Faces

Millions of them
Moving meandering
Like Movies untitled undeserved

As the clouds divulge
In their own worried woes
Knives lay scattered in empty streets
Disembodied revolutions churn out stale music
Of the 1920's and 30's

Aging face
Dusty memories
Of youth spent
Running crying never thinking of
Dying

Rotations of afterthoughts
Conveyor belts of love
Rusting now
Red and brown from being
Left out
In the rain

To die here
Is to live here

To live here
Is to be born here

To be born

To be born
Is the greatest
Practical joke
Of all

A gift wrapped
In weathered red bow
Hear the harp
Fingernails plucking
Like tears atop still pale lake
From the angels
Which none can see

Low boredom
Deep pint glass
Fingered oaken table
Gentle sleep
Frightened dreams

And the smoke plumes
That leak from the clay chimneys
Of families made of
Potatoes, carp & beer
Cheer on filthy diamond
Who shines not from the sun
But from within

Clicking faces of the past
Every wrinkle reminds
The ones who have lived too long
Of the times without them

Insidious disease
Down & down with no ice
Brown & tongue tied
The lady in white presses
Her red lips together
As the piano man flicks his Bic
Under his cigarette fix

A mixed thought
Of two minds
Moves through the stem
Of my spine
And all I can come to understand
Is that these days will one day
End & End
And there's not a ******
Note or bill or money order
I can send to keep that
Blacked robed postman away
From gloved' hand

So hear ye' dear brethren
The underlining of scholars
Is naked underneath

Each poet has to take a ****
Sometime

Warring heart &
Out on the streets
Hear the beat & the creak
Of the bones
Soon to break

Oh' nodding child
Drink gripped viciously tight
Streaks of solemn pride
Bed cast in fire
The devil wears your mother's
High heels
Chuckling as he moves
For the backdoor
Tail wagging
In the dim white moonlight

Sole of the soul
Worn down & ragged
Each penny I got
Was made for you &
You only

She lays alone with
Her black hair down sighing
As I'm dying blue sky turning
Into hot florescent night

Plucked my eyebrows
And got myself a shave
All I need now is a prayer
And a soul to save
But the pay ain't worth
The pavement where the
Sounds of the hurried bustle
Of faces - all those faces -
Moves outside & inside of me

Dear Chump;
Record day of sales
Next to the furnace door
Dressed in the lace of dead queens.
We were mad to live the way we did.
Imagine if life was just one big crayon box,
How many pictures you think you and I would make?

Sin Breaking Fast -

Dearborn Draught Season IV

Where the quotes
Line-up like old milk bottles
Twinkling off tinted glass
From the hanging February sun

Noose around my
Neck since the
Day I was born

Concrete tastes fresh here
And this silence is killing me
Throw me a quarter cause'
I don't have a solution
To all these problems of mine

And there's no couch comfortable enough
Or ears wide enough either
To get me away from this rickety
Wooden boat without any oar
Or holy sail that I call life

Bitterness tastes of
Stale red wine
Floating clipped fingernails
Drift across bloodied sea
Brown crumbling wickedness

Bring me
My final cup
Of tea