The man who can't read came to visit today,
he sung along to each song that the radio played.
The track marks and scabs wove a story of bother;
of a life cut off short, my uncle, his father.

The man who can't read can fix anything:
a gasket, a hinge, a lever, a spring.
He pedals his bike and sweats up a storm,
no lights, no water, just part of his norm.

The man who can't read used to play in the yard;
we'd catch crickets under bricks, and skin knees til they scarred.
Garter snakes hid under the walnut tree
and we'd catch one in each hand and grandma would flee.

The man who can't read has been told that he's dumb,
that he smells like an ashtray and looks like a ***.
He still owns a picture of when we were young,
when we lived in the house where the picture was hung.

If you’re surrounded by people in fanciful dress,
who only take advice from peers they want to impress,
just remember that soon you’ll be home in your bed
where the only racket is the thoughts in your head.

The leaves will change color and the skies will turn grey,
the sun will go hiding early on in the day,
the chimneys will smoke, the nights will stay strange,
and we’ll lose track of time keeping track of the change.

Parental love could shatter the eggshell persona of a rascal young man
who carved ***** rhymes into the boy’s bathroom stalls,
who doesn’t understand the point of deadlines,
who saves his milk money to spend on strike anywhere matches
to burn shed bark from the maple in the back of the park.
He remembers the days before mom rediscovered her vices;
the days when there were cocktail meatballs and Christmas cookies.
Those years he will never get back now seem stringy, translucent,
and barely clinging to the fault lines of a shifting mind.
One day he will think of those cookies and taste bitter almonds
as his checking account becomes overdrawn,
as the fix-a-flat in his tire doesn’t stop the escaping air,
as he slips into the warm blanket of Bombay Sapphire.

here we spin the synchronic dance of the fluids
that dribble down in aesthetic perfection;
free-flowing from the gullet of creation
into the palms of the frenzied flock.
the grim etchings left by her in the signet
reflect the proper terms for glossolalia,
but the honeyed tones are lost to primitive organs
and a piteous gurgle is all that emerges.

here we were, eaters of shale, chewers of dirt,
warmed beneath the blanket of her shadow,
paled by the protection of her casting murk
that hid us from the vile stars.

pollen, pollen, pollen, pollen,
showering, soaking, deep down in the gut.
Bezoar of my bezoar, heart within my sleeve,
I am waiting for my emotions to return to me.

I said she'll be fine without me
I thought he'll be fine if I wasn't around
But she ran off with a razor
Jagged edges and sharp exterior
Piercing smile with dig deeper eyes
And he found paradise floating
At the bottom of fire engulf seas
Thinking he was a pirate king
I thought they would be fine
I thought...
I thought....
......I thought.....
                          .......I......
Thought...
We had it perfect
A love a thousand miles long
But now that only seems like a walk
Compared to the wounds on your wrist
And the last thing you said to me
"I'm fine."
We had it made
Best friends till we died
Ride or die
**** or be killed
But alcohol took you
With an empty shell leaving your last thought
Painted clear to see on the wall behind you
"I'm fine."

esophageal flames.
shots of whiskey with a bleach chaser
on wednesday where the sky is clouded over
and the strays stick close to the watering hole.
pepto becomes water
to ***** the fires from within
while the alarm clock blinks 12:00
because I haven't set the time.

This city cuts
This city bleeds.
The lights are blinding
Concrete streets.

A littered nature
Faded sun
In stitches are
All lakes and farms.

You run and run
Try to escape
You feel the pain
Try not to break

Your soul unfolds
Mind closes gates
You've seen it all
You know the dates.

They keep throwing things at my face
Running away from this toxic place.
I plead and ask for a confrontation...
Nothing to do but accept this mutation.

They've been away now, for far too long
Maybe it's me, that they see is wrong.
I never deserved this kind of treatment,
but it's what they do for their own entertainment.

I know I'm human, not a toy nor a pet,
but it's all the cruelty and the insults I get;
Snickering and bickering at my every detriment
Always saying: I'm just a failed experiment.

They won't come near me, never again.
The terror in their eyes, they'll forever retain
Seeing the beast that I've now become
The wrath I've held in, I finally succumbed.

I sleep in a crater on the far side of the moon.
I tell tales to the moon-cats about the warm month of June.
We sing songs with no lyrics, because moon-cats don't speak;
while we wait for the pizza guy who's been late for a week.

I sleep in a tree in the west end of the park.
I stripped it of leaves and all of its bark.
I just bummed five bucks off of a guy jogging by;
he said "fight the power", and held his fist in the sky.

I sleep in my car, somewhere outside of Denver.
Don't ask for how long, I don't really remember.
I met a weird looking guy and he said "Hocus Pocus",
now I spend all of my days in the back of my Focus.