Horizons traced with trembling hands
breathe darkest depths aglow
bring pinkest rose to scarlet hues
all innocence be thrown
dew forming now on swollen bud
sweet nectar old as time
as shaking limbs cry out in bliss
to you, sweet love of mine.

Or....


Rut me, **** me, kiss me, **** me
take me on all fours
throw my back against the wall
then roll me on the floor
Abuse me, use me, wear me out
and make me scream your name
then have a swig of bedside beer
and do it all again.

The blood boiled
In the bottom of my shoe
And had it not been for the
Dream and requisite
Starvation,
A hunger born only yesterday,
I’d have simply walked,
Walked anywhere, walked away –
Leaving dignity to the whims of
Drink…never dumb, but numb;
The path of least resistance.

It’s within that second
And second swipe
Of burn to my ankle,
Alcohol unto a wound
And far from belly,
That I recognize Achilles
And the tendon
That now throbs –
Our brotherhood
Sealed in weakness, wanton suicide
And early grave
Should I break and break and
Break.

In desperation,
I open my wallet and look to her,
Two eyes atop gloss,
For the memories that fade
During these deadened hours -
Smiles lying in wait and simpler times
As I pull up my sock,
So that the cotton soaked with the
Sweat of others and their hours
Seals my very own crimson away.

I sigh.
I continue on;
You do too -
4 more hours to sleep
And one more payday to eat.

Every time I see a
McDonnell-Douglas
80,
Or MD-80,
I sweat the deadened
Drop
Of a labor
I’d wish not
Remember.

We called it,
“The Oven,”
Name and noun
For the belly,
The belly of the
Beast –
Texas high noon
And no water,
While
Tossing luggage:
*******,
Prongs
And cadavers,
Hours on end
Under Spanish howl
And deafening
Jet engines.

I soon left,
The tarmac,
The turmoil
And clamor
Of airport operations areas.
I picked up,
Walked to the
Cantina
‘Cross the way,
Grabbed a beer,
Grabbed a U-haul
And grabbed my
Girl
On the way out.
I’m here now,
North
And of no end to
Mechanism,
My commodity
Food,
My machine,
Now a car,
Though admittedly,
When I look to the
Sky
And spot an MD-80,
I remember my
Toil
And sympathize for my
Sister,
A blonde and the
Youngest of the brood
Who continues to
Stomach that very
Hell
I’d freed myself from.