split to the core
from head to root

I
see
myself

one
now
two

one sows seeds
the other bears fruit

this
union
renewed

I
am
You

Find a lost cause.
Return to sender.

My friend wears his coat like a skin
peeled from a molting elk.
Patches cover holes in the elbows
made by leaning against brick walls to catch his breath
or falling on broken glass.

His pockets had once been cornucopias milk-toothed children
drowned in.
Candies poured out in cascades of foil, wax paper
and plastic wrap.

Hands, lightly powdered with icing sugar
perfumed the air around him with
the scent of caramel.

Suffused with thews refused even Midas,
everything he touched turned to chocolate, honey and smiles…
but now,
vacant of liquorice, lint,
money, mints,
his pocket linings contain less air
than shredded banderoles
flapping on abandoned cannon scarred battlefields.

Those once confectionary hands
swapped candy canes for walking sticks.

He trudges along the sidewalk
through quicksand thick crowds
on legs more numb than a spree killer,
at the pace of a wounded man
fighting a snowstorm conjured just for him.

This illness,
called ‘old friend’ in mixed company
(he smokes his weight in cannabis)
hangs on him like a drunken boatswain
carried aboard after shore leave
by the only mate holding his liquor.

This ‘old friend’
demyelinates
desecrates nerve tissue
reduces neural pathways to shriveled river beds
leaving dead end streets strewn
with discarded bundles of axons.

My friend wears his skin the same way a coat hanger wears a bathrobe.
It dangles on threadbare shoulders like defeat,
a race worn down
by centuries under the lash.

Through it all he smiles,
a good sport
fighting through sludge
day after day after day,
dragging one good foot
ahead of the other
before it shrinks away.

convened
in my living room
summoned to a setcat
to decide by voulbee or fratricide
the next Father of Thieves.

Blahznivee Semyon rises up
like a winter sun over the steppe
peels off his sable coat and hat
he garnishes round after round of applause
for his tattooist's magnificent skill,
and the number of skulls etched in his skin
one skull for every ****.

Arkady the Krahsnee comes to the front
draws a cross across his chest,
wipes caviar from his pickled lips
sheds his necklace of bloated tongues ripped
from the mouths of informants who sing
and with a halo of bicycle chain whirling overhead
steps drunkenly into the ring

The display turns black
chairs are pushed back
***** in every hand.
The soldiers prepare
with a toast and a prayer
and a drop of blood from each man.

Now squaring off
Dva Rusahky:
a fat taloostee,
the other slim-tenki
wade into the fray:

bez nervee, t-shirts, boatkee or fear
they destroy my hanging chandelier
their bratvas stand around and cheer
pass round smokes and mugs of beer.

Černobog’s hammer sits
inside a chalk line circle
like an *******
waiting for a fist.
Black stars collide
shoulders knees torsos
wheel thrown into ****** slabs
hole punched and wire cut
falling on cigarette butts
nicotine thumbs empty eye sockets
vitreous runs and pools
seeps into screaming mouths
through mangled cheeks.

Teeth litter my rug
like chiclets in berry jam.

Here's a finger,
make a splinter
wounds are washed
in chilled Żubrówka.

Semyon lifts the hammer, the winner
a new skull in his flesh, still wet
when he buys my silence
with a Russian dinner
and a round of Russian roulette.

look
beyond the pale
of my bones
and
rejoice!

no part
of me
shall be squandered

indifferent host
I will play
to microscopic hordes
summoned
to my banquet

in a gravy boat
of flayed yew
i sleep
drunk on embalmer's wine
my unsmiling mouth
gelid, inviting as
an infibulated *****;
expect no kiss
from this sutured mouth
it dictates only
a silent will
left for dermestids

bound
in wood,
a pall of soil,
my initiation rite begins
with a feast for worms
who follow the foetor
of my decaying embrace

dine
on my body
it is yours
in death
the only item
on the menu
since I first
drew breath

Kinetic and kind, well kempt, never kitschy, keen on kin as the key to good karma.

Remarkably resilient, reliable and respectful, radiant, relaxed and romantic. A bit rebellious but always within reason, and responsible in all things.

Idealistic and imaginative, intuitive and intense, immaculate, impeccable and irresistible. Never intrusive. Never idle.

Svelte and slim, scrupulous and supportive, sensual and sweet, swift, speedy and skillful, selfless and sprightly, swift, never slow.

Talkative, truthful, trustworthy, thoughtful, tough, tenacious and tolerant. talented with her touch, sometimes teasing. Tender hearted. Never tacky, always showing good taste.

Yogic, youthful, yummy, yin to my yang.

Natural, nonjudgemental and nurturing. Nice and neat. No-nonsense attitude, nimble and nifty. Nubile (oh là là!) and nourishing, non-racist and never negative.

Amicable, angelic, agile, attentive, astute, agreeable, amorous and always, absolutely adorable.

being a poet
who has nothing to say.