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yokomolotov May 2015
his heart bled into the ground
he held me and whispered
in ****** liquor sighs

go on guapa
as long as there’s one of us
there’s both of us

and I shook like a rabbit
in twilight’s snare
and begged him

don’t go
don’t go

a chant as old
as old
as my bones

once we felt the
earth move

it shook in the late spring morning
and I he warmed my feet
in the sack
when the night was a vacuum

he spilled his seed
on the ground
like some biblical
walk on

and we lived an entire
an entire life
in three days

three days of coughing
and struggling to stay still
in the winters dull
and stingy light
from a pale pale
pane in

is it safe to
give my _ to you?

It’s never safe,
I roughly handed it to you
and you felt it’s
shadow every since

with your busted femur
and long trailing stain
resenting the self-made
bleeding out

on the gray beast
I’m taken
the little rabbit
with a black scar

saving myself from
the tangled
mar that you now
have fallen

If I go on
we both go on
yokomolotov Mar 2015
It is September,
Summer is over, I’ve spent it all

With a fever pitch of
And a long humid dream
Of murmurs

The season was made of

Wrapping my legs around with a
Studied *****’s precision
I knew the beautiful delicate thing
Was gone

And now I walked

Summer, gone
yokomolotov Mar 2015
I couldn't taste a thing
until I found my tongue’s native soil
until I buried you alive
and preserved you
in the mountains of my mind

I couldn't see a thing
until I lost the thing I sought after
until I noticed you alive
and drowned you
in the rivers of my mind

I couldn't hear a thing
until I found the undercurrent of your words
until I forced you alive
and smothered you
in the caverns of my mind

I couldn't smell a thing
until I found your body ripe with hesitation
until I perceived you alive
and manipulated you
in the wind of my mind

I couldn't feel a thing
until I found the merit of lust
until I ate you alive
and sunk into you
in the soil of my mind
yokomolotov Mar 2015
an eye anchored with a thick angry thorn
I found you breathing
sick sick sick
you got it bad

the tidal looms
the title is taboo
and you scurry from it like a waxy back roach
and I chew myself
whittle myself to nothing

the stone yard of broken teeth
old names to reuse

he told me the joy
he had with me
is greater than the sadness
he had alone
spoke on the edge of sleep
I recorded it
because I knew I would forget it

and I did

and that thorn
that anchor
is all I have for show
it’s my lone memento
love lost relationship heartbreak
yokomolotov Feb 2015
I miss the
dying light from our footsteps-
I miss the sound of our heels
followed by the evening’s color,
so honest
it's hard to behold,
a life so unreal
that sleep serves
as a release-

I miss the dying light in lashes,
in curls as a testament-
I miss my own stoic profile
hindering passion,
emphasizing restraint-

I miss the invisible barrier
that made you tight,
I miss the secret
that made you a forbidden-

I miss the stutter in
your night tide
the smile in your day walk
I miss your digesting
of my words-
yokomolotov Feb 2015
Find constructed love
a piecemeal beauty
on those winding roads toward
within rolling hills of
the south, of red roads
black birds and white
in the swamp
a shock

cotton fields span
quiet, still the machines sleeping
the sun seeping
the car were in, **** covered

tall black and pastel along cars
I also saw a prison
carved in a hill side along a skinny
road, Mississippi
barb wire gem stone shine
white sign,
do not pick up hitch hikers

the humidity, heavy guilt
on dried clay
boiled peanuts
sightseeing in a
crime scene
yokomolotov Jan 2015
can I read you some of my poems?

behind you face, your cringing
from the corner of your eye
you’re looking for an escape

but I’ve already dragged you to a booth in the bar,
and I got you alone and you feel the
unease rising and there’s nowhere to run

you’re stuck and I’m pulling out my
little poetry book with the fairy on the cover

and I have you alone, all to myself
and I’m sharpening the rusted tools of torture
so squirm

here come the words
they’re bouncing off your glazed eyes
and you feel every one

they’re hard to make out over the bar racket
but the ones you can make out are
I, He, My, Miss, Love, Death, Lament and Autumn Leaves

the words inspire,
the nagging need for more gin
a bullet free from its chamber
splatter brain bits
a death letter

or for someone to save you
and over the slur of my tired lines
you see your friends safely ignoring you
in a group holding beer torches
miles and miles away

they’re laughing and you hate them

because you’re stuck with me
and I won’t stop
no end in sight
I have so much feeling
that I want you to know about

not enough gin
your face hurts from smiling
your head hurts from nodding
a hostage’s sentiment

and then I ask,

what do you think?
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