I have a feeling
We will all be hacked
In the near future
It will be like the
Burn Book scene in
Mean Girls
But of epic proportion

I need to stand out
Like typos in a paregraph

Us and all our lonely ghosts
shells, empty,
trying to fill the gaps in
with lover's flesh and ink.
Whiskey to warm our ribs,
seal us air-tight,
and drown the monsters
we can't write out of us.
Suffocate the **** things
before they learn how to swim.
Haunted, but not horrified,
we've seen ashes before.
We only wait for the March winds
to blow them away
and light
just
one
     last
          spark.

She was my Drugstore Cowgirl
It's tough this time of year
She smelled like Christmas Trees
and pallet fires
rooftops were not safe
from our company
Car rides
Sips of beer
And medusa's stare
The Violent Femmes carried
through the air
I can still feel her hugging
on the sleeve of my grandfather's
old Army jacket
I tried too hard and not enough
She got bored