I wake up
every morning
or afternoon

With a happiness of 1
on a scale
of 1 to 10

On most nights
if the dice are good to me
I reach an impressive 7

But as sure as Sunday
I fall asleep

Down the ladder
hitting every rung
on along the way

Naked, flaccid, wasted...
watching the Sunset
swallowed by a landfill

The machinery has since
fallen asleep
the insects have now
taken back the silence

My mind is bankrupt
I owe
more than I own

The hourglass is a sandbag
with a bayonet tear
leaking grains

My poems are parrots
on the shoulders
of greater influence



*This poem is about drinking in a trailer by a landfill.

I am made of Ruins
onion-cutting eyes, phantom limbs

I am made of odds and ends
hyena fur, elephant skin

I am made of bravery
swallowing knives, a kamikaze cause

If only I could mend all that I have torn apart
sew together every loose stitch or broken heart

but I am not made of miracles