I can't help but look at you that way
"what?" you'll ask, puzzled, teasing
"you're going to ruin my life," I say
and your brow furrows, but you smile
"I think you make life pretty great,
and who says that has to end?"
and my lips creep into a smile
because I'm not afraid, despite it all
even knowing how far the drop would be

you shifted your weight
like a hunter when you saw me—
dead eyes, dead aim.

straight and true, like a well-told lie,
sliding off the tongue
with just enough rhythm
to sound like gospel.

a lottery in balance,
measured only
at the close of things.

that look of yours—
it’s a glass cannon,
and I swear I see a crack.
come on, baby—
give it to me.

take your shot.
aim for the chest
while my heart
swings open
like a rusted gate
on its last hinges.

make me think twice
about getting too close
to your kind again.

bare your teeth—
smile.
let that decoy body pull me in
while your hands steady,
while your breath slows,
while you line it all up.

exhale.
squeeze.

BOOM—

a clean ****.
I’m yours.
now drag me home,
lay me out,
and do what you do best.

to the little bird on the side of the road
i’m sorry i crushed you to bits.
i thought you were just so pretty
that i held you in my soft palms
and crushed you
until my hands were stained with red.

to my friend with the little black curls
i’m sorry i gouged your eyes out.
you see, i thought that i could get lost in them
and since i wanted to remain focused
i dug my nails into those sockets
and ripped them out.

to myself, as i write this,
i’m sorry i tore my heart out.
it was beating far too fast
beating far too lovely
and i left a hole in my chest
because i love myself.

to a name i refuse to say ,
i’m sorry you hurt me.
i’m sorry i hurt you, i mean
you left me… untouched
but since i loved you, loved you so very much
i let you go.

my ol' hobby
smoking you in
harming my kin
takin the pill
going in all out for the ****

you're white and yellow
sore and mellow
you give out gray
you're my demise they say
make me gay

you make my lungs hurt
but smoking you in makes me feel like kurt
holding the guitar
smoking a cigarette

If we share
Yes
The more would have less
But
The less would have more

If we care
Yes
We might have less time for ourselves
But
People without will feel better

If we love
Yes
We might be spread more thin
But
Others would have more to spread

But

If we ****

All is void

Blessings and Curses, two Edges of the same Sword
A Swordsman is one Ordained, knowing When and How
To Unsheathe, to Cut, to Pierce, to ****, only for Good
But if used only for his Good or sheathed rather than ****
He then is a Renegade, condemned by the same Sword

Nicky, the neighbor’s dog, drags a road **** home.
A beautiful pelt like those fox shoulder garments women wore in the
      forties.
But the head is crushed beyond recognition—maybe it’s a fox and that’s
      why Nicky, a canine, is conducting this wake on our front lawn.

Loretta, my wife’s mother, is in the hospital again. Forty years of Crohn’s
      disease has finally broken her.
It may take some time but she won’t bounce back from this episode.
None of us are sorry to see her die, not even Loretta. There will be a
      thunderous downpour during her last hour.

I like the story about the nuns hitting Peg in school–contumacy is a sin.
Emile and Loretta considered it an inappropriate punishment for their
      cherished adopted daughter.
So they pulled her out of Catholic for public school. They did their own
      thinking about discipline.

Early Spring, peepers all night, then the birds take over at dawn.
      Soothing—the mourning doves.
During this half of the year, May through October, we live in a green
      bower.
We turn the house inside out, move into the mountains.

In their annual order, flowers appear in the understory: coltsfoot, hepatica
      and trillium through to the end, late purple aster, spotted joe pye and
      pearly everlasting.
We let Nicky nurse her road ****, watch over it, roll around on it.
Don’t let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in the passing lane.