor,
while I wrinkle,
gather dust in the far corners,
and dose nostalgia until
I no longer care to breathe.

**** near me
with perfection talking blues,
caressing crystal drinks,
promising future sneak,
and blanketed romance,
**** near me
with hissing tape violence,
milking the moment,
snagging the attention of the suit
and the tie,
**** near me
blowing every ambition in the room,
plunging into whiskey,
head first and lonely,
**** near me
sha-la-las and oooh-la-las
slither into my forked crypt,
staining my funeral garb,
plastering my cask,
**** near me
brothers looking for to see,
while sister ***** the poison,
I dare her to keep pushing,
**** near me
the kissing and the clowning,
the nightgowning I soon to go a' drowning,
cockroach in the corner,
**** near me
Miranda owes me fifty,
the filthy ******* creature,
draining me of chatter,
**** near me
hustling for the saddest rent,
sleeping with the butcher,
under Martha's tent,
**** near me
the crows collect seed,
the know-hows bashfully reread,
while I **** near wearied, worried;
bleed.

I scattered my wife
in an array of bedside ashtrays.

I wore my shoes out
trying to find a pure form of love.

When love found me,
it arrived late and carried a fee.

The ashes of my former life,
crawled, cradled and spliced.

Until the wife I burned through,
became bright, became beacon.

It didn't hit me until the third month
of "freedom".

I laughed while laying beside Miranda's
milky twin.

As the copy sputtered with barnacle conversation,
I walked free. I walked home.

I felt washed clean in a gleaming sea
of finding the past me.

Rachel’s hair, black as ink,
splatters my blank skin.
It’s a rewrite for bad readers,
a stroll for quick-to screamers,
a phone call at 3 a.m., and
a sickening high that just won’t end.


Rachel’s teeth, sharp/jagged like littered glass shards,
dig into my aged, faintly seasoned flesh.
It’s a feast for lazy vultures,
an eyesore for devout heathens,
a dusty revolver on a Sunday, and
a lone drunk at a flybuzz wedding.

Rachel’s soul, battering ram/sputtering mad,
dilutes toxic mine, leaves only the rind.
It’s a constant reminder for dangerous nostalgia,
a blanket smoldering in fire within winter-without-end,
a handshake and a heart attack for closest kin,
an elevation, a joyous atomic cloud, and
a sky crying elative confetti tears of future me.