The stakes are higher than some of my
worst friends on herbal fire
because every time I toss a buck to
Luck,
that homeward bound ****
who sits outside my door
and whistles at golden ******,
I lose even more
of my soul
from which I shovel the monetary coal
that stokes my furnace
and keeps me humble,
earnest,
and whole.
I want to let the ***** man in
so I can hear him confess his sin
and let him attempt to begin
a transformation
into a muse
that I can use
to write my information.
I wish I could write
of ice cube light
but all that comes to wish me good night
are the kisses of blurred sight
pecked by the fright
born of hesitant insight.
A kiss.
A kiss.
More so a bite.  
Beggar,I beg of you
if you are true;
Whisper to my hands
the plans
you can have them to do.
Because I'm tired
of being a liar
who screams on soap mausoleums
and puts exhibits in false museums
of how his heart
goes into his art
but all he really adds is the ****
part of the flesh
stolen from the mouth of Descartes.
Were that Luck were behind
every inky tittle and line
I wouldn't have to waste all this time
trying to weave together this rhyme.
I want to be my muse.
For now, though,
she'll have to do.
V^V^V^V^V^V^V
She knows better than I.
She does, she does, she does.
She knows better than I.
And she,
my muse,
makes me want to die.
She does, she does, she does.
I give her my eye and
never
ever
does she return my sky-blue eye.
"You don't even want it!"
I cry.
I cry with my one eye.
Screaming and tears.
Screaming tears.
Tears scream, you know.
I like to put on little shows
with my lil' screamers
and charge love
and harlequin femurs.
Exchange for tickets.
Exchange for a show.
And I cry like a proper ringleader.
There's no business like show business.
There's no business I know.
A quality show
Would be my muse killing me slow.
Maybe with her poetry.
Maybe with her face.
Maybe with a knife
keeping sickly pace
with the beating
of the heart
of a headcase.
Or maybe with outer space
like rumors of second base
with black lace
cast off
with grace.
I want the world out of my headspace.
There's no room for her there.
She knows she can fit.
She does, she does, she does.
But I keep forgetting.
I do, I do, I do.
I hope she kills me slowly
before I do,
I do, I do.
I do.