The annual parade
Was the greatest event
For those who stood high
on their heels and our heads.

With surgery smiles
and black mummified lashes
They wave at the crowd
and the camera flashes.

Yet those who dare walk
On this carpet of wine
Will struggle and ****
To remain first in line.

As still mortal glances
Chase after some idol
They never suspect
They are all quite suicidal.

The ocean wasn’t blue enough for you
My man of  seaweed eyes
And waves would dance and cry for you
But you swam below the surface

I tosed a coin into the well
And you flipped it back to me
A silly game of ask and tell
(I wish we could’ve touched)

The earth wasn’t hard enough for me
The girl with broken lungs
And birds would fly and cry for us
But I hide behind the window

You sent me a bottled message
I tossed it back to you unopened
A silly game of hide and seek
(I wish I could’ve found you)

Broken a few ribs.
It's a cage after all.
Whatever lives inside is scared.
Strike a few times more.

Draw a noose in the air.
Hang me from it.
Choke the frailty out of me.
Lower my head by the octave.

Daily bread.
Daily dread.
Daily please forgive me nots.
Go ahead and tie some knots.

I can still hear myself breathing.

Now I’ve tamed the
Paroxysms
The tidal waves no longer
Roar

The midnight screams are
Cut to whispers
The midday blaze
Reduced to coal

Now the days have fewer
Minutes
The past shall pierce the skin
No more

A sudden bang
A silent seizure
A crippling song
To end them all

Now I’ve tamed the
Colder seasons
The hail, the ice all thawed
And gone

The brilliant lines
The highest treason
I sold my vision
Just to live on

Santa patrona de los
Cirujanos plásticos y las
Escaras
Por ti merodeamos más cerca al
infierno

No hay que hacerse ilusiones
Por ti mediante
El cielo se mantiene libre
De hombres y expectativas

Nos pegaste al barro
Y al cemento
Condenados a la calvicie
Y a las rodillas en carne viva

El hecho de vivir de pie
Puede parecer una herejía  
Frente a tu maldita y relativa
Omnipotencia

Alone is not a state
It is not a choice.
Alone is an imposition.
A lisp, a stutter
A limp
A heart murmur
You are just meant to deal with it.

You see everyone from afar
With their perfectly formed
limbs and vowels.
Their birthday parties
Hen dos, happy hours,
Overcrowded funerals.

You must sit and wonder
For the seventh time in the afternoon
At which point you became a tool
One that is kept in a damp old shed
Until something breaks or needs fixing.

However, if we break or need fixing
we are disposed,
thrown into landfills, pavements
or institutions.

No one holds a funeral for a broken broom, a blunt knife or a faulty screwdriver.

My mind is too narrow
And so is this alley.
Once the rats come in racing,
They’ll gnaw off my toes.

Then there will be a coachman
Who’ll drag me to the ocean
And once there I’ll reclaim
My lungs and my prose.

To think that the maggots
Will have more of me
Than I ever had myself.

Because truth be told
We never owned anything,
Not even our graves.