The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

...bobby stole a car
george jumped
through
the open back window
we tied robbie up
left him on some ones porch
were surprized when
the spainish people carried
him into the house
(so much for robbie)
we egged chamburg's parents
put a box on a porch
with john inside
rang the doorbell and
ran
across the street to hide behind a car
john jumped out
the lady screamed
the husband yelled
john ran
came back the next night
attached a long cord to
the empty box
rang the doorbell....

hang on st. Christopher

the moon
        was never fuller
and we all enjoyed
a little madness for
awhile

late to the dusk of her
hands: dazzle me,
love,
a loneliness
best left unsaid.

tipping towards new dawn

her heavy eyes
   collecting ashes.