Had the hospital to himself
   He had broken his childhood against Army historians and mothballs
When reassembled he would say
I could carve a better man out of public demonstration and a woman's hair.
But the world had to bury him
In a coffin lined with a transparent curtain,
False perception,
And blame.
Until it all caved in
Pointed back to him
Reborn again
A stranger in  
The home town.

The
                                                audience
         was
                   sleepy.

                                                                                    So were
                                                                                                       their mouths
                                                          throats &
                                                                         intestines
                                                                                                                                         weary from all
                                                                                                                                                         the tired
                                                                                                          digestion
                                                                                                                              white wash
                                                                                                                                            
                                                                                                                          auto-subscription

                                                                                                           that's bound to die
                                                                                    
                                                                                      like you

So lace up those boots

                                            and

                                                   live.

I'm trying to
but
I could go to jail
                                                             for fraud

                                                                                            because
                                                                                                            
                                                                           old pals
                                                                          
                                                & old sweethearts

                           made a slow deviant

from what's expected.                                                                                                                                                                                            
                    
                                                                                                                    Grown men

                                                                                                                         afraid of the rain.

Sensual
Rings
          Still alive
                           Wet with hot water
     I.                                                               Cried
                   Like  
A dream
                             I
                                      Can't
Can't remember.
                                                      W­hy
                                       But.                     I
Know
Was
There.
Only forgotten when       I        Live      L O N G
&
Wide.                                                         Open
                    Containing  nothing
A  
    Pillowcase
 ­                       Full
Of yawns
Or me becoming a recording of myself
                                   The   Tugboat
      A.           D.          T.              E.         O.    E.    N
              N.                          H.       ­              C.    A

Of drugs
And wrinkled clothes

That never killed me so much
               As
                       Expectation

We weren't sick
   Until the doctor prescribed 
     Our lives away 

     I wasn't crazy
   Until they shamed me 
For opening my mind

You're not God
   Until you realize 
     *We're everybody

how you tear at my flesh how
you push your short
fingernails into my fragile stature how
you manage only
slight fragments unfathomable shards of me
of my mistakes how
i fit entirely down your throat how
swallowing my flaws is no
issue

I fell asleep beneath a cape
Of thick, porcelain mist-
And let my soul sink into the ground,
As darkness did persist.
I heard a demon cry to god,
Begging his precious grace
To wash away the rotten ash
Crucified upon his face.
The air was cloaked with righteousness,
It seeped into the pores
Of pagan trees and shrubbery:
Cast out of heaven's doors.
I curled my knees up to my chest,
And wrapped my arms round close,
As cold, damp air embraced my skin,
Invoking the Holy Ghost.
                                                                                   MB.