Death and I are drinking a beer
while writing the words
to a love song that you'll never hear

We have scripted your eulogy
although you are alive
Its because you are dead to me

Buried inside my lungs
never to be spoken of  
cut off from my tongue

You were the living poison
only killing yourself
with all your pathetic reasons

Because Death and I
are better friends
than you and your lies

I'd rather drink myself to Death
and be his best friend
than be close enough to feel your breath

******* at the funeral
poison women aching in their parallel
they drink until Juliet is dead
or until in their head too
it is clear
free of fear and recalling
this was always supposed to be a tragedy
______________

no left or right turn
changes that everything, even love
begins and ends with some type of poison
the slowly dripping IV type
or
a sudden break check
dash to face type of poison

the Juliets' love only exists on one page
allowed to live if the real goal
is to die
smoke breaks, goodbyes
the ever too consistent "I'll see you arounds"
that is the point of a tragedy
it gets to claim the reason for existing
and the entire existence itself

Juliet drinks the poison every night
even after the man in the hole warned me
her love feeds on the liver
while the others begin to fade out

let me drip venom in your mouth,
poison your lungs, corrupt your thoughts,
break your limbs,

let me drown you under the waves of desire,
love me with your wrists bound,
pretend this is a dream

and learn your lesson now

It’s funny really
How I know the names of my poisons
Most people never know what they drank
Until it’s too late
But I take mine with food twice a day
Maybe that means I’m mad

on the day of the double funeral I stand
waiting for the rest of me to die,
I am that I am but I harbor a bad disease.
i should be anywhere and be doing anything other
than what i am.
because before Abraham was i am
standing in the empty quarter
reading a funeral manual on the
day of the double sky burial.
i’m poisoned off my pouch of yesterday’s mana.
gums are bleeding this is yesterday’s daily bread.
men cannot live off bread alone
and the jackrabbit horde is coming home
our own locust plague for a new Sahara.
i stand with a hangman’s fracture
lost on the old sermons in the sand.
following my family’s footsteps sadly in the wrong direction,
lost among the marking rocks.
snow leopards of the black blizzard and
my poison pouch of mana.
drowning in the fires we cook a stray dog
reaping all the whirlwinds I sound a 12 foot Tibetan horn
on the day of a double funeral -
perched in the dwelling of the solitude.

hate born of love
like Poison leaking through
the petaled veil

❦