Last chance for revenge
First time spilling blood,
If only vicariously through the turn of wheels and the windshield's broken knuckles

If not for these fraught deliberations of unbridled rage
A tormented poet could be momentarily famous;
Artistic outlets can't pull a trigger.

She watches through the window
Terrifying premonition
Avoidable or irreversible,
Nameless intelligence stalks its target
At second glance evaporated

Hidden in mind
Gleam of unsolicited thought sinks a predator's claws deeper
Witness her briefly in ropes and knives
Constant awareness of an ageless virus


She's here now.
Sightless, breathless, eyeless, tongueless
She doesn't move or eat
Broken skin, observe freedom through the cuts
Her stillness offers forgiveness
No longer terrifying,
Premonition becomes option

I longingly reach for her

Jolly antlers
Curling happily like fingers do
Adornment of a stranger's imagination

Funny toothless braying
A beautiful accompaniment to the white rocks
"Ting ting"
The bell strung from your neck joyously speaks your odd truth

Tender plodding of new hooves,
The scabs of your retelling leave their own interpretation of your metamorphosis
You may be reconfigured
But you are complete
My little reindeer

To hide,
Make opaque the details
Sympathetic outlines
Obscuring what I should be feeling

Imaginary traipses through
Verbal scenery
Clutch your denial between your legs
Drink it while I'm not watching
Mouth agape, skin pulled tight by your truth’s fingers,
Another hot gush of “denial” arches your back and forces shut your eyes
You aren't watching either

We're blurrier than we were.

No definition,
What we are exists in 240p
I'm straining my vision against the harsh grain of a flickering lcd
I'm watching the most important part of your story disappear into sporadic outcroppings of dead pixels
I'm grasping an empty metal frame and begging until I feel like screaming,
“I can't see you anymore”

Sometimes I think I shouldn't.

Emotional stranger
No words to voice my stress
You will not hear
My foreign thoughts
We speak different languages now.

I've been awake for a while.
You have been in stasis.
A bitter slumber,
With burning dreams

My scalded thoughts writhe,
Frigidity is so tempting.

Am I ahead or behind?
I lost interest in this crossroads,
Years before you approached it.
You will stand and search and see,
Finally,
That in this flashy intersection of bodies
There is nothing to explore but what you've already seen in your head.
There will be nobody to talk to
But the corpses of those that never moved forward.

I have felt so much more
On this dusty two laner--
Without the distraction of the blinking lights,
Without the screaming of the thought police,
Without a lust ridden billboard selling supposed truth--
It is so much easier to see the horizon.

It is far more beautiful
Than flesh.
And is more eternal


I would see our fingers
Intertwined like you would see yourself
With as many people.

If that is truly what you want
And this is truly your stop
Maybe it's time I unclench my heart
And let you wander;
It's four in the morning,
And I'm exhausted anyway.

I hope by the time I fall asleep
Your ever-shuffling feet
Will let you find home.

My brother, I wish you the best.
Hoping this drive is easy on you,
Hoping the friends are good,
Hoping you pass,
Not just the test to become
A practicing personal trainer
But to become somebody new.

My brother, I wish you the best.
I wish you solace,
I wish you solidarity,
I wish you would not leave.
Not just here,
Because I certainly wish that too.
But I wish you would not leave me,
Because where you go I want to go with you.

My brother,
I wish I could skip the months
Because a day at most is what I am used to waiting.
My brother,
I wish you could miss me like I will miss you
And I wish for you never to understand
Not out of shame for myself,
But so you can become all you can.

Friends give you their hand so
One day you can let go.
I pride myself on my grip of stone.
There are other people,
Other places to grow old.

So divided,
The state of my heart
My splitting head aches from the fissure, it is cracked open.
I am proud to know you,
And I know the potential your new home could hold
And therein sits my dilemma,
Wedged king-like between the two words ruling my mind.
The throne:
Friend.

Future;
The crown

Because you are so firmly embedded in my past that you couldn't be
Torn out
By a riot or a ****** or a stateline.

But,
You tore a hole out of this town,
Be sure.
I'm sure I'll trip on it,
When I'm stumbling around,
And I'm sure it will hurt.

I just hope
You read those books I gave you,
And my coffee ends up staining the pages.
Because that kind of symbolic permanence is one of two things I wish for.

And my brother,
I wish you the best.