scraps and scrapes of
scripts,
from tears and  zippered weeping of
rips,
lie upon my consciousness like pimpled
irritants,
begging for compassion wetness of
completetedness,
but time is a bitchye mistress, fools not with
suffering,
so herein dispatched one of many driftwoods
dispatched

and let us say
who’s up next. Amen!

my ribcage scrapes against my heart
                              body
                              soul
      but isn’t supposed to
            protect me?

I liked to spring forth from the bushes
Trying to catch my 2009 year old friend mid March

The burning heat as firewood’s crackling glowing heart
Erupted from my knees as my own
Feet had fought each other to which was going to be placed
Seeing red white and blue the Final chalk
Me up as scraped with fireworks of every decibel explodes in
My head

Its back backed by the drum beat of a song we cant ever remember
But will never forget

i tried to tell my sadness to my friend once
they laughed it off
as if it were merely a scrape
that could be healed
with a bright colored Band-Aid and time
i thought about telling how it really was
tell how the scrape traveled into my bloodstream
into my liver
kidneys
brain
heart
and slowly my sadness began to pump through me
until it became me
like a bear burring in its den for the winter
only my winter shows no signs of passing