Calabunga as go off shooting bad guys or good guys as long as I get my money. Eating chimichanga's in my Honda that I "borrowed" for awhile. Anti-hero that breaks the fourth wall, because that's my style. Shoot shoot, bang bang, kapow is this kungpow chicken. Oh you thought I was talking about fighting, haha, that's funny. Where are the hunny's, with all this money, you think they'd be on me. Slip zip I can be freaky with whips, go on trips, have insanity fits. Business is business, marvel universe, I killed them all; just saying. If you didn't know the name, it is deadpool, original rip off, yeah I don't care about haters because they are going to hate. Death stroke can't even get a date, with that ugly eyepatch, he couldn't beat me on his best day.

If I was fine I wouldn't be going to the hospital 2 or 3  times a week,
If I was fine I wouldn't be going to physiotherapy,
If I was fine I wouldn't have hearing loss,
If I was fine I wouldn't have to wear on eyepatch every night,
If I was fine I would be able to concentrate for longer,
If I was fine my memory wouldn't let me down,
If I was fine it wouldn't take me twice as long to write work for college as it used to,
If I was fine tears wouldn't flow from just one eye,
If I was fine I wouldn't be going to rehabilitation,
If I was fine I would be living life like I used to but I'm not.
Stop saying I'm fine.

Gordon Ramsay decided to pay a visit to Mel's Diner.
When he criticized Mel's food, Mel gave him a shiner.
Now Mel wears an eyepatch because Ramsay jabbed him in the eye with a fork.
He hated Mel's beef and had to have his stomach pumped when he ate Mel's pork.
Ramsay didn't like the waitresses so he told Mel that they had to go.
After years of faithful service, Mel fired Alice, Vera and Flo.
Flo was so angry that she was chomping at the bit.
She told Mel and Gordon Ramsay to kiss her grits.
Ramsay finally had to give up on Mel because his food is so terrible.
Ramsay's job is to help restaurants but he can't perform miracles.

Three years old, I saw you
brown strands of dandruff
laced with stone eyes and
threaded lips; my hands
squeezed your body against
my chest, and I wondered
why you wouldn’t hug back.

A powdered stain from sobs resided
in your chest, I built a
house of blankets and counted bruises
and soothed my crying legs
and wondered why you wouldn’t hug back.

I pulled needles from my brain
and sewed his face to yours.
The knife slammed through your gut
and tore bits of cotton from its crevasse;
I clasped my teeth around your eye
and yanked it out and apologized
and asked if you could hug back.

I looked at the eyepatch, at your
syrup colored body scarred in cotton,
and resting by the driveway on
garbage day. I watched you
suffocate in plastic as the truck
yanked its load down the street. I felt
her lips press against my hair
as she asked me why
I wouldn’t hug back.

Bless me father for I have sinned.
My last confession was two lifetimes ago.
The pontif is in place.

White smoke.Black smoke
Ritualistic joke.

To err is human,to forgive is devine.
Father silk sash once diddled a friend o mine.
Absoulute power corrupts absolutely ?

Absolutely.
Now.
Carry on.
Eyepatch in place.
Fall from grace. Never.

Go my son. And sin no. More.
Get a life.
Get a wife.
Get real.

(ix)

at a therapy session
for those
unable
to dream
I am handcuffed
to my mother
whose imaginary
lover
has lice

a baby born with a wig
rattles on
about sleep

death’s eyepatch

(x)

on these bikes these boys are beautiful

/ passing men under spell of god, the order

maybe dissolved

of the bent
cigarette

/ I will not miss art

five-thousand fathers
to burn
a fish

but ease, but hunger

a girl putting all her pain in a turtle
or in anything
lifted
from the hood
of her sister’s
coat

/ a firecracker
read
by a bone

(xi)

what a ghost knows about giving birth
powers on
a mechanical bull

father says there is nothing
like it
in Ohio
this giving

god

to a jack-in-the-box

there is a word my mom makes
from a word
she can’t

/ orbituary

/ brings it all
home

(xii)

the human dream

god’s attempt at a short story

the animal
works

miracles

/ the elephant
in its ruin
takes up
for whale

yeah, it rains here
rains
glue

adult diapers
are fishhook
rare…

/ tell your sister
nothing happened
to mine

(xiii)

imagine how long god must’ve been left alone to be named after the first person whose name he said. how hungry the mother to swallow hair.  how bored her baby to remember.  how small the television that spitballed hell.  hidden the horse to keep its church.  black the water to transport fish.

(xiv)

the black eye
given
to the moth-catcher’s
most attractive
child…

what a woman predicts
becomes false

subtraction
the plus side
of trauma

her mother’s
babied
past

tell them they are nothing more than the lot the dream surrenders.  that gender is god’s eyepatch.  child abuse has its own race.  that dead or alive, god has never been sick.  to stop acting as if they were born tomorrow.

this eastern european chick always sqauts next to me in an alley

at like 12:03 at night when i'm smoking a ciggarette
and it always makes me uncomfortable

but they have no familiarity with american spacial barriors or common neuroses.

and i'll say something like ''
hey''

and she'll nod and say something back in
polish but proceed to stare at her phone.

and i edge away about 2 inches
and she'll scoot ever closer.

and she doesn't find me attractive because i dress in a black poncho and wear an eyepatch with spikes on it.

then i'll flick the **** away and stomp it in the dirt and she keeps scooting closer
and closer

and closer

and closer
to something
until she
dissapears completely in the shadow that overhangs the streetway littered with bums

and fresh cut lemongrass

while wolfs howl in the rolling hills

I’ve been alone longer than you’ve been alive

-

it
that sees double
is not
a ghost

-

puberty left me for the doll this eyepatch belongs to.  (I did not deny

-

a talented god

that can switch his eyes,
nose. mouth, and hands. He turns
hats faster than an alley cat. Filling
the holes in red blue and gold. Yesterday

stood a boxer asking for a rematch.
Today he’s a pirate donning
his eyepatch. I can’t tell the mask he’ll
wear. His parts are strewn

everywhere. His smile as a clown
turns into a mustache-colored
brown. He puts on boots, sneakers
leather shoes, and suits. He's a villain.

He's a hero, a reptilian, a Robert
De Niro. If I could only bake
fry, mash, or stuff him! Throw him
in my oven. But I'm not a glutton.