Mother, I starve myself till darkness
just so I could swallow the moon

Winds ever shifting -
dark on into light
   This feeling won't be lifting,
no! No, not this night.

   Winds ever shifting -
this..this can't be right
   My mind won't stop drifting -
it'll last forever, won't it?
   This Godforsaken flight.

I am drifting
A very lonely course.
Winds ever shifting,
My voice continues hoarse.
With the words
I will never say
And the herds
I shepherd every day.
It's time to awaken
But here I lay
Because those winds -
All they do is shift away.

Assuming control of the pen, from afar,
my mind’s spring leaks
trickling pasts through your present
to waken the hope that is in you,
you know
the taste of good and evil.
You discern flecks of the fruit in your stew.

Who brought these gourds,
who poisoned the broth of the good life,
who’s hate do you hold, in your beggar’s bowl,
really?

It’s shift change,
and pit stains
paint my blue shirt.

My feet hurt,
and I’m ready to leave work,
but the teenage party ****
doesn’t come in,
so of course I
am not leaving,
just grieving
my lost evening
freedom.

Sixteen-hour anxiety,
cause I almost O.D.
on carbonated caffeine,
as the sugar and acid
eat away
causing
painful tooth decay.

Make it home and hope to
get enough sleep to
make it through
my next shift.

Unload those greasy clothes
onto my bathroom floor
before I change into
my holy t-shirt and
ripped up shorts.
Don’t even make it to the shower
cause I am out in less than
a quarter of an hour
after I enter the front door.

In again, wash, and repeat,
I know this isn’t me.
I could do so much more.

Boss yells get your times down!
Fix this order!
Stop lounging,
if you got time to lean,
ya got time to clean.”

My co-workers only see
another cog
in the fast-food machine.
Even when I’m not clowning,
I am still a joke to them.

So, tired but it’s not just
sleep that I need.
So, burnt out that
I just want to up and leave,
but I’m twenty-three
and it won’t be
till I am twenty-eight
that I get free,
running off to another city
to get a higher degree
and escape this restaurant
barely get paid
minimum wage
nightmare.

You were always a 12-hour shift
Just two punches of my lips
Once in at 10PM
And once out at 10AM
An easy rhythm of making sure you were satisfied
I quit, but I forgot to clock out
And this ******* feeling never seems to fade even after I worked my last shift.

I am on my own
a Lighthouse Keeper
amidst the Night,
each fly,
in some presence:
coalition of a duty protruding
by thoughts,
delusions,
stories and
what’s exquisite
in sensations that
need guarding,
and then enjoined
with that never ending standing,
watching,
time lapping,
and all that taking place
in the ink hues with
scarlet pulsing as if hurt,
in baby blue
and lilac
by a sacrality
to me solely
constantly
held out
on
a string
to never let go
of
to
another.