I’m
Paper-baggin’
It,
Paper,
Paper-baggin’
It,
“Oh lord!”
I’m paper-baggin’ it!

Alongside the rail come Neenah steel,
And foreboding, “Fox,” oh so tipsy,
Whispers, this meandering little missy.

I’m paper-baggin’ it!

And when Santa Fe’s now, near and
Her boyfriend’s whistle, prophecy’s clear,
So wills the way and away and away.

I’m
Paper-baggin’
It,
Paper,
Paper-baggin’
It,
“Oh lord!”
I’m paper-baggin’ it!

There’s something wrong
With the rain tonight,
Not quite right
And unattended –
Desolate little drops,
A plenty and falling,
Or leaping,
As suicide’s now stained –
The houses, the trees,
The tollbooths, the tires
And doldrums my feet now reside.
In angst over wet, these lesser and
Imagined crimson,
I encounter a wind,
Quite possibly a whisper,
But a chill to remind bone –
That we all end someday
And we’ll all be ended
Someday
As well.

Atop her night ‘fore one more broken altar,

The oddity in #309, a special sort of
Pale beholden raccoon ******’d lids,
Was showering mascara’d mayhem
And naked come two windows down.
Shivered and if only by candlelight –
Just her, from cold to ever’d numb,
Her dog, (a lab and, “Sam,” I think),
Endeavor and smoldering wick
Amidst burnt flesh, timid
Added scent wrought a
Stainless steel’s earlier promise.

Alone, and the winds carried
Whimpers, tearless atop
A mixture – sweat, fear, relief,
And, “you’d once loved me.” She
Looks up, under starless and towards
Two wandering eyes, my own.
So much so, that even my
Beer-tainted tongue could taste,
“It,” – ***, cash, and solemn lies;
She knew, I’d taste, I’d waste, come
Her sojourn aimed desperate and pallet.

But I refuse, when she called,
She begged and she gently lullabied,
“Ravage,” as the nails trace spiders,
Seeping, “junk,” and down her leg,
“Come be with me.” Please?
But – the, “Wiser?” I closed my eyes.
The, “Weaker,” took my last swig,
And alone, shuttered my window;
So having dodged her bullet,
I remove my clothes, my ***** socks,
And imagined one wrist’s warmth

Atop her night ‘fore one more broken altar.

Old Lincoln's creek comes to mind
when a dog's on my lap, a certain
song's a'whisper, a whimper, with
willows, and so much so, that the
once and promised immortality
evades, ever more than certainly,
more than certainty, when he'd said,
“hurry,” and I’d arrived too late.
And so I’d enter an empty home and
all that waits.

A ship hued red comes to heart
when the memories seem to spill of
only him. My legs were quite
weaker then, one plight, forgotten
and another one, my flailing hand,
with an only respite, offered rail,
and more frail, “hurry ******!” –
He'd said, “HURRY!” and I’d
encounter again, an empty home
and all that waits.

And so, the house regressed, if only
earlier, so too, the boy, with his,
“once-again,” first steps home;
weakened toe after bloodied toenail,
foot after foot, inch after inch, but a
reminder to the hunters that in time,
they too, can become the prey when
switches sundered touch and
tomorrow's maw’d gape, “forget;”
That was when, “hurry,” could be
assumed, would be assumed and at
ends, we’d never meet.

And so I entered the empty home
and all that waits.

I left the scent of bleach
To the palms of my father
And disavowed his residence,
A rock atop, “Mount Redeye.”
Let him keep the – sore back,
Torn ankle and manic boss too.

In adamancy, I mention this,
Special sort of, “resolute,”
While sipping nectar
Blanketed ether
Come the first minute
I ought be somewhere else.

And it’s when our sun greets,
The, “guilt,” the, “grief,”
Or tomorrow’s, “acquiesce,”
That I’d taste an awkward
Twitch of, “failure,”
Unbecoming last night’s plum;

Something lesser than sweet,
And a torture at tip of tongue –
An existence’s, “respect,”
Fermented, “20 years,” overdue,
Come peak, the admission of
My unrelenting weakness.

And though I’d never really
Known, “Him,”
I knew what he did,
I did what he did,
And’d lasted only days,
Having worked if only hours.

I’d left jobs before; he couldn’t.
I’d walked before; he wouldn’t,
And how my sweet amnesia failed;
But rather, scarred; burnt sacred,
Blunt, and brim of soul, prior
Sobriety and when I wept, “Father.”

I can’t feel around, “you,” anymore.
So to, the smiles only happen atop numb.

And I’d call it a, “kind of solace,” in knowing
Tomorrow wouldn’t matter either;

Not quite so much, so long as five, at least five
Of your, “sisters,” remain under ice and in the fridge.

This cure, “acquiesce and amnesia,”
At any given time,
Culls all but one, you –
My wife, and a third year’s scorn.

Nevertheless, I don’t want you to forgive me.
I truly don’t. I only want you to leave,

Pack and make good on your covenant so that this
Swim may end, for my toes should test elsewhere.

Just and walk away. Don’t look back, “please,” “PLEASE!”
Don’t look back so that I may finally look ahead!

Sinking in bed,
Can’t quite find the floor
And my right foot’s
Still covered sheet,
With lonely, “lefty,”
Somewhere south a star.

I’d swallowed my tooth,
Earlier, an added topping,
And down went the slice –
To ever remember the,
“CRUNCH!” of pepperoni, so
Reminded, a right hook’s sting.

And she’d left the ice bucket
Atop counter,
The tenth time this week,
But I’d only smelled her, “note,”
The last I guessed
And the last it ever’d be.

I was, “then,” – when you found your voice.
I was, “there” – By trip come broken lace.
So it’s “there,” where bravado’d gallant, and
“There,” where time flipped tricks, and theatre
Prior regret. Previous want and wary brow,
More importantly, ‘fore we’d ever remember.

Perhaps and only precursory,
The single bead of sweat, making way,
Later tear, and forever’d a tale,
From forehead unto sacred navel.
So the story goes, blasphemous and becoming,
After us, after, “one” and later, returning to,
“One,” again, this singularity of sorts.

I’d wallow, “after,” wherein we succumbed,
So much like the rest of the world –
Under, “soil,” under spotlight, under scrutiny;
Somehow ill from our mutual ******,
But even more so, the anesthetic consumed
Hours early and promise come one walk home.

More importantly, though, I am, “now,” stuck,
Stalled, dripped with fear, downing one beer,
After another beer, after another, after another,
And in reconciliation ‘for your maintained halo.
I’d wanted away, achieved a block, fell short,
Yet still, I somehow remain, a first – committed,
Whilst you dreamt that I’d never look back.

Do you know what it means to butcher?
To assault, to inflict,
To incite, to enflame?
To maraud in entirety?
To usher the kind of, “****,”
And with one word, maybe two,
Wherein even butterflies bleed
Amnesia –

And so,

She's ill and wrought under cover,
In between legs,
Pushing,
Pulling,
Throbbing,
Coming,
Crying,
Wanting, and crying again.

Tears atop whimpering the,
“Other’s,” name,
But screaming for
One, the only, “one,”
The lonely, “one,”
Solely one,
Done, and the one broken
Promise – I’d never come home?

And so,

I should have been jealous,
But I wasn’t.
I should have murdered,
But I couldn’t.
In their stead,
I silently tucked that knife
A little deeper
Mumbling, “sorry,”
For the first time in years
And making good on fear –
“Good bye,” and ensuing long walk away.

She held a red rose
Atop her breast,
Skin and path towards
Motherhood; desires,
Nearly hidden,
But a tempt, attempt,
Shrouded in satin.

Contrary to nature,
I left and let be,
The rose,
But not so subtle skin
So that she could dream
And dream for the both of,
“Us.”

As I’m tired,
So very tired,
Ever present atop an
Even all-knowing that –
There’ll come a time when
My wings tire
And this flight may cease.

She’ll either hold me
Or walk away
And so I wait;
Betting once more on empty,
Once more on, “away,”
And yet another
Suicide without ever dying.

My head’s drenched,
I lack an umbrella.
My clothes are soaked,
I lack a jacket.
My chin’s to the puddles,
So my brow drags the oil
And I’d crack if I had to smile,
If I had to say, “thank you,”
Just one more time
Under rain, under shame, and the
Laughing gods above.

With a sliver of scorn,
I do muster one more
“Thank you,”
As I’ve got my pay;
Cashed my last inch of dignity
And quickly lost
When I do the math and see
That I’d spent more on gas
As opposed to what I line my
Pockets with –
Lint and little more.

With a dwindling fuel,
Both in belly and beast,
I leave for the ends of existence
Knowing full well,
I’d return, I’d come home,
And when I can’t have food
I steal this simple moment,
A special kind of sustenance wherein –
I don’t want to see my wife,
My brother, or my mother.
I don’t want to see anyone or anymore.

His brother’s on my arm;
Cursing the opposing appendage,
For I’d killed his only sibling.

And I’d lie.
And I’d die.
I’d admit to none other,
But come the beer-scented blood he’d know –

My sibling’d just been married.

My other sibling’d just cursed mom.

My other sibling’d kissed a girl.

And the other, more just than most,

Ventured nether; near and dying.

Leaving me ripe
And if only pursued, by all that’d ever odyssey;
Family, vengeance and nature.
So to, brother feeds.

And I’d lie.
And I’d die.
And I’d admit to none other –
His caress and how my arm’d gone lukewarm.

The only, “kiss,” in years and almost a first,
Come lonely soul to feed, in addition a few more.

I had found,
Or stumbled upon
Where the love-birds –
Rock,
Lounge,
And pave the ways to
***.

My park
By day,
Becomes their park
By night
As they selfishly take away
All the seats
And sights,
Leaving me to drive on,
Drive home
And drive alone.

Accordingly,
I leave the seagulls to roam
And **** on them,
Hell,
Let them
**** on everything
For that matter.

When I gift
Them
The gulls,
I return to the crows
And vultures of
Solitaire –
Scavengers,
As I grow lost,
And maybe a
Little lonely
To the emptiness that I find,
In a one night love
And the run away soon
Afterward.

I don’t smirk,
Smile
Or laugh it away.
Rather,
I almost find a tear
Or a time to cry,
Not quite,
As I keep on driving
Past home,
City limits,
And state lines.

I
Cruise,
Accelerate
And arrive,
Hopeful,
Or reminded,
By the dreams,
Where I don’t die alone,
Or broken
But together,
And maybe with you,
The one I loved
And one I left
At that very same
Park
Atop a night not
Too far
Removed.

It was an early night –
1:00 AM early.
The police passed by
For the bigger problems
And the clubs roared
A little louder than usual.

Loud and aloud while I danced
And danced
The Saturday night stumble –
To the left, to the right
And twice back,
Destination: Home.

I continued too tripped,
Or ripped,
To have a friend,
A little lonely,
But feeling a little famous
All the same and all the while.

I strode with swagger,
Head held a little higher than usual,
Made my way home, slept
And started over tomorrow,
Or was it the day after; the, “numb,”
Could be such a nimble little feat.

It’s a good thing that a cold beer’s
Always just around the corner,
So to, the stumble may begin once more,
And the tip-tap, tip-tap,
Stammer, side-step, fall will
Lead me once more unto rest –

Fallen and without dreams.

Light’s out and star’s absent eyes –
Though I can see the alarm clock,
My blinking red pixels –
        12:00
12:01
Soon to be, 12:02.
.
The sound’s scampered away, leaving only an ear or two –
Debunking a tumble atop vinyl,
A second amongst hours skipping –
“Save me”
“Save me”
“Please save me?”
..
Something to touch is truant, from a once benign hand –
Abandoned so that the scars remain to itch,
And so I scratch –
This one’s from him,
That one’s from her,
But my favorite’s from you.
..
Tasteless pervades a fix, now abandoned, a wind somewhat vacant –
Memories; like our first dinner, tattered and tame,
        Forgotten moments, origins in eclipse
        And the such with no quarter for today,
Let alone something to show for tomorrow.
..
So my nose remains a vestige as I’ve already disemboweled my face –
Leaving all that was, to inhale upon a subtle cognizant;
That certain lucidity in between dreamt and dawn –
As I now divine not the vivid, never flowers,
Not you…but alone,
Finally, alone.
..
Alone, vulnerable and fixed in mistake,
At 12:02, come 12:03.
        …

Déjà vu’s dusk and certain glooms persist,
When I’m drunk,
A foul whiskey
And come closing, with a hand outstretched,
Scouting for safe or surface ,
Any guide or lane away from yearning.

But I do and I want;
I thirst for a tap atop pale palm
And not come my own claw;
But rather the benign I once remembered,
Now “retrievable,” in only dream,
Confined to only dream

It’s when I stub my most remote of toes,
That I realize –
Blood stains white carpets,
I’ve had too much to drink
And have once again forgotten
My way to rejection, ejection and the bathroom.

In desolation conglomerate lethargy
I make my way towards slumber,
Coma’d on my crimson carpet,
Curled into a little ball, afraid like abandoned cats
And lesser the enthusiastic for morning,
Quite the opposite a child and more so the escapist.

I take a
Gulp,
To wash the day
Down,
So very far down
And away from the
Hollow faces
And even paler
Words
That permeate the
Malls, halls
And roads that lead to a
Silent kind of slavery.

I take a
Gulp
To sink even further unto
Revolution, evolution
And nausea
As I witness
The knife
And once more into the
Back,
Our collective back,
Unnoticed, uncaring
And almost wished for.

I take a gulp, I take a gulp, I finish it off.

I grab another, I finish it off,
And another and another and another
So that I may succumb to a
Different kind of sickness.

It’s in this “state,”
No pun intended,
That I can finally see –
America’s
An illusion
And my noose is slightly
Looser
Than yours.

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.

She’d spread like clockwork,
Her words
And far from
Those
Ample
Black stockinged
Legs –

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

She’d came to me,
Me and alone
With my return to home,
A bottle,
A thought or two
And
Solitude
Prior the her –

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

And when three came to
Be,
And to “be” meant to
Close,
Followed soon,
Our kiss
Amid a mid-July
Parking lot,
She’d retreat –

“I’m not going to sleep with you,”

And retract

“Take me home,”

I did.
And when it came time,
That special moment,
Few and far for some,
Every other day for
Others,
I snuck away to the stars,
Slid beneath a pale green tree,
Took a swig from the swiped
Beer
And imagined myself having
Just dodged a bullet.

A group of friends,
A gathering,
Overlapped
And away,
Persists
Where all know all
With,
"You think you know me?"
In the all too honest background.

An answer to the above –
Our assumed empathy exists,
When truthfully
It truthfully eludes -
"You think I know you?"

"I"
Or rather the
"We" in the "here"
And "now" -
A lesser form,
And not our truest,
Hides the "real" and deep within.

Each has a pain,
Relatively at least
And perhaps our only concrete notion
Of who the "other" is.
A non-biological truth
Founded upon
A shared organic ancestry
Where
The skeletons in the closet
Translate as -
Lacks of ambition,
Ambiguous futures (at best),
Swept away addictions
And tears in the night,
Torture.

We shed our daily frown,
For a fake smile,
A facsimile
And play for the pains we do not share.
It’s a place
Where the hidden words,
The bad words,
The blasphemous words
Slip -
"Help me!"
And just as quickly
Retract -
"Never mind."

We hide it deep
And hide it well,
Because it's when it's
Shared
That we become what we try to
Avoid -
Attached
And in fear of losing
Each other.

Thus remains –
The ******* of perception.
As we hold to this
State of confused,
Or concussive,
Happiness.
And only later will we all cry,
As we've all gone home
And alone.