Just because Mother told
Father he looked like some
New York tourist, with his

Loud shirt and hanging camera,
He hit her once or twice, you
Couldn’t tell, just remember

The yell, the cry and flurry of
Fists. Mother looked a wreck
After that, her eyes gazed out

On a different world like some
Columbus on dangerous seas.
You **** with me woman,

You’re going to regret it,
Father said, his bass voice
Flowing around the room like

A large bell, his knuckles
Speckled in bright blood.
Mother’s spirit was black

And blue, but he never once
Touched you, not even a raised
Hand; just his words and stare

Kept you out of there. You can
See her now, cowering when he
Came in, standing stooped over

The sink and saying softly, Mary
Lou, don’t say nothing when
Your daddy comes in just let him

Settle in to his chair just let him
Be calm and unwind, don’t bring
Him troubles or worries, just let

Him be there. You watched as she
Shook when his key hit the lock,
The young woman she’d been aged

With each hard look and knock.
You sit now and see her in the
Crazy house, wandering the ward,

Gibbering to the walls. You can
Still recall your father sitting in
His chair, his eyes in some lifeless

Stare, with the carving knife Mother
Had ****** into him, well rooted
There and in the background on

The radio some Country and Western
Singer was singing deep and slow.

Damp energy descends
from skyline prophecies
an irresistible souvenir
laced with infatuation
the gentle, yellow moans
the way they mirror
streetlights and flies
the friction of blue moons

A warm front beseeched her
Sweet vocals of glittering jazz
I fell into the intricacies of riddles
Chasing the pavement of cultures
Upon her breath.
Had our tongues even met?
A memory impossible to worship
The echoes of dragon fire
searing at the base
of my tonsils
A sea surfing current of hurt,
yet a pleasurable hurt
an enjoyable suffering

Tired
She rubs her red eyes
Creaking down the old wooden stairs
Barefoot

Looking for a new purchase
a better  foothold
She never seemed to scan
The right barcode

So she sits like an indian
Thinking thick smoke signal fantasies
Dreaming about the good old days
Days that drunken lips taste like honey
The smell of ***** like roses
You seemed to have your signals crossed


You smell like home to me







I smell like cigarettes and mexican beer






You fell asleep face down in the bathtub
And woke up singing your favorite song

The room is empty
And the door clangs open and shut
When they feed you three times a day

You begin to write on the walls
And tattoo yourself

A poke here wont hurt


I always save my pills under my tongue
...I keep them
And one night when its pouring rain outside
When the thunder and lightning play dice against your bedroom window


Youll swallow them all at once


Without a single drink of water


I hope you wake up next to me again
Because I've been worried
Where have you been?

You can go make friends with the gods on Olympus
Walk barefoot through the promise land
Cross the sea
Cross the river
Across town
Have some dinner

Just come back to me when you've had all your fun
Lay in our bed thats warmed by the sun

We spit stories and sunflower seeds off the bridge
Walking down unimportant crooked roads
With names like summer lane and love street

In the afternoon heat
I popped your soda top
And we walked like we had shoes

The heat glued us together
The cold that once tore us apart
The blizzards would come in
And drag you up into the lonely white sky

The window is open
As we sit smoking
A joint you rolled with care
The sweet notes of night time
And heat roll in and fall asleep on your chest


In a tangle of your arms and blankets
I woke up for work
I put on my greasy boots
And pants with oil stains

Maybe something as simple as goodmorning
And a kiss to the back of a neck
Something like that could start life over
And give me something to breathe about

For the same reasons that I stay hungry
for dinner and tired for bed, I keep my
heart a little lonely for poetry; that way,
I can imagine your weathered hands against
my pale thighs as clinging starfish – my
fingernails, bleached cockleshells washed up
on the barely evening beach of your back.