dear basil,

this isn't about christmas,
though i hope you have a good one.

this is about crying.
or more like
how you don't.

i would say i don't want you to
but i know you.
and your eyes are my eyes.
so i need them to cry.

if they won't cry for her
let them cry for me.
cry for the me you lost
cry for the you that you can't find
cry for the person in the mirror
who doesn't ******* deserve this

because you don't.

YOU DON'T ******* DESERVE THIS.

just because your bruises are healing
doesn't mean that your skin is okay.

it's cracking.
you're cracking.

break open.

love,
basil

Oh God, here they come
thirty to fifty wild boars
I’m quite stunned
so I slam the door
and look for my gun
which isn’t there anymore
the liberals took it away
not because of bullets sprayed on concert days
but to make me gay
which is why I hid my AK.

Thirty to fifty wild boars are attacking
while my children are in the yard
I can already see their bodies stacking
without an assault rifle to guard
so I find the weapon I’ve hidden
and say to the swine good riddance
the assault rifle made the difference
it’s not just a recreational interest.

Wild boars have only killed four people in US history
because they’ve been plotting
so to me it’s no mystery
these wild boars I’m spotting
Are terrorists
that share a fist
with liberal wrists
so I must defend my country
with assault rifle hunting.

These razorbacks
find ways to smack
those who firepower lack
leaving destruction in their tracks
their leader is wearing black
he’s the harbinger of doom
wielding a scythe
like a broom
to show me eternal night
in my tomb.

My armor piercing rounds
defeat the rotund hounds
their bodies fall to the ground
my family is safe and sound
but that’s not enough
my survival was luck
I go to the government for change
to get weapons in a deadlier range
because my assault rifle can **** thirty to fifty wild boars
but what if I’m attacked by thirty to fifty more?

Thirty
by Michael R. Burch

Thirty crept upon me slowly
with feline caution and a slowly-twitching tail;
she waited three decades for the winds to shift;
now, claws unsheathed, she lies ready to assail
her defenseless prey.

Keywords/Tags: thirty, age, aging, maturity, time, creep, creeping, ambush, feline, predator

At this age
I still haven't figured out
how to become the life-connoisseur
everyone else has seemingly become

Like diamonds, we sleep in a soft repose,
Where we dream of slipping past the wandering souls;
Numbing our swollen hearts in glass and stone,
No more clothes, no more clothes

Making love with the stillness of the night
As the stars overhead flicker so, so bright;
Tracing the pattern of my spine,
Running out of time, running out of time

The sun pops from the sky,
Scanning the field of dreams where our love lies;
Written in the imprinted lines,
Saying goodbye, saying goodbye

It might be painful
It might be disdainful
It might be lightning
It is so frightening
Could be the thunder
That has my number
It could be Jesus knocking
concerned about my mocking
It could be my future
or my lack of culture
It could be those fried reasons
maybe it's Jackie Gleason
It could be the hollow
that always seems to follow
me into the night
so black without any sight
It could be a light
from my star at height
tumbling through the heavens
or bread that is unleavened . . .

All I know is it just happened
while I was here just napping

Thirty day's, I'll be free
In thirty days completely
Leaving the beautiful but familiar
The only anchor I had
The scenery and family.

Thirty day's till I can start new
Be who I am, Finally true.
This city and these people
A creativity sapping flu
Thirty more days
Until I can be true.

Now,
New belongings
New beginnings
New friends
New surroundings.

Pretty soon I'm gonna wake up
in a ******* Summer heat wave,
sweating bullets down the barrel
of the **** I still can't handle.
                       (Like relation-
                       -ships or regret
                      managment or
                   barely making rent!)
I don't feel any different--
still a stupid, clumsy kid
swing-and-missing, striking out
and ******* breathing out my mouth
as I turn
           and I slouch
and shuffle back to the dugout.

I'M ON A RAFT ON LAKE DeSMET
IT'S GOT A FISH HOOK TEAR IN IT
I'M SINKING FAST
SO WHERE'S MY DAD!?
I ONLY SORTA-KINDA SWIM!
Only now the raft's a loan
for lessons learned that just won't float
and the lake's this ******* town,
my stupid habits and the time
I always waste on whiny frowns,
and hanging hats
               on embarrassing ****!

I'm 29 and I'm thinking
     that Catch-Up's just a game I'm not winning.
Under a pile of mail with a cheap grin,
cringe away and close the blinds
and I'm calling in sick--
yeah I'll call in again
if it'll spare me from the glaring truth.

I'm 29 for a week more.
     For fifty-two I swore not to keep score
with the scars from skinned up knees or my credit.
Lock the door and draw the blinds
and I'll call it a win--
yeah I'll call it a win
if it'll spare me from the glaring truth
                          *of a decade
                   containing my biggest loss.