Is that death?
coming through my open window
gasping on my coffee breath and cigarette eye *****
blue to the touch of Chicago days
Michigan waits on an owl head
the perched up body of subconscious me
I grasp onto November
and eat the birds
that have gone south
follow destiny by her hair
long long road highway legs
Love is nothing to be proud of
clocks lay willingly
***** by times palm and ****** fingernails
I am a wolf
I am the candle sitting at your tombstone
money and a job waits
the tie the belt the tucked in shirt
gravel and oil in your mouth
you dribble my words
like a baby
not so ready for earth
the orchestra explodes with human emotions
yet is mute to the tongue with words
and the outside city blue man lighten lights that shimmer like gold in Nevada creeks that end up in California gold rush ****** by pistols and machetes and guitar songs sung by the not so ready boys of the world singing french songs
and love
songs
and songs that replicate the Greek goddess' that we once prayed too
but now we
sit alone on rooftops
and gargoyles
mock us
as we stone taxi cabs and young men for being
gay
for being true
for being life
but what is life?
Doesn’t it hang by a fingernails that god chews on when a man is born with 12 fingers?
I say we are all destined to live
everyone  is destined to die in a hospital room
watching cable television
and the songs of Christmas leak into the bathroom walls
and cockroaches leech onto food molding like the blinding eyes of Beethoven
but the angels
of alligator city still sing and curse my name for loving them in night showers
of Kansas toxic snow rain melting at the cognitive touch of my ashtray fingers
I lay down and sink into the bottom of the cities ocean bed
I look for fish
I look for tombstones with my name
I look for Neruda's last word
maybe its
in the rain somewhere
encoded in the ****** markings of a lover
that I once kissed
and danced with
with wine
as the birds and bears were away in the dark forest eating berries that rhyme with colors
and we are all dancing to the same song of deaths tune
and gods  choreographed workings
the coffin business is high
the  gravel stocks are up
we are all burying something in the backyard
whether it be
useless crystals
great grandmothers necklace
turquoise eyes that shimmer like native American destiny
walking in deep snows
coughing in up down out diseases
**** the cowboys
**** the office
**** the temper
**** the Christians
**** the rifle owners
**** the politicians of Washington city

my mind is made up
I will sit drunkenly
in a apartment room
with a wine glass
filled with
piano keys
half off sold for a 30 cents each
and my cigarette and my mind
will be left alone
for the spiders
and the cable television
to devour
like a poor boy
eating a peach that he found
after it rained
for 3 days
oh how it glimmered purple
in the grayed city vision.
Like a painting
perched up in a home
a cabinet with nothing to eat but bread crumbs
and a sip of
expensive
whiskey
left out for the fruit flies
and the insects
that gave way
to human emotions
oh how we all
dream of nothing
and sit on bar stools
drinking beer
drinking ourselves
drinking women
drinking ******
drinking ****
drinking me
drinking Beethoven's last dream gasping for a another song but the defining ear sound of
deaths call is too loud
and even the fire flies
hide beneath the shadowy light of my palm
looking for ideas
too give
to their mothers
instead
they
got to pawn shops
and sell their golden necklace
for a pack of red
cigarettes.