It's really happening.
The leftover boxes
from the last moves
are being filled up again.

Enigmatic handwriting
across shipping tape, remnants
from another script
being lost in translation, somehow
scrawled on the wall, understood
and turned meaningless
as paper, shirt, and souvenir
change places,
coalescing in another box
or completely vanishing
behind a dividing line.

It's time to say goodbye
to so many things.
Long goodbyes,
thru work days
and youthful nights
when all added up,
too short to catch
my breath.

wearing champagne
moist circle
of green salty lips
a concrete glass
girl pierced
throbbing dirt
red bone

a translucent puppy
bellows some buggy
and fresh crapped
candy like a
ferocious daughter
exploring the needles eye

We live our single lives
whether with friend, girl, boy
husband, wife or family.
We live our single life.
That is the American Way,
and certainly not
the United Way.

We're taught to lift
ourselves up, bootstrapping.
So I keep sampling
my heart with replacements,
hoping against the odds
that mean means something,
and normal distribution doesn't
give Gaussian grouse.

Or could it be
I'm strapping myself
to the wrong boot
and all my recursive
iterations are yielding
a false curve
to my zero coupon life?

Choir don't need no Gath Brooks

Lordie lord, spam that yawns across earth's lawn,
set your glory upon holy sky!
Baby talk, HA! That's processed Kraft
cheese or strength, babbling to silence avengers.
Do you see or does your finger point
to Moon, Stars and Kautempathkan.
What is a man that you can't remember,
Or a son who can't care of man?
You've made a name of nameless less.
Memhkotainya, name it with dignity.
Show some respect for the handywork,
they stare beneath our feet.
Bleating and mooing,
and Yes, beasts in field,
chicken ****, and fish,
sea lane routes
to Us, our way
Nobly in your ***** named.

Blackheart gives
a gun to me
my brother,
and slaps us
my sister.
He says for country,
for security sake
take this pistol
and shoot us
because we are them.
In traditions long
lost to meaning,
I cover her face
to hide my shame,
kick her rib
to mute the pain,
and **** that hole
before life's drain.

We dance on Kali's sword,
watching memories fade
away in real-time.
Dance, fool, dance.
Arms looped in arm,
we circle, chanting, holding
on to each other
as the world is cleaved,
and shaped into...
What?
Rebirth?
Redemption?
Or just plain old something new.

A chaotic whites
at least not stained red
this time too much.
We small band
looping, preserving,
what we think best
for Vishnu to fill up
the next green sprouts
with purple majesty.
RIP.