The best politicians
easy money can buy
promise satisfaction
unwashed masses die.

Gates and Fauci are
eugenic reasons why.
Filthy rich wage war
poison shots then lie.

The plans are everywhere. How to
   live the American Dream. Be born
   on her soil in projects or mansions.
   Tame your anger like a stallion and
   ride it hard chasing the dream forever
   until you rope and tie it. Live it.

Freedom bought by
Bill Melinda Gates.
America on knees
depression rates.
Lick the bones
of Lady Liberty
torch now dark.
It's such a pity.

Can I cure the sick or raise the dead?
   Can I feed a crowd with fish and bread?
   Can I turn water into Chardonnay?
   Can I walk across your pool today?
   Can I count on a betrayal Judas kiss?
   Can I die and rise reborn in bliss?

I wonder what I am.
    King or common man?
    Am I rich or am I poor?
    Queen waiting or *****?
    Either we share a bed
    of perfume or the dead?

We knew all along
we weren't happy but
neither had energy to
start over for another
bout another fight
sick of endless rounds
with no KO's just punch
drunk slurs and morning
shame and mute rituals.
Amazing how good we became,
amnesia and kiss off to work.
Who knows where the time goes?
Will either of us have a shred
of life left when the other finally
dies to lie naked with a stranger
just to sleep with your memory?

So pretty and anorexic like a
    beautiful boy. She sings angel's
    and devil's songs full of ******.
    We cheer her destruction. She OD's.
    She leaves us speechless. She is gone.
    I wish we  had a chance to start over.

I fell in love with your poetry
just a grey haired Aphrodite
imperfect face artifacts of age

we head to the all night diner
full of drag queens and communists
to steal a few poems lost in the smoke

amid the buzz we snort lines and
put them back like a Picasso
monster Dylan Thomas or Bob.

Time capsules in walls
from there to the now
birth to hair on *****
sparse and grey somehow.

Kiss Susan Tucker at eight
Mrs. Reddy crush when ten
virginity offered on a plate
lost myself in a garbage bin.

Great empires die from within.
Cowards cower before barbarians
hating their weakness but accepting.
The senate has stabbed Caesar and
everyone who had hope in him.
Wild hordes will tear us to hell.

I turn a century tomorrow.
All my friends died long ago.
My face is melted candle wax.
My body is a question mark.
My hands are crooked claws.
My kin won't visit anymore.

I turn a century tomorrow.
All my friends are long gone.
My face hangs like a mask.
My body is a question mark.
My hands are crooked claws.
My kin can't see me anymore.

And death shall have no dominion
Dylan Thomas - 1914-1953

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Even junkies were impressed
  when you dropped out of rehab
  scored a shotgun prescription
  that same night and just died.

my eyes burn
***** yearn
holes all earn
5 bucks a turn
needle's worth
a dreams birth
drunk's mirth
sound of surf.

I may not believe in God
but I believe with all my
heart in angels. They've
saved me from me so often.
They don't have wings but
they have gentle ways to
calm my anger and guide me
the long way back to me.

A full moon
boiling spoon
needle's rush
Van Gogh brush
a starry night
Angel's Flight.

I wandered so off course I didn't
  even recognize myself. A stranger
  I feared. What was I willing to
  destroy? Was anything sacred?
  Children? Wives? Family at all?

  I gladly sent the church to hell.
  Empty platitudes and all the rest.
  I never trusted holier than thou.

  I was saved by angels. Women who
  cared enough to approach my heat.
  It was warm but sometimes caught
  fire and burned out of control.

  They showed me my north star.
  I found my way back home then.
  No happily ever after. Never.
  Regained a foothold with my kids.
  That was enough. We love on and on.
  The angels still come around.

We're angry angels
   with broken wings
   and tortured souls.
   You think we'll save you?

I won't hide. I won't ignore.
**** fear. Hate me. I won't die.
Read me or don't. I'll read you
or won't. It's random. We pan
for nuggets in streams and find
them in the Klondike gold rush.

My world has become lava
  pouring from some volcano
  I'll never see. I smell the
  hell fire and feel the heat
  but never drown in molten
  ***** flowing over my small
  life that is a blink in some
  god's eye as we're swallowed.
  I'll wake and walk the dogs
  and pick up their **** and
  let them **** where they must
  and wonder why it all works.

in the end none of it mattered anyway.
  worry didn't help. wishing was useless.
  prayers were mute pleas to a deaf god
  with animus for every **** one of us.
  in the end it never really happened.
we never existed outside our minds.

in the end none of it mattered anyway.
  worry didn't help. wishing was useless.
  prayers were mute pleas to a deaf god
  with animus for every **** one of us.
  in the end it never really happened.
  we never existed outside our minds.

There's an itch you can never reach.
   Each night is perfect. Each morning
   is a mix of shame, regret and amnesia.
   People you love warn you of danger.
   There's an itch you can never reach.
   You go on the water wagon for awhile
   but your dog dies and you need a hair
   of the dog and sit on your bar throne.
   There's an itch you can never reach.
   Lose a foot to ***** and swear it off.
   Clean and sober for a year or two but
   there's an itch you can never reach.
   Your liver is ****** as are you, so
   you keep on with your poison and Tab
   and suffer slings and arrows because
   there's an itch you can never reach.

She's beautiful with an angel's voice.
   If I were young again I'd chase her down
   moonlit streets offering my love as if
   it might entice her. I'd go to my bed alone
   hear her voice calling from rocky shores
   in dreams and gladly die in her sweet song.

Why do we obsess on your death?
Wear mother's furs and die in a car
painless, breathing her dead breath
as your own in the closed garage.
You painted your suffering in such
splendid colors and signed it AS.

I didn't set out to confess my
broken self to you. My shrink
said write about my suffering
as catharsis. I put my soul on
pages and pages and just kept
vomiting my pain. Forgive me.
The only ending to it was my
head in an oven full of death.

Why do we obsess on your death?
Wear mother's furs and die in a car
painless, breathing her dead breath
as your own in the closed garage.
You painted your suffering in such
splendid colors and signed it AS.

She comes to dinner wearing a corpses sheet
with a hangman's knot around her neck
holding a straight razor to her jugular vein
with a bouquet of dead roses wicked thorns.
Sitting in the Buick hose in the window
I fall asleep forever dreaming of you.

I fell in love with your poetry
just a grey haired Aphrodite
imperfect face artifacts of age

we head to the all night diner
full of drag queens and communists
to steal a few words lost in smoke

amid the buzz we grab lines and
put them back like Salvador Dali,
Dylan Thomas and Charles Bukowski.

Dying at your own hand left
  broken hearts behind. Maybe
  that was your intent? It might
  have been a desperate resignation
  from the pains all our lives inflict.
  Maybe one more day we'd have met.

lose your dress
forget duress
just say yes
I'll confess
let's bless
our mess.

Wrapped in her dead mother's fur coat inside her Buick
       in a closed garage with a glass of ***** for courage she
       smoked a final cigarette and floored it and just died,
       a final act in her play. She died with this poem in mind.
I had to write it for the dead girl called Anne who had
such difficulty living her role on this lonely stage.

Wrapped in her dead mother's fur coat inside her Buick
in a closed garage with a glass of ***** for courage she
smoked a final cigarette and floored it and just died,
a final act in her play. She died with this poem in mind.
I had to write it for the dead girl called Anne who had
such difficulty living her role on this ******* stage.

Wrapped in her dead mother's fur coat inside her Buick
in a closed garage with a glass of ***** for courage she
smoked a final cigarette and floored it and just died,
a final act in her play. She died with this poem in mind.
I had to write it for the dead girl called Anne who had
such difficulty living her role on this ******* stage.

Your beautiful corpse reminds me
of the kindest lovers I abandoned.
You're still Anne from death by gas.
Hair and makeup perfect after all.
Your poetry had you rowing out to sea
to die in saltwater ugly and shriveled.
You could never sacrifice your beauty
even for commitment to fierce suicide.

I speak to you from some dirt in a field.
I couldn't say where. We were soldiers in
deadly combat. We all left intact lives to
throw death's dice for some forgotten glory.
We died in piles and found our way to burial
as the months turned to years. Dead brothers
in arms in historic battlefields with plaques.
I miss your last kiss when you said come home.

New years eve and party toward midnight.
Our great escape to a new beginning we
promise it will be different this year.
We're born again. I'll love you better.
I'll love you more. I'll be who you want.
I'll love you like the night we were us.

Believe me, Child
there's always an answer
waiting for your question.
Just ask me at noontime.
In the shade of the big oak
while we drink iced tea
and I'm sober and free
from the demon who
haunts me at two
demanding *****
to set me loose
to die another day.

There are silent moments of calm
    when something disturbs a surface
    enough to wake doubt and fear and
    pounds our hearts and steals our air.

    Terrifying! Anxiety. I thought I
    had defeated you. I knew better.
    You're always floating about me.
    Catholic guilt without a reason.

The water is calm, motionless.
     Something disturbs the surface
     enough to wake doubt and fear and
     pound my heart and numb my face.

     Terrifying! Anxiety. I thought
     ****** had tamed your treason.
     You're always floating above me.
     Guilt with no anchor of reason.

The weight of it
makes me a statue
unable to move
know what's true
I love you but it
dies on the vine
guilt kills it all
dreams live in wine.
I float in rain
dance on the drops
lessens the pain
connects the dots.

Between the trenches of war among the
    shell holes and pieces of men strewn about
    there is a patch of grass untouched to
    remind us of good old days in pubs where
    we shared pints with one another and spoke
    of the excitement of war's engagement how
    we scatter the enemy and in a month plant
    our flag on a hill of their blood and bones.

Between the trenches of war among the
    shell holes and pieces of men strewn about
    there is a patch of grass untouched to
    remind us of good old days in pubs where
    we shared pints with one another and spoke
    of the excitement of war's engagement how
    we scatter the enemy and in a month plant
    our flag on a hill of their blood and bones.
    Men and horses dead on the barbed wire the
    smell becomes normal rats eat us in sleep.

Between the trenches of war among the
    shell holes and pieces of men strewn about
    there is a patch of grass untouched to
    remind us of good old days in pubs where
    we shared pints with one another and spoke
    of the excitement of war's engagement how
    we scatter the enemy and in a month plant
    our flag on a hill of their blood and bones.
    Men and horses dead on the barbed wire the
    smell becomes normal rats eat us in sleep.

some seek solace in their Bible
some look inside their poems
those desiring death's release
will take its flight no matter
I hope they find a perfect dark
where all is none. eternal sleep
no more panic in guts or fear
of the wicked clown in closets
or teachers who **** us and we
like it but shouldn't. but we do.

some seek solace in their Bible
some look inside their poems
those desiring death's release
will take its flight no matter
I hope they find a perfect dark
where all is none. eternal sleep
no more panic in guts or fear
of the wicked clown in closets
or teachers who **** us and we
like it but shouldn't. but we do.

some seek solace in their Bible
some search inside their poems
those desiring death's release
will take its flight no matter
I hope they find a perfect dark
where all is none. eternal sleep
no more panic attacks or fear
of the wicked clown in closets
or teachers who **** us and we
like it but shouldn't. but we do.

some seek solace in their Bible
some look inside their poems
those desiring death's release
will take its flight no matter
I hope they find a perfect dark
where all is none. eternal sleep
no more panic in guts or fear
of the wicked clown in closets
or teachers who **** us and we
like it but shouldn't. but we do.

We met in a bar called Rugby's.
Our puzzles fit perfectly.
I was your perfect shadow
in your perfect mirror and
you seduced me but forgot
to silence the sirens on shore.